#live and learn and the last scene<3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[extraemopossum]

ive been listening to the last two songs on the sonic adventure 2 ost on loop for like an hour

[queerdiazs]

"When you know you're having kids, you have all these expectations of what life's gonna be like, you know? The milestones—the first words, first steps. First crush. Then they tell you your kid's gonna be different and he's gonna have challenges other kids don't. They warn you to manage your expectations. All those milestones start to seem like a stupid fantasy."

[firstroseofspring]

memory, death and life as komerex zha, the perpetual game; klingon culture as depicted in the final reflection, by john m. ford

[aerithisms]

i think maybe i need to replay rebirth some time to look at this diplomatically because aerith is My Favourite and i might be biased but i think my biggest story critique of rebirth is that i wish they'd done a little more with her. given that this is the game she dies in i found it strange that they didn't push her into the foreground a little more since this is their last real chance to do that with her as a living member of the party (i'm sure she'll show up in some limited capacity in part 3 but dead lifestream!aerith is pretty different to alive!aerith i think).

i know that sounds like a weird thing to say when you consider stuff like them giving her the game's theme song to sing during loveless and the fact that the last chapter is basically The Aerith Movie but there is a strange lack of focus on her in moments where it feels like we should get more from her throughout the narrative. this game pushes tifa and cloud's relationship more in the mandatory story segments, and i LOVED what they did with that relationship in this game, but it felt odd that the same focus was not given to cloud's relationship with aerith throughout the story given that the ending hinges on him being so devastated by her death that he enters a delusional state of grief. and this isn't even a shipping thing bc as far as shipping goes i'm an aerti truther and i feel pretty equally neutral about both cloti and clerith as romances (if anything i prefer cloti!). it's about giving proper narrative buildup to the relationship that the game's tragic ending hinges on - a lot of aerith's most interesting scenes with cloud in the bulk of the game are optional, which i think is a weird thing to do given what the game is building to.

i also wish they did more with her being a cetra! again, the last couple chapters put focus on this but prior to that aerith is weirdly quiet about it. particularly in cosmo canyon, while we do get the lovely bonfire scene, aerith otherwise has a weird lack of dialogue when it comes to the lore dump scenes with the gi and bugenhagen. i expected her to feel some type of way about these revelations but any indication of that is at best subtext and she doesn't really say a lot about it. and for all that they emphasise aerith and nanaki's connection early on as beings closer to the planet, once you get to cosmo canyon there's a weird lack of payoff for it. same with tifa's dunk in the lifestream - i kinda thought aerith might have something to say about it as a cetra, and in fairness i think it's possible she did and the game is withholding some of aerith and tifa's offscreen interactions for part 3 (i swear this isn't even just an aerti cope lol i think the fact that they deliberately show them talking without us getting to hear it might be something they come back to), but i also wish we got to connect with this part of aerith's character more NOW, while she's still here, so it can inform our understanding of her choices and feelings at the end. i just find it kind of a bummer because aerith's complicated relationship to her heritage is a fascinating aspect of her character and her tragedy that i think goes a little untapped in this game, which means it's likely to go untapped in the story as a whole since she's. you know. dead.

[pocketbelt]

they announced one of the main writers for FFXIV: Dawntrail is the one who wrote the Shadowbringers trial series, "Sorrow of Werlyt", and the amount of people going "ew no that's the one that redeems Gaius" drives me kind of insane

That storyline takes Gaius and says "Behold this idiot, watch and be stunned as everything he ever said to anyone turned out to be fucking obviously wrong. Watch as the fascist imperialist philosophy he ingrained into his beloved children makes them run to their deaths, even as he pleads them not to, and they tell him to fuck himself and do it anyway. Marvel as he watches them die by your hand, you, who destroyed Gaius himself at the peak of his life, and he can do nothing to stop it", and that's a redemption arc to people

The only surviving kid only makes it because her brother acts to protect her, she doesn't make it because of any act of Gaius'

The entire story is literally "In case you somehow missed it in ARR and most of Stormblood, everything Gaius believed in was horseshit and there's no such thing as a 'noble general in the evil empire'". All his meritocracy bullshit vanished the second he was gone, no-one but his own children believed it or held onto it, and the empire put someone directly opposed to that belief into his old seat when he vanished. No-one cared, no-one else "believed", the Empire was never about that, it was only propped up in his own singular legion by him being there and the second he was gone the legion dumped it and moved on and only Gaius was too naive and stupid to see it.

I mean for fuck sake, the Empire digs up the chemical gas weapon he explicitly had sealed away and destroyed all record of after he's gone and if it wasn't for a particularly dedicated and enterprising catboy and his comedy crew of hardcore engineers, it would have caused the eighth apocalypse

Even the follow-up in patch 6.4, of the family portrait, isn't some "aw he good now" thing. The family portrait you help organise for him has to have four of its six members be projected onto the scene via a machine's reconstruction of them as normal people because they're dead, they threw their lives away because the ideology Gaius taught them meant they could only think to die fighting and nothing else. That's his loving family portrait: four ghosts stood at his back as his last living child smiles through her pain.

"well the people of Werlyt didn't kill him for conquering them" they let him clean up the mess he made (which meant watching his children be killed) and as "thanks" they're letting him stay there to live out the last third of his life or so attempting to atone by fixing the damage he did.

He's 56 at the time of ARR; the Empire he gave 3-4 decades of his life to is gone, it's a smouldering ruin, all but one of the people he loved is dead, his surviving daughter is scarred by the path he led her down, and what few friends he had are also dead. He learned that his beliefs were all horseshit and pretty much everyone around him except for himself knew it, he must live knowing that those beliefs got his children killed, all that he achieved that he once considered "good" was for nothing, he learned that the cool old emperor he idolised who had no magic but built an empire by pulling up his bootstraps and who told him that magic and gods were bad was actually an ancient incredibly magical sorceror attempting to resurrect his own god.

That's not a redemption arc, he's the most owned man still alive in XIV

[mywritersmind]

OK PUT MY NUMBER. - LN4

summary : Based off the gilmore girls scene where Logan and his friends meet Rory at her dorm!! Hope you enjoy <3

listen up : no warnings!! lando!collegereader

word count : 1017

⋆｡‧˚⋆

“Okay, Franco. Last building!” A man walks past me as I rearrange the items I'm attempting to carry without dropping. “Please say it looks familiar!”

I grab my coffee and stack of books, eyeing the group of boys who have strayed into the girls' dorms.

“Ahh!” One of the boys says, his eyes closed like he’s trying to manifest his way.

The tallest (and that’s not saying much) and tannest of the group groans, “Apparently it doesn’t seem familiar.” He’s got a thick accent, maybe spanish?

“Hold on!” The other boy with thick waves finally opens his eyes and says, “Hold. On. Yes! Here, this is where she lives!” And for the first time, me being quite nosy, it finally works out in my favor.

They go straight to my dorm. My single dorm.

“Excuse me, can I help you?” I walk closer to them, the one in the back has his hands lazily strewn in his pockets and walks straight past me with no answer.

“Hey!” I follow them to my door where the other two are writing on what looks like a crumpled piece of paper.

“Don’t put your number, Don’t put your number!” His accent surprises me but as I stare at the back of his curly hair, I scoff at me being ignored.

“I’m not putting my number, I’m putting your number!” His friend says, a twinkle in his green eyes

“That’s my room.” I speak up finally, the three turn harshly and eye me.

“Ok, put my number.” The curly haired one, british and ridiculously attractive, says as he smirks.

His eyes examine me as his friend groans, “Are you sure this is your room?”

I nod, “I’m sure.”

“I could have sworn it was her room!”

I balance my books, “What’s her name, maybe I know her.”

“It was uh…” he uses his hands to talk, “Short.”

I raise a brow, “Oh! I can understand your disappointment… losing a potential soulmate like that.” The cute one close to me laughs, “But that’s still my room.”

He motions to me, “I’m sorry about the mix up. It’s just- my friend Franco here needs to learn that Guineess and blondes don’t mix.”

“Redheads.” Franco corrects, “It doesn’t mix with redheads!”

He turns back to me, looking tired, “We sincerely apologize and will now leave you with your…” he eyes my books, “library?”

I frown as the other two run up the stairs, Franco saying his memory is coming back. I slip my key out of my pocket and start to open my door, “It’s called being a college student.” I sigh at the heaviness of my books, though most are for my own pleasure, “I’ll leave you to your friends.” I struggle with my key more, my cheeks getting warm because he’s just staring at me.

The man bites his lip, thinking for a moment, “Ah, they can manage.” Before I know it, his (huge) hands are taking my books from me. I eye him at first but then unlock my door with ease.

“Thanks.” I mumble and step inside, he follows after me and I don’t shut the door. He sets the books down on my table, his eyes darting around.

I watch him push up the sleeves to his blue long sleeve and take him in.

He’s got curls, a clean face, and a muscular build. He's not very tall but still looks down on me. The thing I can’t help but notice is his eyes clashing with his dark hair.

“I’m Lando!” He holds out his hand which I shake with a slightly confused expression, “Sorry again about my friends.”

“Y/n.” I smile politely, wishing I had cleaned up my place or something, “And don’t worry. They're funny.”

He rolls his eyes, “Franco and Carlos are definitely strong personalities!” I laugh, “We’re visiting Carlos’ sister. She’s a freshman…” he looks nervous saying the year, “Francesca.”

“Oh I'm not very clued into the freshman circle.” I shrug, “I’m a senior.”

“Oh shit- I just thought cause the dorm…” Lando shakes his head, “I should have noticed, you don’t look eighteen.”

I raise a brow, “Appreciate it…” He scratches the back of his neck and I laugh purely at the situation of this random British man in my room, “Uh- where do you go to school?”

“Oh I don’t!” He seems happy that I asked him something, “I’d be…” He counts on his fingers, “two years out anyway but I never went to uni. I work with those two muppets.”

“Oh!” I can’t help but mentally scream that he’s in my age range, “What do you do?”

Lando looks nervous again, his facial expressions are undeniably impossible to hide, “We drive.”

“Drive?” He nods, “Like a chauffeur?”

“There’s a car involved.” He holds back his smile as there’s booming footsteps and two heads pop into my room.

“Lando boy!” Carlos grins, “He thinks he remembers!”

Lando looks at me, looking regretful but still walks over to the open door, “See you around, Y/n.” He smiles and god I’ve never seen a smile like that. I feel my cheeks go pink, smiling softly and waving.

“Good luck.”

The door shuts a second later and I immediately bring my books to my makeshift bookshelf, trying to ignore the smile on my face.

I’m being ridiculous, I know I am. He’s older, British, and I will probably never see him again! But at least I can zone out in class about something.

I pull a hoodie over my head when I hear a knock at the door, “Coming!” I yell as I stumble over the clothes on my floor.

Except when I open the door, no one’s there.

I think it’s some bored frat boys until I go to close the door and see a yellow sticky note stuck to the wood.

I look around but there’s no cute man around. I shut the door, leaning against it and smiling down at the note, taking out my phone and typing in the number.

[moonstruckme]

vampire!james is such a fun concept!

what about if reader was a newly turned vampire too and James lets her feed on him

like the scene with elena feeding on damon in TVD?

because blood sharing is intimate :P

Hi lovely! I don’t really remember what this was like in TVD because I last watched that show probably 10 years ago and I don’t think I finished it but hopefully this is along the lines of what you were thinking, thank you for requesting <3

cw: blood, feels mature at times but no smut (vampires are just hot idk)

vampire!James x fledgling!reader ♡ 1k words

James hates seeing you like this. He remembers what it feels like—being aware for the first time of every nerve ending in your body, your mind whirring at a thousand miles a minute, everything worse and louder and so much more than it had felt when you were human. 

He’d warned you the transition would be like this, but you’d wanted it anyway. You keep trying to act like you’re alright even now, trembling from head to toe in the corner of the bed, eyes darting towards every sound and movement like your body thinks you’re under attack. The three bags of blood you’d gotten from the butcher lie empty on the floor. Normally James only needs one every few days, but this is one thing he’d forgotten about the transition, he supposes. The hunger is intense. He won’t be able to get you more for at least a few hours.

“Sweetheart,” James says softly. You still flinch as though he’s shouted. “You should try to go to sleep. It’ll help with the cravings.”

“I don’t think I can.” Your lisp is sort of cute. You haven’t been able to retract your fangs yet, have pricked your own lip more than once. “I can hear so many hearts. They’re loud.” 

James nods. He’s learned to tune them out, like the hum of electricity or the rush of wind outside, but he knows what you mean. If he focuses, he can listen to the beating heart of the bird nesting in the tree by your window, the neighbor’s cat, the woman who lives at the end of your street. Sometimes they seem synchronized together, the unceasing, steady beat of life in the world. It gets louder when he’s starving. 

“The butcher won’t be open until morning,” he tells you, though you know already. You nod, wrapping your arms around your legs. “But I can try to help, if you want. You could try feeding from me.” 

It’s an idea James has been toying with since you said you wanted to turn. He doesn’t think you could survive off each other forever—he’s not sure if he still makes new blood, if his body works that way anymore—but he doesn’t have need for his blood the way a human does. Maybe he could sate you for a bit. 

You give him a look of wary surprise, but James knows how you feel well enough to recognize the hope behind it. Any chance of feeding will sound good to you right now. 

“Can we do that?” you ask. 

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “But I don’t think it’ll hurt to try. Might taste a bit stale, though.” 

It’s a lame joke, and you don’t laugh. Your trembling worsens, your restraint barely holding out against your cravings. Your voice is small. “I don’t know if I can be gentle. I feel…weird.” 

James offers you a smile. “I know, honey. It’s okay. Can I touch you?” 

You nod. James is careful about it, not wanting to overstimulate your sensitive nerves. He takes your hands in his, slowly guiding you onto his lap. 

“You’re alright,” he promises. “Let me help.” 

Your brows crease, and your lip starts bleeding again when you prick it with your fang. James gently thumbs the droplet away. “I don’t want to hurt you,” you whisper, scared. 

“I’ll be fine.” He looks you in the eyes, swiping his thumbs over your cheeks calmingly. “You did it for me, right? That wasn’t so bad. Just…” James palms the back of your head, bringing it to the crook of his neck like an embrace. “Take what you need.” 

James doesn’t have a heartbeat for you to hear, but that doesn’t matter; once you’re close you can’t restrain yourself anymore. You bite into his neck eagerly. 

It feels like you described. Part of James worried that you were stretching the truth, trying to make him feel better, but the places where your mouth connects to his skin are suddenly the center of James’ universe. He can feel his blood rushing to meet you, to sate you, fill you up and be everything you need. Your low moan vibrates against his skin, and James laughs, dizzy and drunk on you. 

One of your hands fists in his hair, pulling his head further to the side. He bears his neck to you readily. He hopes you glut yourself on him, stay here with him, keep your mouth suctioned to his skin until you both die whatever deaths immortals can. 

He feels a bead of wet roll down his chest. You make a soft, thoughtless sound in the back of your throat, leaving his neck to chase it. Your tongue licks a stripe up James’ left pectoral. 

He blinks slowly as you wipe your mouth, breathing hard. It feels like waking up from a dream. You have blood smeared around your mouth and nearly dripping from your chin. You look embarrassed as you catch it with your fingers and lick them clean. 

“Sorry,” you say. 

“It’s okay.” James smiles at you. He still feels slightly doped up, but it’s also sweet to see you like this, pupils still blown from the taste of him and shy about it at the same time. “You were right, that was nice.” 

One side of your mouth tilts up tentatively. “I didn’t hurt you? You were so controlled when you fed from me.” 

“That’s not your fault, honey, you can’t be controlled this early on.” James kisses you, pleased to find your fangs are starting to retract. “It’s not possible. But no, it didn’t hurt.” 

Your smile blooms with relief. “You didn’t taste stale,” you reassure him. “You sort of tasted like yourself, if that makes sense.” 

He nods. You’d tasted like yourself, too, all sticky sweet and addicting. 

You let your breath out in a whoosh, sagging in his hold. “I’m…god, how do you manage to walk home after this? I’m so tired.” 

“It gets easier with time,” James reassures you. He pets the back of your head, turning you both around so his back rests against the headboard of your bed. “You can sleep, though. We’ll clean you up tomorrow.” 

There are no arguments from you. You’re fading fast, head falling naturally back into the curve of his neck. 

“Sorry,” you mumble, “I wasn’t as nice about it as you were with me.” 

“Sure you were, sweetheart. You’re always nice, I don’t think you can help it.” 

“Yeah, well.” You turn your head slightly to mush a kiss over the puncture marks you’ve left him. “Thanks.” 

[reiderwriter]

Hi Kacie!! Now that your requests are open... Could I request a smutty fic where Spencer finds out reader has a not-so-common sensitive spot (like her legs, hair, arms, whatever body part you want). Maybe he finds out kinda in a public setting after she gets all flustered and wants to keep pushing to test his theory?? You can take as much inspo from this as you want<3

(If this emoji's not taken)-💃 anon

A/N: Hello! Sorry for going MIA for a while there. It was the beginning of a new school year here in SK, so I've been really busy! I've been chipping away at this one little by little, and it's finally done! I hope you enjoy it ♡

Warnings; Smut, 18+ Minors DNI, case details, misogyny from a bartender in the opening scene, Semi-public sexual experimentation, edging, PinV sex, use of pet names (good girl), slight degradation, cum play, etc.

Masterlist

The back of the bar was dimly lit as you walked through it, keeping pace with your teammate as you kept one eye on the shady inhabitants of the bar. 

You'd been sent - with Spencer of all people - to ask the local dive bar staff about suspicious regulars. A fact that didn't exactly take into account his general lack of intimidating looks and your status as the newest member of the team. 

A trial by fire if you'd ever seen one. 

You tried your best not to stick out like a sore thumb, but the people in these parts could spot a Fed from a mile away. And though Spencer was remarkably pipe-cleaner-like, they'd certainly recognised enough FBI in him to clam up upon your entrance. 

“We got some visitors, I see. What can I be getting you, little lady?” The barman greeted you as you reached the first stool at the counter, a patronizing smile on his moustache clad lips. 

“If it's okay, we'd like to ask you some questions. I'm Agent Y/N with the FBI. This is my partner, Doctor Spencer Reid.”

“You're a Fed? Now, why would you bother doing all that hard work when you could be warming my bed, girl. It's definitely more honest and satisfying work.” 

The way the man leered at you over the counter has you freezing momentarily. Your instincts were saying fight, but you held your tongue just long enough to not ruin any rapport your team could build with locals. 

“I'm flattered, but already spoken for I'm afraid. Have you seen any suspicious men in here in the last six months, one that would pass through only semi-regularly, maybe with a few female companions, though never the same.” 

Professionalism at the cost of your peace of mind was going to be a hard learn for you as you grit your teeth and swallowed the bile in your throat. 

He just continued to leer at you as he dried up beer glasses. 

“You're looking for a man who likes cheap whores? Maybe you are in the market for a career change after all.” 

That was about all you could take, and luckily, Spencer Reid was well aware. 

Quickly grabbing you by the wrist, he pulled you behind him defensively and leaned over the bar, his voice low and somewhat chilling. 

“Disrespect my partner like that again, and I'll have you charged with aiding and abetting a murderer who has kidnapped and ended the lives of three local girls. Local girls whose fathers you're more than likely acquainted with, who absolutely have multiple acres of property and just enough bullets to put you in the ground.” 

The blood rushed to your ears at his voice, but the light grip of your wrist held you in place indefinitely. 

All the fight left your body, as you found yourself coming dangerously close to melting into Spencer in relief. 

He forced the man to answer some more basic questions, but it wasn't as if you could hear them. He stroked a quick thumb back and forth across your wrist as all the thoughts fled your head, and the words fell asleep on your tongue, resting there until he released you from his grip. 

You'd known that the area was slightly sensitive for a while, having accidentally brushed up against things and felt serious chills shoot up your spine. What you hadn't known was that it was that kind of sensitivity. 

Though, in all honesty, you hadn't exactly known that you could feel that kind of excitement for Spencer either. You just hoped he wouldn't notice. That much. 

Having finished his line of questioning and reiterating his threat, he moved his hand from your wrist to the small of your back and adeptly guided you from the restaurant and out of the line of vision of every pair of eyes in the place. 

“Are you okay?” He asked when he finally got you to the car, voice still quiet and low, and slightly too close to let you fully relax. 

“Peachy. He talked to you at least.” You turned away from him and began opening the passenger side door. 

“Nothing new or useful, though. Your bpm is high,” he joined you in the car, putting on his seat belt while you completely let go of yours, letting it zip back into itself.

“My… my what?” 

“Your bpm is high. Your heart was beating so fast,” he said, reaching over you to help you reclip it. “Were you nervous, Y/n? Or just sensitive?”

“Your mouth is entirely too close to mine to be asking that question,” you breathed out, cursing your eyes from stealing a glance at his lips. 

Only five minutes into this sudden attraction to Spencer Reid, and you were already mortified and extremely horny. In equal measures. 

“What would be the appropriate distance to ask that, then?” 

“I hear Australia is lovely this time of year.” 

He chuckled softly at you as he finished adjusting your seat and then moved far enough away to let the ground swallow you in peace. 

Never one to leave well enough alone, it seemed that Spencer took it upon himself to experiment with you for weeks on end after that. 

He'd constantly ask you to pass him papers, pens, anything that'd allow him to run a finger across the inside of your wrist. On more than one occasion you'd caught him staring into your eyes as he did it, and it took a nearly embarrassing amount of time to realise he was checking how dilated your pupils were before and after. 

When he'd gathered enough data for that line of questioning, he moved on to bigger things. 

You knew you were in danger of seriously falling head over ads when he offered to walk you to your motel door in a seedier case location. 

You, an FBI agent with a real-life gun and badge and job at Quantico, and you were jumping at the chance to have a man walk you to your room. You'd have been embarrassed if you weren't burning with anticipation. 

You hoped that like every other man in history, he was gently trying to insinuate himself into your bedroom, and by extension, your bed and more intimate places. 

So you were more than slightly disappointed when he started wishing you a good night. All of the aforementioned disappointment fled your body, though, when he picked up your hand and dropped a kiss to the inside of your left wrist, repeating the action on the right before wordlessly retreating. 

You stared at his back as he walked purposefully down the corridor and into his own room, leaving you to pick up your jaw and retreat to your room to lick your wounds. 

You wished it was him picking you up instead and found your brain imagining just that as your fingers dropped between your thighs that night. 

It became a case tradition for him to tease you like this, kissing your wrist after innocently walking you back to your hotel room. The others thought it chivalrous, almost cute and childlike, a form of courting that graced the good old days. They didn't know he grabbed you by the waist and held you against his hard-on every time you rode an elevator together. They didn't know his tongue darted out a few times to lick your wrist on occasion. They didn't know how you once mentally begged him to bite you there and how you shuddered as he ran his teeth along the vein there. 

Spencer was coming to the crux of his research regarding how far he could push you before you cracked. Only now, it was how far he could get without pushing you against a wall and jumping your bones. 

You knew you were in danger when he offered to escort you home after a case. 

“To walk you to your door, you know? Like always,” he smiled at you, the picture of innocence as you became damp between your thighs. 

“Sure. Yeah, okay, I'll get my keys, let's go.” 

You weren't sure how no one else noticed that Spencer didn't have a car to drive himself home after taking you to yours. You were unsure if they'd connect the dots between him escorting you home and his own apartment being 45 minutes in the opposite direction. 

Luckily for you, you could keep your hands at 2 and 10 the entire journey, away from his grasp. If he'd have touched you right then, you're sure you'd have driven both of you right off the road into a ditch. 

Or a pedestrian. 

The drive was calm, but pulling up forced your heart to your throat and kept it suspended there, almost like it was frozen at gunpoint, a deer in the headlights. 

“We're here.” 

“Great. Let me walk you in.” 

In. You swallowed hard, wishing very much for him to be inside of your apartment. 

“Okay.” 

Stepping into the elevator a few minutes later, he waited mere seconds after the doors began closing to pull you into his personal space. He was hard, he was so hard once again and his cock was now straining against your ass.

“Spencer, we need to talk about t-that,” he stroked your wrist as his hand splayed across your stomach, holding you firmly against him. 

“About what, Y/N?” 

He pulled your arm up almost as if inspecting the wrist for imperfections, and your head melted back into his chest. Why was this elevator so goddamn slow? 

You sprung out quickly when the doors pinged open finally and moved straight towards your door without a glance back, but you felt him close behind you. 

“Y/N, wait for me, wait, I'm sorry,” he called out quietly as you forced your keys into the lock as fast as possible. 

“Y/N, I'm sorry if I stepped over the line, I didn't mean too, please look at me-” 

You got the door open and turned back around to grab a firm hold of his tie and yank him into the apartment behind you. 

“Months. Spencer, you have been edging me for months, and I am sick of it.” You half growled at him, slamming the door behind him and then pushing him up against it. 

“I can feel how hard you are right now. Obviously you want to fuck me, so why aren't you?” 

His face went from shocked to intrigued, then shot straight for mischievous as he cracked a smile, and you felt his hands wrap around your wrists slowly. 

Before you could react, he had your positions swapped, your arms above your head pinned at the wrists and his breath hitting your neck as he answered. 

“I wanted to see how long it would take you to break.” 

Your lips leapt to his, hitting him angrily as you searched for more pleasure in his touch, one leg pushing up to wrap around his waist as his hips settled between yours. 

He met you at your level, giving just as good as he got.   

“Call it scientific curiosity,” he murmured, lips trailing down your neck, but hips pinning you in closer to the wall, keeping you trapped there. He made his way along your shoulders and then pressed light teasing kisses up your arms while rutting his hips into you, dry humping you against the wall as your eyes glazed over in lust. 

“You react when I touch you, you heat up. But it gets worse if I touch you here, right Y/N?” His lips again found your wrist, but this time his teeth grazed across the veins he found there. 

“You get so horny now when I look at you. I can grab your wrist and make you beg for my cock, isn't that right?” His mouth was back by your ear as your legs went limp under you. He still had you caged against your own door, and you had no idea what to say to that. 

Part of you wanted to protest purely because of the rough tone of voice he was using. The other wanted to flood to the floor and tell him yes, beg him to just fuck you and be done with this pure torture. 

“I asked you a question, Y/N. Isn't that right?” 

“Yes, yes, Spencer fuck, I don't care anymore, yes. You can touch me and I'll react to you, please help me.”

“Good girl.” 

He pulled away instantly, but his hands wrapped firmly still around your wrists. Slowly, he pulled you towards him as he slowly walked backwards further into your apartment. You thought for a second about just throwing yourself back into his arms, to close the space he'd created again between the two of you. 

You tried it, lifted your head slightly, begging his lips to return there, but he held firm. Each step was an agony of need, and you fought to hold your tongue, begging yourself not to beg him so pathetically. 

“Such a good girl, I'm holding you by the wrist, and you won't even protest about how slow I'm being.” 

Your mouth fell open as you registered his words. 

“You're being an ass.” 

“What was that? You want me to touch your ass?”

“Spencer!”

“Don't worry, we'll get to that.”

His back finally made contact with your bedroom door, and you stumbled forward into his chest as he kept his grip even still. 

“You're going to listen, right? You're going to listen to me and do what I ask you to do, aren't you?”

You wavered again. He'd been teasing you, but now he was serious, his tone light and his voice soft, but you could feel the strength in his grip. You could feel his arousal at your hip. 

“Yes, Spencer.”

“Good. Get on your knees on the bed. No clothes.”

He released your hands and opened the door for you as you tried your best to walk forward calmly. 

By the time you reached the bed, you'd removed most of your clothes, but you hesitated at the underwear as he watched from behind you. A quick glance over your shoulder saw him palming his cock through his pants, still leaning against the door he'd opened for you. 

He was getting off watching you, and you were frozen in arousal. 

“No clothes, Y/N.” 

“I know.”

“Underwear is clothing.” 

“I know that, too, Spencer.”

“Then take it off.” 

You shot a quick glare over your shoulder as you unclaimed your bra behind your back and threw it to the floor. 

“On my knees, right?” You said, climbing on the bed still clad in your panties. 

“I also said no clothes.” 

“If you're so invested in my state of dress, how about you come and help me rectify it.”

His lips twitched in small annoyance, but he followed the trail of clothes you'd left, ridding himself of his tie, shirt, jacket, and pants along the way. 

He climbed on the bed slowly behind you, not opposite as you'd presumed he would. His hands reached out to touch your back before slowly sliding all the way up to your neck and pushing your upper body down into the sheets. 

You let out a little squeak in shock, but let his hands guide you, feeling especially pliant when he grabbed your hands and crossed them behind your back. 

“Maybe the panties can stay. I'll just decorate them afterwards,” he said, and with that, he pulled your hips up with his free hand  guiding you into the position he wanted you in, and pushed two fingers into you. 

“Fuck, Spencer-” your brain short circuited as he pumped the digits slowly in and out of you, setting an agonizing pace but holding you so tight that.you couldn't even press your cunt back into his fingers. 

“What? What is it, Y/N? Tell me how you feel?” 

“Feel good, so good Spencer, p-please more.” 

He shifted slowly behind you, pulling his fingers out almost completely before pushing them back in, this time with another finger added. He didn't quicken his pace as you assumed he would, but he took his time stretching you out further as you moaned and whined underneath him. 

“More. You wanted more,” he reminded you, and his voice was like a sharp hit straight to your cunt, rough and hot and filling you completely. 

You barely registered the orgasm that flowed over you, your brain replaying his words on a loop as he continued pleasuring you. 

“That's it. That's a good girl. Get my fingers nice and wet.” 

When you finally grounded yourself in the moment again, your cheeks flushed as you realized just how wet you'd gotten. You felt your arousal still dripping down your leg and turned your face further into the sheets to hide your embarrassment. 

He pulled his fingers out of you, though, and with his now free hand he crouched over you and hooked his fingers under your jaw lifting your head and body up, forcing your crotch back into his as your back arched. 

“Don't hide from this. Look how wet you are for me, Y/N. Taste it.” He tapped his fingers against your mouth and you were ashamed at how fast your lips dropped open, tongue falling out to let him wipe his cum stained fingers against your pretty little lips. 

You tasted yourself on his fingers, wrapping your tongue around them and sucking as he dragged his dick across your back, trying to relieve himself in any way he could. 

“Good girl. It's time for one more, Y/N.” 

You released his fingers with a wet pop as he pushed you back into the sheets. Lining himself up, he entered you easily, your cum providing ample lubricant. 

You whined at his first few pumps, certain he was going to continue his torturous pace and leave you begging for more hours into the night. 

Instead, he let himself work you up to it, each thrust gaining in speed and strength until you could hear the slap of your skin against his more vividly than your own heartbeat. 

His cock was thick, filling you perfectly as you lost yourself in the sensations. 

“One day, I'll handcuff you to this bed,” he said, leaning down and whispering in your ear as each part of your body vibrated with lust. 

“I'll tie you down to this bed, and I'll treat you like a princess. I'll eat your cunt for hours until you cum every time my breath hits your cunt, and I'll cover your pretty tits in my seed. I'll let you use my cock as your personal sex toy, and I'll fulfill every single need you have.” 

His hand released your wrists as both of his hands came to wrap around your waist, pushing you deeper into the plush covers and changing the angle of his dick. 

You screamed at the pleasure, forgetting the paper thin walls your apartment boasted. 

“Fuck, Spencer.” 

“And you're going to love every single second because your brain switches off every time I touch your delicate little wrists.”

With that, another wave of pleasure spread through your body, sending prolonged shivers throughout your body. 

You felt him withdraw and heard the sticky mess of him stroking himself behind you until he made good on his promise and sprayed his generous load across your ass and panties before collapsing on the bed next to you. 

The two of you laid there for what felt like hours, sharing nothing but your labored breaths and the space of the bed before he finally rose. 

You tried not to sleep, but your entire body felt stiff from the awkward, if enjoyable, position he'd held you in. 

Your eyes drifted shut, and you just listened to his movements. A creaking floorboard here, a stumble against some furniture there, culminating in some running water and a return to your space. 

“Y/N,” he whispered, cautious to rise you from what he assumed was much needed sleep. 

“Mmmm,” was all you could reply.

“I realize now that I made a pretty big mess, so we need to get you in the bath.” 

“Mmm,” you protested, brows furrowing as you tried to gather your sheets closer around you, cradling yourself in the warmth. 

But doing so only made you more aware of the sticky wet mess around your torso and legs, and you let out a small, frustrated sigh. 

“You're stubborn, you know that, right?” He said, admiration coating his tongue as he lifted you slowly and helped you place your feet on the floor and walk towards your bathroom. 

“Spencer, shouldn't have a bath, too sleepy.” 

“I know, I'm going to stay.”

“In the bath?” 

“In the bath.” 

“Good.”

And it was. You let him lift your legs one by one into the scorching water and melted back into him, your head resting on his shoulder as if it were the most comfortable pillow you'd ever used, and you slept. 

[hannieween]

moonlight | lights out series

Joshua had not only fallen in love with you, but with the life he had by your side. He just had to learn to find the balance between the life he was so in love with and the life he had worked so hard to achieve.

✮pairings: yoon jeonghan x female reader x joshua hong ✮ genre: angst, fluff, smut [18+] ✮ aus: theatre director jeonghan, rockstar joshua, polyamorous relationship ✮ word count: 25.3k

› 🎧: limbo – dpr ian | horizon – i.m | hold me – hojean | cheese and wine – dpr live | different – woodz | love scene – baekhyun | take my hand – zerobaseone ‹ note: this song is so cute and perfect | ditto – new jeans | bad sad and mad – bibi → season one — season two — read more › smut warnings under the cut

✮ warnings: sleep paralysis, smut with plot, dom jeonghan, switch joshua, switch reader, alcohol consumption, slight mlm themes, slight dubcon: reader takes care of drunk hannie. reader is on birth control, smoking, corruption kink, dirty talk, unprotected p in v sex, blowjob, handjob, deepthroating, dacryphilia, fingering, creampies, tongue fucking, pussy drunk hannie, squirting, hair pulling, doggy style, rough sex, consensual recordings of sexual intercourse, a bit of cockwarming, vanilla sex, lazy love-making, nipple teasing, couch sex, dirty talk. brat taming: pussy slaps, spanking, edging, praise/degradation kink, light impact play, 1 slap on the cheek. pet names: bunny, beautiful, baby, princess, bad girl, filthy girl (hers), handsome, big baby, (jeonghan) babe, baby, handsome (joshua) ✮ author's note: this is incredibly self indulgent. also, these chapters are getting longer... having to write about two boyfriends at the same time is not for the text-limited posts on tumblr. i'm going to start posting my fics on ao3 too soon... so be on the lookout for that? hehe ✮ author's note 2: there are some instances where the word Bunny and/or Princess are with capital letters and that is to signify Y/N, ok? ok i'm terrible at explaining this .. i just don't like using the Y/N nomenclature. i feel like it pulls me out of the reading ✮ author's note 3: also thanks to @onlymingyus who helped me figure out some scenes! thank you baby 🩵 ✮ disclaimer: minors dni this post is intended for 18+ readers. please have your age stated in your description and try not to look like a bot please 🙂.

part iv

The candles were half-burnt, still lit, and sitting on the table with a forgotten charcuterie board and two empty cups of red wine. You had not finished cleaning the table when you got sidetracked by a serious conversation with your boyfriend on the couch.

A conversation that, predictably, ended with a heavy make-out session.

Joshua had to finish packing his suitcase, a thought that he pushed far back into the list of things he needed to get ready before he left for his first tour the following day. The number one priority to him though, was you. Despite the heavy topic of conversation that you both just had, he could match the passion of your kisses quite effortlessly.

It was his last night with you for what would be weeks. He was not sure when he was coming back exactly, since this tour was going to Midnight Haze’s first big tour.

This was a huge achievement. It was something he dreamed about when his band was just a local indie one. Now they were signed. They had their first studio album. And they were going on tour to visit different countries. A dream come true.

However, there was one thing holding him back.

Joshua never thought of himself as a romantic person. Not even remotely. He used to think he was content with being on his own. He never looked for love and made it very explicit with every partner he had. No relationships, no attachments. Only one goal, and he achieved that goal.

But in his journey, he never thought he would fall in laove. He was not expecting you. When he met you and accepted your proposal to have an entirely sexual relationship, he never noticed the warnings in his brain. Joshua blindly gave himself to you.

It shook his world to find you.

He wanted to stay in the coziness of the home you had given him. And to think that you were neighbors for years before you saw and talked to each other… he wondered sometimes what would have happened if you crossed paths differently, would he be here with you?

Involuntarily, his hands gripped your waist tighter, pulling you closer on his lap. You stifled a moan in his mouth, one hand cupping his chin, while the other had slid down his chest, clinging onto to his plaid shirt.

“Babe,” you paused, but he protested with a groan, his hand sliding up to the middle of your back to keep you from pulling away from him. “Josh,” you mumbled in between desperate kisses. “You have to pack your things, don’t you?” you asked, a giggle fleeing between your lips.

You knew already that he had to finish packing, but that did not stop you from starting the make-out session. And he knew you were just trying to tease him because there he was, all riled up, becoming more and more addicted to your lips.

“I have till five in the morning,” he responded with a hoarse voice, his hand left your back to meet your cheek. “Come here.”

The hand clinging onto his shirt flattened between his pecs. “I mean, but you also have to sleep, right?”

“I can sleep on the plane.”

Joshua heard an airy chuckle leave your mouth as his hand cupping your cheek motioned you in for another deep, heated kiss. It was his turn to smile into the kiss then your hand on his chest found the first button of his shirt, slowly and almost meekly undoing it with one hand.

But you broke away, a playful grin curving your lips. “Are you sure though? I can help you pack, and then we continue where we left off?”

He shook his head slightly, getting lost in the features of your face. It was going to be a while before he saw you again like this. Even if you were planning to visit him soon, he could not last a day without holding you. He had to make the most of the time he had left with you.

“I want to be close to you tonight,” he mumbled, holding your gaze. “I can pack later.”

“I just don’t want you to be late,” you replied dismissively, because you wanted the same thing as him just as badly.

Joshua smiled in full endearment of your worry. It was not unusual for you to worry about the smallest of things. “Don’t worry, I’ll just throw a few things in there and that’s it,” he shrugged, a knowing look appearing on his face.

You hated that at once, you shook your head. “Joshua, you need to do it right,” you said in a more serious tone, chastising him a little. But when his smile widened, scrunching his nose, you just pushed his shoulder.

“I will, baby,” he reassured, nodding with his head. “But only if you keep kissing me,” he challenged.

You returned the smile. “And if I don’t?”

He shrugged. “I’ll just finish packing and go to sleep,” he said nonchalantly.

You tried holding his gaze, but then your facial features broke into a pout.

“I’m just teasing you, baby,” he giggled, his eyes turning into half moons as he tipped his head back slightly.

You loved the sound of his giggles, sweet and merry. You could not resist yourself, grabbing his face with your hands to plant a kiss on his scrunched nose, catching him off guard. But he recovered quickly, grabbing your waist again to capture your lips with his own, to continue where you left off.

Your hand returned searching for the buttons of his plaid shirt, feeling the curve of his pecs in the process as you undid each button hurriedly, his shirt parting, leaving his chest in sight. Your heartbeat fluttered at the sound of his breathing hitching, and your hands slid beneath the plaid shirt, caressing the bare skin of his chest freely.

His pectorals bulged, and it was hard not to notice them lately. You knew he had been working out consistently as of late, so when your hands cupped his pecs, he bristled.

“Sorry,” you whispered sheepishly.

“It’s okay,” he reassured with a soft smile. “You can do whatever you want to me.”

“Okay,” you breathed out.

Having the green light, your hands explored his chest beneath his shirt, the pads of your thumbs teasing his nipples lightly. You felt his thighs tensing beneath you when you rubbed his nipples gently, cupping and massaging the soft muscle of his pectorals.

Joshua sat up straight, his hands securing you firmly, so you did not lose balance. In a wordless exchange, your hands slid from his chest to his shoulders and down his arms, thus pushing the sleeves of his shirt off him.

Once he was freed from the first piece of clothing on his body, his hands were on you again. Your fingertips grazed his veiny biceps, tracing a line to his collarbones and then cupped his neck, all the while kissing him heatedly, humming slightly on his mouth every time he outlined your lower lip with the tip of his tongue.

“Can I mark you?” you asked with a breathy tone, your fingers trailing down the soft skin of his neck.

Joshua knew why you asked. As his band gained more traction and recognition, their agency had to hire a PR management company, which instructed the Haze boys to be careful with their image.

“No, baby. You can’t,” he replied with a saddened tone. He hated to say no to you. He also hated to have this pristine poster boy front that he did not care for about at all.

“Mn, okay,” you breathed, not giving him the opportunity to see your full reaction, you leaned to kiss him again.

You broke away from the kiss, but rested your forehead on his, slowly littering him with pecks. One hand left the side of his neck, and Joshua tilted his head back to pay attention to the detour your hand was taking. You tucked your hand behind your back, grabbing the lace tying the back of your dress, and unravelling it with one movement.

In a silent sequence, Joshua gathered the long fabric of your dress that you had worn for the occasion by grabbing the skirt in bundles and pulling it up your body. Your hair got ruffled in the process, and you laughed meekly as your fingers removed the strands from your face and tucked them behind your ears.

But Joshua was caught up in the fact that you had been wearing absolutely nothing beneath the dress he had just discarded on the side of the sofa. He took one look at your naked body sitting on top of him, and then his eyes met yours. “Were you wearing nothing beneath that the whole time?”

You nodded with your head meekly, biting your lower lip to hide your smile. “I thought you’d appreciate it,” you shrugged.

Even though you had been together for months now, a blush still painted your cheeks red in utter shyness. From the night he met you, he has seen you naked, due to the nature of your relationship. It was natural for him to see your shyness then, but now, after all these months, he found it endearing.

“You know I do,” he admitted as you leaned over to latch your lips with his. “You know everything you do drives me crazy,” he purred in between kisses.

His hands explored your back, circling over to clutch at the curve of your waist, knowing that would bring your body alight. You pushed your chest to him, muffling a moan in his mouth, something he returned at once when he felt your pebbled nipples on his skin. A hand pressed on your back, squeezing you to his hard body.

Your fingers found his nape, sliding to tangle on the locks of his beautiful dark hair. He dyed it recently with a dark chocolate tone, bringing back the shadow of the man you met when he used to live right next to your apartment. Your fingernails grazed his scalp, bringing out a salacious moan from him.

The sound reverberated against your chest, sending a chill that ran thick through your body. It only egged you on, your fingers trailed down from his nape to his neck, caressing his skin ever so gently.

The delicate touches left tingling sensations in their wake, slowly driving Joshua crazy. His hands clenched the curve of your waist one more time before finding your ass, cupping it with a raspy groan from his part.

You pulled away from his lips with a rich smacking noise. “Not so fast,” you mumbled with a tilt of your head. A confused look shot through the features of his face, making you clarify: “Not until I get your clothes off.”

Joshua understood where you were going right away. His dark, glinting eyes marvelled at the sight of you, face still flushed, naked and on top of him. He nodded, letting you take his wrists and driving his large hands from your ass to your thighs, where they rested instead.

You grabbed his chin with your fingers daintily, leaning over to place a small peck on his lips. “Good boy,” you whispered. “Now let me get you out of those jeans.”

Completely enamored, he just nodded, heart fluttering uneasily in his chest when you flashed him a cute smile. You placed another kiss on the corner of his lips, fingers pinching his chin softly before you carried on with your task.

You raked his torso with the tips of your fingers, making him draw in a breath sharply at the sensation. “I like you so much,” you mumbled with an airy tone, looking at his figure, the curve of his strong shoulders and biceps.

In your admiring his body, you were not aware of his eyes doing the same thing, outlining every inch, every curve of your body on top of his. “You’re so hot,” you added almost aloofly.

“Ditto,” he mumbled, recalling the times you have exchanged a similar expression. He squeezed your thighs gently, bringing your gaze to meet his. There, in his eyes, you saw the love and adoration he felt for you.

You did not resist the urge to kiss him, so you did exactly that by closing the space between your lips.

“You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen,” he mumbled sweetly, the statement bringing a light chuckle out of you, so he emphasized: “The hottest. I fell for you instantly.”

“Did you?” you smiled.

“Absolutely,” he whispered. “All grumpy at me in your bunny pjs,” he enjoyed the meek smile appearing on your face. “The prettiest… and the hottest.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile did not disappear. “Shut up,” you mouthed, the aloofness persisted as you ran your hands on his chest, feeling his pecs up. Then he understood that you were entranced, your eyes lost on his nakedness.

“Make me,” he whispered, a knowing smirk spreading on his beautiful lips.

Your smile turned playful, giving him a chaste kiss. “Bad boy,” you whispered, propping yourself on your knees to scoot back a little and then he felt the tips of your fingers on his lower abdomen, making him draw in another breath.

He looked at your fingers tracing a line over the soft hairs of his happy trail, meeting the band of his boxers peeking beneath his jeans. Then he darted a look at your face, finding out that you were biting your lower lip in excitement and anticipation. Your eyes locked with his briefly, the corners of your lips lifting a little right before you tugged at the button of his jeans free.

Joshua smiled slightly when you gave him a rushed, feathery kiss. “Help me?” you whispered, climbing off him and the couch while hooking your fingers on the band of his boxers. He lifted his hips from his seat, as you pulled both his jeans and boxers down his thighs and got rid of them completely.

But instead of climbing back on top of him, you eased down on your knees between his legs. Joshua noticed your eyes widen slightly as you outlined his body, your hands caressing his meaty thighs. He leaned back on the couch, so his head was resting back as he watched you explore his body with your eyes, with your hands.

Joshua was a beautiful man. As you took in the sheer beauty of his body, bathed by the soft orange glow of the lights, you felt lucky of being his partner.

You caressed his thighs with your hands, as he cupped one of your cheeks, making your eyes fall on his bulging biceps and his well toned pecs, the curve that formed beneath them. A half smile tugged his lips when you licked yours.

You held his gaze for a moment, a fluttering sensation invading you in your tummy. Joshua was ready for you, the features of his face relaxing slightly when your hand circled his shaft. You touched him at first, his soft and veiny skin, pumping him gently from the base of his cock to the head slick with precum.

You spread the precum with the palm of your hand all over his cockhead before moving your fist up and down, enjoying the way his gaze darkened, his mouth parted slightly. His lust-filled eyes were trained on you as you leaned down, pressing your lips on the tip of his cock, kissing him playfully.

Joshua smiled lightly at the sight of you, using his fingers to push your hair away from your face. But the smile faded, just as you took his cockhead inside your mouth, licking his precum, humming slightly in delightfulness at the taste of him.

He released a small grunt through his parted rosy lips, you took him deeper inside your mouth, your hand moving to his base to pump him with gentle strokes at first. You bobbed your head slowly, eyes locked on his face to see him responding to you just how you expected.

Joshua closed his eyes, closing his mouth to breathe in slowly. His hand slid from your cheek to the side of your head to thread his fingers through your hair, following the movements of your head on his cock. “Faster… please, baby,” he mumbled faintly.

You followed suit, picking up the pace. You hollowed out your cheeks as you pulled your mouth up to his cockhead, swirling your tongue on his tip. His body tensed on the couch, his nose scrunching as he groaned, gritting his teeth. “Fuck… yes,” he sighed. “Just like that.”

A fluttering sensation invaded you, chest swelling with pride when you heard his raspy, deep grunts escaping him. His fingers coiled around your hair, and his other hand joined on the other side of your head, helping you move on him as you took him in deeper.

Silence had flooded the room, only interrupted by soft, smacking noises and the deep grunts from Joshua. Occasionally, he would cuss under his breath, but his face remained relaxed, lost in the sight of you taking his cock in your mouth expertly.

Joshua loved watching you like this, he loved that you knew every step to drive him absolutely crazy. It was taking everything in him to stop his hips to thrust forward. However, you read his movements, pausing before attempting to take him ever deeper into your mouth, gagging around him as his cockhead reached your throat.

“Careful, baby,” he cautioned, retaking the control. You followed, pausing for breath before you tried to deepthroat him again. He saw your eyes start to water, and his thumb reached to scoop a tear rolling down your cheek.

It was your eagerness to take him whole what made him tip his head back, his throat bobbing as he swallowed a deep moan. “Fuck,” he breathed, feeling the muscles of your mouth relax and contract around his cock. “You’re taking me so well, baby.”

Your movements slowed down slightly and became smaller now that his cockhead reached your throat, you retreated your head slightly and pushed again, drool dripping down his shaft and onto your fist. You kept pumping him, though languidly, all your focus was on your mouth on his cock.

“Oh god,” he moaned, opening his eyes to the sight of you deepthroating him, sucking him whole. “Fuck, I’m coming,” he rasped.  

But then you stopped, carefully pulling your head back. But the change made your eyes water, you coughed a little, breathing through your nose.

His mouth hung open, frowning in confusion. “Why did you stop?” he asked, watching you wipe the drool from your lips with the back of your hand.

You grinned, climbing back on top of him to place a chaste kiss on his lips. “You’re coming when I want you to,” you mumbled sweetly, booping the tip of his nose with your finger.

“Baby,” he rasped chidingly, elongating the final vowel of his protest. But his large hands welcomed you, grabbing your hips as you straddled him.

You giggled, kissing his protruding lower lip as he pouted at you. “You’re cute,” you teased.

His studded eyebrow jumped slightly; you should have known better than playing with him like this. “You think so?”

You nodded with your head, a satisfying look glinting in your eyes. “The cutest baby boy,” you purred, bringing a hand on his nape before kissing him. Your other hand searched for his throbbing cock, blindly guiding it to your sopping wet pussy.

A deep moan vibrated in your mouth when you sank down on him, pausing yet again but now to savor the slight painful but delicious stretch of his cock in your walls. Joshua groaned, dropping his head on the headrest of the couch, his hands kneading on your thighs as if that helped him resist his orgasm.

“Look at you,” you cooed softly. “You look so good like this,” you added, toeing between mocking him and appreciating the sweet features of his face riddled by pleasure.

Joshua gulped hard. His gaze, darkened by lust outlined the features of your face as you rolled your hips on his cock. He could not lie, he loved when you took control, he loved to see you grow confident on top of him.

But with one, sudden movement, he thrusted you onto the cushions of the couch. The non-existent heed for your body made you yelp in surprise. He propped himself on his knees, grabbing the back of yours to press your thighs onto your chest.

“Joshua–,” you tried protesting, your face broken in utter confusion when in seconds, he had torn through your dominance like ripping through a piece of paper.

You braced yourself before it happened. Joshua brought down his hand on your exposed cunt, slapping it firmly. Both excitement and pain shot through your body, making you cry out a loud moan that sounded lewder than anything.

Joshua heard the rawness in your moan and understood right away that you had liked it. He tilted his head to one side, smirking as he asked: “Want more?”

You nodded, a glazed look in your eyes before you closed them briefly. Joshua brought his hand down again, right on your sensitive clit, noticing your arousal smeared on the pads of his fingers. He pushed his fingers between your wet folds, to rub circles on your swollen nub.

You flinched when his hand slapped your cunt, but the sound coming out of your mouth did not convey pain. Your face scrunched up in pleasure, your eyebrows knitted, and glossy lips puckered. “More.”

Joshua stopped rubbing your clit with his fingers, raising his hand once more to bring it down with a harsher slap, enjoying the whiny sound tearing through you. He continued to rub your cunt, getting unbearably harder when he noticed the arousal pooling in your entrance. “Filthy girl,” he whispered, a smirk playing in his lips.

“More,” you demanded, your tone dropping to a question.

But Joshua had removed his hand from your throbbing pussy, his fingers encircling around his shaft, pumping it to smear your wetness all over himself. “You’ll take what I give you.”

He then placed a hand on the arm rest above your head, lowering himself on your body as his hand grabbing his hard cock drove it to your entrance, easing himself inside you in one go, filling you up to the point of bringing you to tears.

An airy moan escaped you, and it was not only because his weight was on top of your legs, crushing your chest almost. It was also feeling his girthy cock stretching your pussy, reaching a spot inside you that had your walls clenching around him.

“F-fuck,” you gritted, pushing your head back onto the cushions of the couch. “Joshua,” you whimpered, grabbing his shoulder with one hand. “S-so deep.”

Tears spilled when you blinked, bringing out a wolfish grin from him. “Who’s cute now,” he purred, starting to slam his hips against you with a fast, near animalistic pace. As much as he loved seeing you try your hand at domming him, he loved even more to be the one in charge.

The depth of his hard thrusts became addictive, like fire consuming you rapidly. You writhed beneath him; the tip of his cock reaching a glorious spot inside you every time he slammed his hips against yours.

“Oh god, Josh…” you said between deep breaths. “I’m coming.”

Joshua smiled like this was a game that he just won. But he nodded, kissing the inner side of your knee. He revelled at the sight of you like this: you were crying, stirring, and whining loudly as your orgasm washed over you, making your walls clamp erratically around his cock.

But he kept thrusting inside you, loving the wet sounds that came from your pussy, the way your moans turned airy and raspy. Your eyes had rolled back, your mouth fell open, and he committed to memorize that image of you.

“Joshua… Joshua…” you whimpered, over and over until you were completely breathless.

He eased one of your legs from your chest, wordlessly commanding you to wrap it around his waist, lowering his hips on you, burying his cock deep inside you again. You moaned languidly; eyes closed as you savored the gentle aftershocks of your orgasm.

Joshua was lost in you. In the midst of it all, the faint reminder that this was your last night together in some weeks made his heart clench. He leaned his head down to press his lips on your forehead, the tip of your nose and your lips.

“I love you,” he whispered, unable to bring his voice any louder.

You hummed in response, opening your eyes to see his face. “I love you, Joshua,” you responded, cupping his cheek with one hand to kiss him deeply.

Joshua rested his forehead on yours, sliding a hand under your nape, his fingers tangling in your hair. He retook the brutal pace of his thrusts, feeling your mouth fall open and he blindly mimicked you. Now you were breathing on each other’s mouths, moaning in unison.

Your hands circled his back, holding onto him for dear life as his thrusts knocked the air out of your lungs. “Baby, don’t,” Joshua rasped when your fingernails started digging on the soft skin of his back, bringing out a raw moan from him. “Oh, you fucking brat,” he groaned in both pain and pleasure as you dragged your fingernails down his back, piercing his skin.

You giggled impishly, and he responded with a grin. You removed a hand from his back, cupping his cheek to pull him into a hot, sloppy kiss. He groaned in your mouth, egging you to kiss the underside of his jaw, the curve of his neck, his throat.

“Fuck,” he whispered when you suckled the sensitive spot on his neck you liked so much. But he did not protest or stop your rebellious marking of his neck and back.

You brought his lips back to yours, kissing him chastely. “A little reminder,” you whispered. “So that everyone knows you’re mine,” you traced a circle with the tip of your finger around the marked spot on his neck.

Joshua moaned, pushing his hips desperately against you. “Leave more,” he gasped. “Mark me,” he whispered out his plea to you, turning his head so you could have an easy access to his neck.

The thought of you being possessive over him drove him crazy, pushing him to lose control on top of you. He rolled his hips against you, moaning salaciously as you marked him up from his collarbone to his throat.

“Fuck, baby. Ah. God, fuck,” he squeezed his eyes, scrunching his nose as his thrusts became sloppy. “I’m coming,” he whispered, dropping his head on your shoulder. He moaned repeatedly, fucking his cum deep into your walls.

He pressed his body on yours gently. You wrapped your legs around him as you both regained energies, enjoying each other’s warmth.

You brought a hand to caress his nape, your fingers threading gently his hair. His face was still nuzzled in the curve of your neck, breathing raggedly on your skin. Then he moved his head and rested it on your chest, humming tiredly but relishing in the gentleness of your touch.

Your hand slid from his nape, now caressing gently over the scratch marks you left. A lazy smile drew on your face when you ran your fingertips over the bumpy lines along the line of his back.

Joshua heard you smile, lifting his head to press your lips with his own in a tender way. “Bad girl,” he whispered playfully. “You’re gonna get me in trouble.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Oh, yeah? I didn’t see a lot of resistance from your part,” you teased.

“How could I resist? You have a very effective method of persuasion,” he smirked, nose wrinkling when you chuckled.

“Do I now? Since when?” 

“Since forever,” he rolled his eyes, laughing at the way your voice raised higher. “And you’ve known it since day one.”

“Mm, I don’t think I did,” you mumbled with a sing-song tone. You did that whenever you flirted with him.

Joshua gave you a sweet smile, one of those that melted your heart. “No? Well, you’ve had me wrapped around your finger ever since.”

Your face took on a more serious look, your gaze fell on his lips. You wished to make this moment longer, to postpone his departure. A dark part inside you, one dominated by greed, wanted to ask him to stay with you.

“I love you,” you whispered, searching his eyes again. You tried to convey with those simple words that you were going to miss him, that you wanted to stay with him in this moment forever.

Joshua read your face, noticing that your mood had dropped a little. “I love you,” he replied, thinking of what to say.

And then, a loud knock came to the door.

You jerked in alarm beneath him, drawing in a sharp breath. “Oh god,” you whispered, stretching your neck to look at the door.

But Joshua did not move.

“Josh, someone’s at the door,” you whispered, your body recoiling again when the knock became louder.

“Pretend we’re not in,” he mumbled, nestling his head on your shoulder again.

You turned to look at him in utter disbelief. “Babe,” you tried to move him with one hand. “Move so that I can see who is knocking.”

“But we’re not in,” he did not move an inch.

But whoever was at the other side of the door was not quitting either, knocking once more with urgency.

Joshua groaned in complete annoyance, pushing his body up with his hands, peeling himself off you. “Wait here,” he commanded, a hand reaching for the blanket on the arm rest and draping it over your body.

You watched him curiously as he put on his boxers and walked up to the door, yanking it open and peering out to the hall. Holding the blanket to your chest, you propped your elbow on the cushions of the couch, trying to get what was happening on the exchange.

Joshua appeared to nod his head, stepping closer to the doorframe as if to cover the interior to the apartment to the eyes of whoever was standing in front of him. He nodded once more, lifting a hand to receive something and closed the door with a sharp move.

He rolled his eyes, exhaling softly as he discarded a piece of paper on the table, walking back to you.

“Who was that?” you asked upon seeing his face scrunched up in annoyance.

“We just got a noise complaint,” he announced. “Another one.”

Your heart dropped. “Why?” you demanded, trying to sit up on the couch but you stopped yourself with a horrified expression: “We can’t have more than two, we’ll get an eviction notice.”

“I know, I know,” he muttered softly, sitting next to you on the edge of the couch. “Relax, baby. We could look for another apartment somewhere else,” he shrugged with ease, but you could tell he was still annoyed.

You gaped at him. “What?” you uttered.

“By the looks of it, they want us out of here,” he explained solemnly.

“Why do you say that?”

“They had a noise complaint printed and ready to deliver it,” he exhaled, pushing his hair back with one hand. “Seems like they were waiting for the perfect moment to do it.”

You eased back, sighing with him. “God,” you frowned. “Well, I don’t like that. We weren’t being loud!”

Joshua arched one eyebrow at your protest.

“Not like other times,” you mumbled sheepishly, but your eyes wandered into the nothingness. Your mind had started to fly through all the possible routes of action.

“Hey,” he mumbled, yanking you away from your thoughts. “It’s okay. We could start looking for an even nicer place, with bigger rooms…” he said, his tone fading off.

“Mmn, yeah,” you replied, not noticing that he had thought of something else.

But he recovered swiftly, patting your tummy gently. “Let’s not think about it right now, yeah?” he suggested, giving you a soft smile. “Let me take care of you.”

He rose to his feet, pushing the blanket off and with great ease, he scooped you from the couch, carrying you in his arms bridal style. You squealed in surprise, but you welcomed the nice act, smiling at him softly.

In the shower, he noticed your dreamy eyes on him. “I wonder,” you asked, bringing a finger to connect the marked spots on his neck and collarbones.

“What?” he asked, finishing to rinse the shampoo from his deep brown hair.

“What your fans might will say about these,” you mumbled, finishing the trail of connected lovebites, the last one sitting bellow his collarbone.

“There’s already a lot of speculation,” he said, grabbing your finger from his chest to kiss the pad.

“Oh? What is it about?”

Joshua shrugged with ease. “It’s mostly a debate between people that think that I have a partner and people that think that I’m a serial fuckboy.”

You snorted at the last bit of the sentence.

“Is that funny?” his studded eyebrow twitched slightly.

“A little,” you mumbled, slipping your arms around his neck. “Serial fuckboy,” you teased with a grin. “If they only knew.”

He rolled his eyes at your teasing. He closed the water tap, being so that you both had finished cleaning up. His hands circled your waist, keeping a hand flatly pressed on your lower back. “They’ll go crazy with their speculations when they see these,” he pointed with his nose to his chest.

“That just comes with the job, right?” you mused, looking at him almost dazedly.

He leaned his face to yours, water dripping down his forehead and the tip of his nose. “I just don’t want them to snoop on what we have together,” he shrugged lightly.

“What if that happens?” you asked on a more serious tone.

His beautiful dark eyes read your face intently, but he just shook his head lightly, placing a kiss on your forehead. “It won’t happen,” he said, his tone lace with promise.

Then he removed his arms from your body, reaching behind you to grab your bathrobe, offering it to you. “You’re pretty sure of that,” you observed as he helped you put the robe on.

“What are you thinking? Do you want to plan?” he offered, darting a look to your face.

You could tell that the topic of conversation made him uncomfortable. He didn't like the idea of the world knowing about you and, quite possibly, ruining your writing career, in which anonymity was a major part.

“I just think that I want to be ready if they find out about our relationship,” you said nonchalantly, exiting the shower and went ahead to towel dry your hair. “If it comes to it, we can handle it. Who knows, maybe it won’t be that bad,” you suggested offhandedly, walking out of the bathroom.

Joshua followed you to the bedroom after wiping himself with his towel. “Wait, you’re not worried about your anonymity?”

“I don’t know, Josh,” you sighed, sitting down on the foot of the bed. You clasped your hands on your towel, pausing pensively. “I think that it’s best if we’re prepared.”

Joshua walked up to you slowly, making your eyes swivel from the wall of the room to meet his gaze. “Why don’t we leave the plans for another night, mn?” he suggested, bringing a hand to your cheek, cupping it briefly.

You nodded, taking in a deep breath. “Alright,” you said.

He pulled a pair of clean boxers up to his waist and turn around to continue packing his bags. You noticed he did this in a near mechanical way, by grabbing the clothes that were already folded from the closet. You drew your legs in and hugged them as you continued to see him finish packing the first of his suitcases.

As Joshua turned to continue with his task, it was then when you noticed his back, red with the marks you left with your fingernails, some of the scratches looked thicker than others. “Oh my god, I marked you up so bad,” you giggled shamefully, bringing a hand to cover your face.

Joshua gave you a confused look, but then he understood. “Is it that bad?” he walked over to the full body mirror you had on one corner of the bedroom, turning to peek to his marked up back.

His eyes fell on you, sitting cross-legged on the bed, one hand covering your face in complete shame. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled.

“It’s not bad, baby,” he decided, turning around to take a few steps toward the foot of the bed where you still sat.

He planted a knee on the edge of the bed, followed by his hands at the same time you laid back, moving your legs for him to slot his body between them.

“I kind of like it,” he said, pressing his lips on the tip of your nose. “I like it when you act all possessive over me,” he smirked. “And I remembered that you have a thing for pain during sex.”

You let out a muffled sigh. “Josh! I don’t think I do,” you countered, but your tone sounded so insecure that it had you smiling shamefully.

“Mn, you bratty little thing, did you like to inflict pain on me?” he purred, enjoying the flustered look on your face. He did not wait for your answer, because he already knew it. “If it makes you feel better, I liked it too.”

“Why don’t we do it more often?” you pried, sneaking a look at his eyes that had your tummy clenching in nervousness.

Joshua had to pause for a second to gather his thoughts. “It’s not the thing that I’m more inclined to do,” he said pensively, his eyelids hooded to look at your face. “And also, I still don’t know how far I can take you.”

“Well then we should try it one day and see,” you offered him a meek smile.

“If you want to, baby,” he whispered, planting a light kiss on the tip of your nose. “Let’s add it to the list.”

Okay, you breathed, noticing the heavy-lidded eyes starting to look drowsy, even his speech had started to become slow and slurry. “Let’s go to bed?” you offered.

Joshua nodded his head slowly. “Let’s go to bed,” he accepted.

You moved on the bed until you reached the fluffy pillows. Scurrying beneath the covers you patiently waited for your boyfriend to occupy his space in your bed. You watched him get beneath the bed sheets beside you, a soft smile drawing on his face when you scooted to him at once.

You had four hours until he had to go to the airport. You saw his phone screen lit up, showing the picture he had of you as his wallpaper. He made no note of your eyes shifting from his phone to his face, he was deep in thought.

“Nervous?” you whispered.

He nodded again, much as if it were sinking within him that these were his last hours of normalcy before he was launched back into the wild-paced life that is being a rockstar.

“You’re going to do great, baby,” you said with a reassuring tone. “I’ll be here cheering you on, watching you.”

A warm feeling poured over his heart. “Once I learn when I have a break, I’ll come see you,” he promised, the feeling in his heart making his tone quiver. “Or I’ll fly you in wherever I’m at.”

Joshua hated how repetitive he sounded. He said this right before he left for his first tour. And you wondered, inevitably, if this time would be different.

“Take things easy,” you mumbled, your speech had started to sound languid too, dragging the words. “I don’t want you to stress yourself over things you can’t control, Joshua. And those you can, take them one at a time.”

Your boyfriend had to pause and let your words take form inside his mind. When he knew what you meant, he nodded. “I’m trying,” he said faintly. He knew you meant well. He did. But he could not help but feel a deep wave of shame wash over him. “I’m trying to get better at this.”

Your eyes dropped. “I know, babe, that’s not what I meant,” you tried to justify, but it was too late. “I–I just mean–I don’t want you to stress yourself too much.” 

He pushed the feeling deep down and nodded. “I won’t, baby. Don’t worry,” he breathed out the words. He shifted under the covers and onto his back. “Come over here,” he motioned you to his chest, and you lied your head on his heart.

You felt his hand searched for yours, and you instinctively held his fingers. He brought your hand to his lips, kissing the tips of your fingers one by one to then kiss your knuckles.

You raised your head a little, planting a kiss on his cheek. “I love you,” you mumbled, drawing his gaze from the darkness to yours.

“I love you,” he mumbled back, pressing your lips with a featherlight kiss. “So much,” he emphasized.

It broke your heart to hold back your true feelings about him leaving. Joshua already looked sad. As though he were mere minutes to leave, not hours. You lied back on his chest, his heartbeat strumming under your ear, bringing you to a quick sleep without you even knowing.

Joshua did not want to leave either. And that thought he carried onto his dreams.

His sleep was interrupted abruptly. A tight feeling trying to choke him was what drove him to snap his eyes open. As his mind gained some lucidity, the bits and pieces of his dream stung his eyes, the tight feeling coiling in his chest giving way to a broken sob.

“Joshua?” you raised your head right away, bringing a hand to touch his cheek. “What’s wrong? Babe?”

It took him some time to realize that he could not move, fear set in instantly, but he held onto the touch of your hands, and the sound of your voice calling his name. First, he blinked the tears away, letting them go unwillingly but his eyes found you, then his hands.

“Joshua, answer me,” he heard you plead, the worry in your tone palpable.

“I’m okay,” he rasped, gulping hard before reassuring, more to himself than to you: “I’m okay.”

“Tell me what’s going on,” you said, not buying his words.

Joshua frowned before he could even understand what you were demanding. He closed his eyes briefly, his eyelids trembled over the tears that threatened to brim in. Fragments of what he saw last flooded his mind and he shook his head, remembering nothing.

“I think it was just a bad dream, baby,” he reassured. But the broken feeling in his chest persisted.

Your thumb caressed his cheek. “You can talk to me,” you mumbled, and when his eyes found your face again, he saw the worry he had heard in your tone.

“I don’t remember anything,” he swore, and he saw your eyes dim. “Let’s go back to sleep.”

You nodded, placing your head back on his chest. Your hand lowered from his cheek, caressing his bare chest.

Joshua heard you release a sigh, and then your body eased back on top of him. The caress of your hand ceased slowly, and then he knew that you had fallen asleep again.

It would not be long before he came back. He would go away from some weeks, then he would come back and leave again; he would have opportunities to come back home to you. To sleeping next to you. Being with you.

But the prospect of not having this frightened him. Joshua had not only fallen in love with you, but with the tiny, quiet life he had by your side. He just had to learn to find the balance between this life he was so in love with and the life he had worked so hard to achieve.

Joshua woke up again to the sound of his alarm, jolting at the frantic stammering of his heart, his fist instinct was to reach for his phone and shut the beeping alarm off.

His arms encircled you again, it seemed as though you had not changed positions, your head was still lying on his chest. You inhaled deeply, breathing in the scent of his skin, humming sweetly as his hand found a way beneath your t-shirt, caressing your back.

Not a word was spoken. But there was an unmistakable feeling lingering in the air that you both tried to push away. Joshua met your cheek with his hand, at the same time that you craned your neck to find his lips with your own.

You brushed his hair back with your hand, a low moan coiling in the back of your throat when he wrapped you with one arm, effortlessly pulling your body on top so your front was fully flushed with his.

His hand moved from your cheek to meet the curve of your waist, sliding down to grip your hips from both sides while you moved your knees on each of his sides, straddling him. Your hands cupped his beautiful face, deepening the slow and sloppy kiss.

Both of you hummed at the same time, Joshua’s low, raspy tone only caused you to sit harder on his lower tummy. His hands helped you move down on him, now pressing your crotch to his, swallowing a moan as your tongue outlined his lower lip.

“Josh, we don’t have time for this,” you whispered, a tiny giggle making your words quiver. “We’ll be late.”

“I don’t care,” he responded gruffly, his hand was already searching for your panties, pushing them aside with one finger as you lifted your hips.

Your hand pushed his boxers down, grabbing his cock by the thick shaft. You rolled your hand once, pumping him a couple of times before easing yourself down on him. A strangled moan came out of you once you bottomed out on him.

“Alright?” he whispered, hearing your groan, and recognizing that it was not entirely from pleasure.

“It’s okay,” you replied, bending over to rest your forehead on his. “I’m just a bit sore from last night, that’s all.”

“We can stop,” he offered, his hands tightening their grip on your hips.

You shook your head. “Just give me a minute,” you mumbled shakily.

Joshua nodded slightly. “Kiss me,” he whispered, moving his hand from your hip to your cheek, bringing your lips to his own.

He moaned as your walls tensed and loosened around his cock, your warmth covering him down to his hilt as your arousal started to drip down. Just to feel him hard and buried deep inside you turned you on so badly you kissed him harder, making him moan.

“You don’t have to move,” he rasped when he felt your hips swaying up and down. “We can stay like this.”

“I want to feel you,” you responded quietly, rolling your hips with a fuller motion. You joined your lips with his, slowly deepening the kiss.

Joshua moaned, letting himself be swallowed by your warmth and love, trying to memorize to heart what it feels like being yours. To be loved by you. He closed his eyes tightly, breathing out the euphoric feeling gripping him wholly.

You pulled back for air, your lips making a soft smacking noise when you broke the kiss. “I love you, Joshua,” you breathed, burying your fingers in his mane of dark hair.

“I love you too,” he responded, his voice thickening with emotion. “You can’t imagine how much.”

Even though it was early in the morning, the airport was busy. As you climbed out of the car, you noticed Joshua’s anxiety kicking in. The posture of his body changed, and his gaze seemed to darken, and it was not only because of the hairs of his fringe tangling with his eyelashes. It was the way he looked around, probably making sure that the coast was clear.

Joshua did this lately. After he made sure that no one had known of his whereabouts, he extended a hand for you to hold. And when you did, he laced his long fingers with yours, pulling you closer as though he did not want you to get caught in the sea of people.

“Do you see Hannie?” he asked quietly beside you, adjusting the mask covering his mouth and squaring his shoulders to shift the backpack hanging on his shoulders.

You shook your head no. In fact, you had not started looking for him until your boyfriend suggested the idea for you.

Finding Jeonghan was quick. And easy. “There,” you squeezed Joshua’s hand with yours and nodded to the man perched on a massage chair.

Jeonghan’s head was lolling to one side languidly, his chest and shoulders shaking as the massage chair worked on his back. Joshua spotted the man as soon as you pointed and changed courses to meet up to him.

“Hey,” Joshua gently budged his shoulder, freeing the handle of his suitcase to do so.

Jeonghan opened his eyes, raising his head to peer under his baseball cap. “Oh, Joshuji,” he giggled awkwardly when his voice vibrated too. “There you are, you two. You’re late.”

“Yeah, you don’t say,” Joshua mumbled dismissively. “Let’s go, Hannie,” he urged the man, budging him another time but firmer, chuckling as he did so.

“Can’t you wait until this thing finishes?” he nagged, but then surrendered quickly when Joshua used his hand again to slap his shoulder. “Ah! Fine, okay,” he sighed, rising to his feet in front of you. “Hi, baby,” he muttered warmly.

“Hi, Jeongjeong,” you smiled at him, seeing his face made your tummy flutter uneasily. His eyes found yours, right before he planted a peck on your lips. His hand brushed your arm gently before he placed one peck on the tip of your nose.

The fluttering feeling intensified, making your breathing ragged. Your eyes shifted to your surroundings, thinking that people would find it weird that you were kissing one man while holding the hand of another man.

But you found out that no one was paying attention to you.

“Come on,” Joshua squeezed your hand gently.

“Okay,” Jeonghan conceded, following you when Joshua pulled you to his direction as he strode to do check his bags. Where you stayed back with Jeonghan as you both waited for Joshua.

“You’re okay, princess?” Jeonghan asked quietly, standing with his arms crossed and closely behind you.

You turned to see his eyes, partly covered by his cap. “Yeah, I’m okay,” you replied flatly, but your lie was made obvious by the way you quickly yanked your gaze from his face. “You know,” you sighed. “I don’t want to say goodbye.”

“Well, it’ll just be a few weeks,” he said in a consoling tone. “And we are going to visit him, we’ll watch him play for the biggest venues, it’ll be fine.”

You searched his eyes one more time. The confidence and reassurance he offered you never failed to do their work.

And he also never failed to read you perfectly well. “It’s not that what’s got you anxious, is it?” he mumbled with a lower tone.

You swallowed your words.

“What happened to trusting him?” he mused, the slightest of smirks playing on his lips. “When did that fly out the window?”

“I’m just overthinking,” you brushed off, sending a glance towards your boyfriend and felt guilty. “I didn’t like doing long distance the first time he went away.”

Jeonghan rolled his eyes. “Again, baby. It’ll be just a few weeks,” he leaned his head to his shoulder, looking at you with gentle eyes. “Don’t be afraid. Let’s just trust him, okay?”

Joshua was walking back to you and Jeonghan, you knew by the look on his face that he needed to go. “The boys are at the gates already,” he mentioned, sighing with heavy reluctance, and looked to you. “I have to go now.”

You nodded, but you could not stop the remorse gripping your heart. “Yeah, okay,” you forced out.

Joshua scanned the features of your face briefly before turning to Jeonghan. They exchanged a meaningful look, making you wish for the nth time to tap into the wavelength they jealously kept to themselves. But you kept your eyes on them as Joshua extended a hand for Jeonghan to clasp firmly.

Joshua pulled him into a hug. “Ah, okay,” Jeonghan muttered with an air of awkwardness, being caught by surprise. “I’ll miss you too, Joshuji,” he coughed up a chuckle.

“Take care, Jeonghannie,” Joshua brought up his hand to pat on his best friend’s head, and something told you this used to be a normal exchange between them.

“Yeah, you too,” Jeonghan darted a look to your face. “Keep in touch, yeah? Don’t be a stranger.”

It was then that you felt some semblance of reassurance. You could feel your own distractions dissipating as soon as you saw the two men you love hugging each other. Joshua was trying to change, so you had to let go of your fears too.

“Course,” Joshua muttered as he stepped back, a weary look in his eyes as these searched you one more time.

You reached out to him just as his arms wrapped you in, once your chest was tightly pressed against his, you let out a tiny sob.

“No, baby, don’t cry, please,” he muttered, turning his face so he could press a kiss on the crown of your head.

You took a big gulp of air to calm your sobs. “I’ll miss you, Josh,” you told him, tightening your arms around his torso.

“I’ll miss you too, baby,” he replied with a strained voice. As soon as he heard your sobs, the sharp feeling returned to grip his heart. “I’ll call you. Every day.”

“Please,” you whispered shakily, moving your face to meet his.

The feeling coiled around his heart tighter when he saw your teary eyes, but you kept yourself steady and strong as you locked eyes with him. Your plea to him was clear, and he nodded to you.

“I promise,” he whispered back, leaning down to press his lips in your forehead.

You grabbed his face with your hands, giving him a quick kiss. “I love you,” you mumbled meekly.

Joshua sighed, smiling at the shyness you displayed. “Kiss me properly,” he giggled into your mouth before slotting his lips between yours.

A warm tingling feeling invaded you, lingering beneath your hot cheeks. The kiss deepened, and even if you were aware of Jeonghan’s eyes on both you and Joshua, you let yourself ease into the kiss, moving your lips on his in a seamless dance.

“I love you,” he mumbled with a sweet smile, leaning to press a kiss on the tip of your nose.

And with that, Joshua released you from his embrace, patting Jeonghan’s shoulder right before turning to walk towards the gates, where he joined the mass of people and eventually disappeared.

Joshua was gone again.

The ride back home was a strong reminiscent of the first time Joshua left on tour.

The sun was rising, the wet pavement was shimmering with the sunlight and from the rain that washed overnight. The windows of the car were covered with a light layer of mist, you rubbed your hands together, trying to warm them up a little.

You lifted one finger and drew a smiley face on the car window.

“Oi,” Jeonghan jolted you awake. “No drawing on the windows!” he berated you playfully.

You added some rays around the face, turning it into a smiley sun.

“Ah, you little…” he giggled, sliding a hand on your thigh. “So, have you decided what you want for breakfast?”

You shook your head, gaze falling on Jeonghan’s hand parked on your thigh. “I just want to go home.”

“Okay, home it is then,” he mumbled sweetly.

You paused for a second. “I do want blueberry muffins, though.”

“Ah, alright,” he giggled, patting your thigh gently. “Let’s go get muffins, baby.”

You knew that Jeonghan had commenced his plan to distract you from the emptiness of going back to an empty apartment. When you got there, and saw the table cluttered with the stuff from the dinner of the night before, it was not as painful as you thought it would be.

Jeonghan kept quiet at first, helping you remove the cups of wine and taking them to the sink. The glances he sent to check on you continued until he decided you were alright, that your silence was not because you felt sad, and although you did, it was merely because you were going to miss Joshua.

“Do you want coffee?” Jeonghan, his soft voice breaking through the barriers of your mind.

“I’d love that,” you replied, offering him a reassuring smile.

You followed him to the kitchen, putting the rest of the plates in the sink. “Leave that there,” Jeonghan muttered as you reached for the scrub. “I’ll do the dishes.”

“You don’t have to, Hannie,” you said, noticing that he was trying to accommodate to your gloomy mood and do nice things for you.

“But I want to,” he shrugged, but then you saw a light smirk lifting the corners of his pretty lips. “You do the breakfast, though. It’s your turn,” he said, finishing with a broader smile.

“Pff, okay,” you huffed, a smile appearing on your face.

Jeonghan’s eyes lit up, outlining the features of your face swiftly. “And then maybe we could watch a movie,” he offered, trying to hold your gaze for as long as he could. “But then I have to go to work.”

You raised your eyes to his. And he noticed the question written in your face.

“Wanna come with?”

You nodded with your head silently.

“Okay, then,” he breathed in, pressing the button on the coffee maker on. Then he busied himself with doing the dishes, swiftly looking your way as you prepared two omelettes.

A shy smile crept on your face, being scrutinized by his sweet brown eyes just made you feel uneasy. Jeonghan noticed, moving to stand behind you so you would not feel his gaze on you, but then he did matters worse. His arms encircled your waist, hugging you from behind, his chest pressed to your back.

“What?” he asked when you lowered your head, smiling when he pressed a kiss on your shoulder.

“Nothing,” you mumbled, squirming slightly when his breath fanned your nape. “You make me nervous.”

“Why?” he whispered, he looked at your eyes, then your lips.

“I like you,” you replied in kind. You thought it was obvious.

The way his eyes lit up made your stomach flutter with butterflies. “I like you more, princess,” he said, his low tone quivering.

Your cheeks tingled, making you focus back on the stove and served two plates almost in a methodical way. “Do you think it’s strange?” you pried. “That I want to be with two people at once?”

“You know I don’t think so,” he replied matter-of-factly. “If the real question is, do I think people would find it strange, then yes.”

You coughed up a chuckle. “That’s helpful,” you scoffed, but you could not ignore that it had deflated you a little.

“But they’re not us,” you felt him shrug behind you. “What matters is what happens between Joshua, you and me, right?”

“What do you think?”

Jeonghan pondered for a second. He stopped hugging you and took the plates from the counter, turning to set them on the table. "Sit," he nodded to the chair before turning back to grab the two cups of coffee.

You sat down as Jeonghan set a cup down on the table for you and then himself. He then dropped himself into the seat next to you, a hand flipping the visor of baseball cap.

The tips of his ears poked out; his hair tucked behind them. You instinctively reached out to push some lose hairs behind his ear, drawing his heavy lashed eyes to yours.

A small smile appeared on his face as he caught your hand, pressing his lips to the pads of your fingers. Your stomach dropped in nervousness.

“So?”

“I don’t think it’s weird that you want to be with Joshua and me at the same time,” he said, sinking his fork into the omelette. As he chewed on his food, he lifted his gaze to the ceiling, appearing to be formulating his sentence: “I think we haven’t talked about the… more complicated aspects of dating two people at the same time. At least not the three of us.”

“Oh, so you have. You and Joshua?” you raised your eyebrows.

He nodded. “I asked him if he was sure about all of this,” his lips pouted as he chewed.

“What did he say?” you asked slowly.

“Eat,” he motioned to your untouched food, noticing that you were so caught up with the conversation that you forgot to eat your omelette. “I asked why he agreed to this, since he’s the most jealous guy I’ve ever known,” he shrugged, pausing with the piece of omelette in front of his mouth. “He says he doesn’t know why, but he wants this. You know?”

You nodded, chewing on your food.

“But I think we need to have this conversation again, the three of us when he comes back,” he continued, much as if his thoughts had organized neatly in his head. “Because I’m new to this, sometimes I feel like I’m catching up to the two of you.”

“I’m new to this too,” you frowned.

“I mean that I’m sort of… joining the two of you. Joshua and you already have an established relationship,” his eyes flitted around the room. From the two large noise amps that sat on the corner of the living room, to the table beside the dining table covered in photo frames of shots of you and Joshua. His eyes glanced at the shoe rack by the front door, filled with your and Joshua’s shoes before resting on you once more. “I just got to the party.”

You smiled at the way he conceptualized the polycule you have arranged. You set your elbow on the table, resting your head on your fist. “Well, we have time to bring you up to speed,” you smirked at him.

That seemed to catch his attention. His eyebrow quirked up. “Mm, I like to hear that,” he smirked back at you. He looked at your other hand resting on the table and did not hesitate to take it in his, his fingers playing with yours. “When do we start?”

“Today,” you giggled when you did not skip a beat to give him your answer. “You need to get ready because you're going to speed through this, old man.”

Jeonghan laughed, the sound of his chuckles warming your heart. “Oh yeah?” he arched an eyebrow. “What are we going to speed through today?”

“I don’t know what the steps are,” you admitted. “Joshua and I kind of flew through the steps to having conventional a relationship.”

“And I just got here to make it even more unconventional?” he added, smirking playfully.

“Or to make it more fun,” you quipped but then you shook your head. “I don’t know. You could take me out on a fancy dinner. Give me a reason to dress up.”

“Is that step number one?” he asked, enjoying your playful back and forth.

“Oh, no, you’re in like step number five already,” you quipped with a light chuckle.

“Ah, yeah?” he raised his eyebrows. “When did I climb the other four steps?”

You held up a hand and showed him your pointer finger, signaling a number one. “We hold hands,” you held up another finger, signaling number two. “We’ve kissed, multiple times. Three, we’ve slept together, four we’ve had sex–,”

“Multiple times,” he rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you’re right. What’s next?”

You shrugged. “You tell me,” taking a big gulp from your cup of coffee.

“I’d like you to meet my friends,” he said, giving you a meaningful look.

Jeonghan gave a lot of importance to his friendships. You knew that even before you met him, since Joshua told you about him, about him being his greatest confidant. So, meeting his friends meant a lot to him.

Your ears perked up at this. “Oh, your friends from work?” you asked, and he nodded with his head meekly. “Let’s do it. I’d love that.”

“Nice,” he smiled with satisfaction. “Step number five.”

“You’re gonna grow bored,” he commented off-handedly as he held the door open for you.

“That’s why I brought a book with me,” you replied with a sing-song tone. “I don’t really know what you do for your job, so I probably will be paying attention to you.”

“That’s not…” he sighed and dropped his gaze to the ground, smiling shyly. He took your hand, looking at your fingers as you laced them with his.

You laughed in nervousness at your own bad attempts at flirting.

Jeonghan lead you through the establishment. You had been here before, but everything you remembered about the place was a blur. That time you were distraught, your mind was cluttered with thoughts about your big argument with Joshua, and your feelings for Jeonghan.

The interior of the place was beautiful, it struck you along with its quietness. As you followed Jeonghan through its cold halls, you marvelled at the walls decorated with large posters of their most successful plays.

“This way,” Jeonghan whispered, not really noticing that you saw his name plastered on one of the posters. He opened a door to you, showing you to the room that extended bellow you in rows of seats, and large steps that lead to the big stage. “Come on.”

The stage was not vacant, as you initially had expected. A group of people sat in a circle, and some were practicing a choreography in the background, a couple of men pushing a large stage prop to one corner.

It was so packed in fact that no one noticed you and Jeonghan coming in. “Wait here,” he mumbled, showing you to one seat in the front row.

You watched as Jeonghan paced towards the stage, rolling the sleeves of his hoodie up to his elbows. Something encircling his wrist caught your eye, just as he grabbed it to toy with it. It was your scrunchie, and it had been so long since you had seen it that it brought a smile to your face.

You sat down on the seat, closely following Jeonghan. He put himself to work at once, he was handed a tablet and people approached him, you saw him nod and shake his head, then he pointed at the stage lights.

He nodded to the person he was speaking to and seemingly came to an agreement. Then he turned, looking at the tablet in his hands as he approached your seat in the front row.

“Bored yet?” he asked, seating himself beside you.

“The opposite,” you grinned. “What are you doing?”

He lowered the tablet on his thigh. “Just doing a general revision before this rehearsal. We’re closer to putting this show together. These are the final days before the opening show,” he motioned to the table sitting on his lap. “And here I can see which are the scenes we’re going to rehearse, and I know what to oversee.”

You moved your head up and down, slowly. “Interesting,” you noted. “And what scene are we rehearsing today?”

Jeonghan leaned to your side, looking at the screen. “At the gates of Emerald city,” he recited the title scene with a pleased tone. “So, lightings, costume changes, the song, and choreography. Easy.”

You raised your eyebrows at him. “Easy, eh?” you mumbled.

He sucked in a breath through his teeth pensively. “I just have to make sure that everything’s going smoothly, you know?” he smirked. “Imagine I’m the teacher and the class are showing me their homework.”

You laughed, and that brought a big smile to his face. “And that’s all you do?”

“I get the playwright, the writers, the cast, the crew, and the budget,” he listed with a straight face, but you saw the cunning in his eyes. “I call the shots, baby.”

You snorted but drew from his confidence to say: “Alright, chief. Let’s see what you got.”

Jeonghan’s eyes flashed back to you, then to your lips. “Ready when you are,” he mumbled, continuing to lean to you when–

“Director-nim!” a snappy voice called from below one end of the stage. You followed the sound of the voice. The young man was flashing Jeonghan an annoyed look.

“What?” Jeonghan responded, his tone dropping to one you rarely heard on him.

“Yoon Jeonghan! Stop flirting and come here!”

“This guy,” he said under his breath as he stood up. “I’ll be right back,” he told you as he approached the group where the young man was showing him a daring smile.

The phone you stuck between your thighs started vibrating, pulling you out of your focus. Joshua’s name displayed on the screen, along with a photo of him that you took on one of your dates.

“Hi, handsome,” you responded to his call, a smile spreading on your face almost at once.

“Hi, beautiful,” his sweet voice came to your ear a second after. “I just landed.”

“How was your flight? You sound tired,” you noted.

“I didn’t get much sleep on the flight. But we’re on the way to the hotel and hopefully I can sleep before I begin with the promotional activities,” his tone dropped slightly, then he paused pensively before: “I can’t wait till I’m back home. I miss you already.”

A spasm in your chest made you choke out. “I miss you too, babe,” you replied, sneaking a look to Jeonghan walking back to you.

“I’ll call you when I’m at the hotel,” Joshua said. “I have to go.”

“Okay,” you mumbled. “Love you.”

“I love you too, baby.”

Jeonghan sat down beside you again, a knowing look on his face as he motioned a question with one movement of his head. “Everything okay?”

You tucked your phone between your thighs again. “Yeah. Everything’s okay. Josh just landed,” you sighed and looked back at him. “You?”

Jeonghan nodded when he saw your assurance. “These brats were trying to grab my attention,” he said with a hint of annoyance, which was quickly replaced with a cheeky smile. “They want to know who you are.”

“Oh, are they your friends?” you asked, sending a quick glance to the small group of performers gathered to one side of the stage. You caught the eye of one of the men. And you recognized him right away.

Jeonghan leaned back on the seat, crossing one leg as he nodded. “My friends first. Then I tried to get them into castings, and when I got my company settled they were there every step of the way.”

“They seem… fun,” you frowned, paying attention to the commotion that was starting to take place in the small group of Jeonghan’s friends. “I know one of them.”

“Who, Seokmin?” he guessed right away.

“Yeah, he was–,”

“Joshua’s flatmate, yeah. I introduced them,” he smirked.

“And you think it’s okay to introduce them to me like this?” you asked sheepishly.

“Well, we don’t have to give any explanation,” he shrugged. “But I do see how this could be uncomfortable for you.”

“I just don’t want people close to Joshua to think that I’m cheating on him,” you whispered, dropping your gaze to your hands.

Jeonghan stilled. “Yeah, I didn’t think of that,” he sighed with a hint of disappointment. “Maybe we could do this another way.”

Your heart deflated at once. “I still want to meet them.”

He pondered about it for a second. “I don’t want people to think you cheated on Joshua either,” he agreed, pursing his lips. “Tell you what, let’s wait for another opportunity. With a lot more privacy.”

You looked around the theatre room, catching several pairs of curious eyes on both you and Jeonghan. “Yeah, you’re right.”

After being with him all day in what truly felt like a regular day you would spend with a partner, Jeonghan took you to dinner with him, and went for a stroll, talking about everything and nothing while holding hands.

It had been a nice time, but more pressing matters distracted you: work. You needed to work since the last few days your focus was on enjoying Joshua’s last days at home.

“Are you… staying the night?” you asked as the car turned down the street you lived in.

Jeonghan had one hand on the steering wheel, and the other was clasped with yours. “No, baby, not tonight,” he decided after two long seconds.

“Can I ask why?” you asked with caution.

“I have to do some work early tomorrow. Plus, I don’t have clothes, or a toothbrush,” he replied with a shrug.

You looked at your hands laced together. “You can bring some of your things, so you can stay someday… if you want.”

You hated how tiny and vulnerable you sounded. But you did not want to spend the night alone.

But Jeonghan did not notice, his focus was on pulling to the curb right in front of your building. “I’ll bring some in, baby,” he replied aloofly.

“Okay,” you replied begrudgingly.

But you did not make a motion to exit the car yet, your seatbelt was still put on, your hand still in his. Jeonghan smiled, noticing your reluctance. “Come here,” he breathed, leaning towards you, a pair of fingers slipping beneath your jaw to kiss your lips tenderly. “See you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow, Hannie,” you replied with a sweet smile like his.    

Midnight Haze Rocks the World: New Album Breaks Streaming Records in 24 Hours

Read the headline on your monitor screen. A picture of the three members of Midnight Haze appeared on top of the article published that morning. It was the third day since Joshua left for his first tour with his band Midnight Haze. And as expected, the internet flooded with overwhelming love for their phenomenal skyrocketing to success.

As such, a lot of eyes were posed on Joshua. A deluge of articles and videos were coming out every day, about his personal life, about his artistic process to write his lyrics, and speculations about his lovers.

Joshua was right. There was a huge part of Midnight Haze’s following that suspected he had a partner. And there was an even larger part that suspected that he was no more than a womanizer.

To some extent, it was painful to read some of the things you found online. And as much as you wanted to avoid it, you could not. So you did what you knew best: bury yourself in work.

Midnight Haze Sold-Out World Tour Breaks Box Office Records

It had been ten days since Joshua left.

His texts came less often. Same as his phone calls. Whenever he did call or text, he said he was busy, stressed. But he was trying to keep in touch with you. And that was all that mattered.

Midnight Haze’s Joshua Hong and Mysterious Woman Spark Romance Rumors at Exclusive Event

It was fourteen days since Joshua left. It was becoming more difficult to ignore the headlines and rumours created around him to draw in attention from the public and his fans. Although he seemed more consumed by the fast-paced nature of his job, he still called everyday.

Deciding you had your fill of nonsense you found online, you rested your head in your arm, sighing deeply in exhaustion.

“Baby, wake up,” Jeonghan’s soothing voice pulled you from your dreams.

You lifted your head abruptly, drawing in a breath. “I’m up,” you blurted sluggishly. “What’s up?”

Jeonghan giggled as you rubbed your eyes. You were in your studio, sitting on your armchair. There was drool smeared on your cheek, as you came to find out when you rubbed your face.

“You fell asleep,” Jeonghan pointed, giving you a kind smile. “Let’s go to bed.”

“When did you get here?” you slurred out. The room had darkened, the only source of light coming from your double monitor idle screens.

“Just got here,” he said, and you had started to notice the hint of concern in his voice. “Go to bed, so you can sleep better.”

You turned to your screen to look at the time. You had been asleep like this for nearly four hours. “Oh no,” you gasped. “I slept for too long. I must keep working.”

“Why?” he asked slowly. “You’re clearly tired, baby. Sleep some more and come back when you feel more refreshed.”

“Mmn,” you pondered his request for a second. You ran your sleeve over the tiny puddle of drool on your desk and looked at him.

Jeonghan was standing beside you, looking at you as if you were a baby in your crib. “You missed here,” he whispered, bringing the tip of his finger to the corner of your lips.

You slapped your hand to your lips, wiping the drool that was there.

He giggled. “Come on, princess, let’s go to bed,” he egged, motioning to the door to the bedroom.

You shook your head. “I want tea,” you pushed yourself from the chair.

“Tsk,” he sighed heavily, but he followed you down the hall, nonetheless.

“I don’t want to hear it,” you mumbled groggily, knowing what was coming.

“You’re overworking yourself again, Princess,” he reprimanded.

“Here we go,” you said in a sing-song tone.

“Just rest for a day!” he suggested with earnest. “You’ll feel better, and probably will get more work done.”

“I can’t rest, the deadline to submitting the first draft is nearer,” you protested as you got to the kitchen, getting to the electric kettle, filling it with water and turning it on. “And I’m nowhere near done this draft.”

“There is nothing wrong with taking a break for one day,” Jeonghan tilted his head to one side, his brown eyes following you. “Just take a break for once.”

You locked eyes with him, now considering his request.

“For me,” he added, the corners of his lips tightening, trying not to break into a smile.

“Pfft,” you scoffed loudly when he finally gave in, laughing merrily at his own cheesy addition. “See, I was considering it, until you said that,” you pointed.

“Please?” he said, bringing a halt to his laughs and his features took on a more serious look. “Just for tonight.”

“Okay. Just for tonight,” you conceded, heart fluttering uneasily when he smiled in victory. “Tea?” you raised your eyebrows.

“Sure,” he muttered, nodding with his head once. He had crossed his arms on his chest, his eyes trained on you as you moved in the kitchen. “Did you stay up writing last night?” he pried.

“And the night before that,” you sighed, handing him a mug of tea with milk. “It’s just not going well.”

“Can I ask why?” he leaned back on the kitchen counter.

“It’s just a writer’s block,” you shrugged, but both of you knew that was not true.

“What is the problem?” he asked again, his tone was gentle, it gave you that cozy sense of familiarity he never failed to give you.

“I just can’t…” you started faintly, toying with the teaspoon. “I’m out of ideas. I planned the whole book, the whole trilogy, but I just can’t string them together. I’m paying too much attention to tiny details, and I can’t get my creativity flowing.”

Jeonghan pursed his lips. “It seems like you have the problem narrowed down.”

“Yeah,” you said dejectedly. “I just can’t solve it.”

“Well, stepping back can help,” he shrugged, flashing you a knowing look. “Maybe you need to… reframe your initial ideas.”

It was reasonable that Jeonghan had experience with this. His line of work is very similar to yours, in some way. Even if he did not always write the plays he directs, he knew what a creative block was.

You rolled your eyes to the ceiling, humming pensively as you tried to retrieve your answer. “I wanted this book to be like a bridge gapping the first and the third book but, now it just feels like I’ve written myself into a corner.”

“Don’t say that,” he protested, leaving his mug aside. “I get that you’re stressed and the deadline and all that,” a hand reached out to grab yours, gently pulling you towards him. “But you’re talented and smart enough to get out of any corner you find yourself in.”

His arm circled on your lower back, and your hand fell on his chest. It brought a smile to your face to hear his words. “Thank you, Jeonghan,” you said. “You’re right. I just focused on the smallest details, now I feel jaded.”

He nodded in understanding. “I know how that feels,” he said, his kind voice lowering a little. “Listen, why don’t we just relax for now? Continue tomorrow, take it one step at a time, see where that gets you.”

You nodded, sighing deeply. “Alright.”

Jeonghan smiled cutely at you, making tiny dimples appear on his chin. “You got this, baby,” he mumbled.

“Thank you, Jeonghan,” you whispered, meekly pushing yourself on your tiptoes to reach his lips with a kiss.

“Don’t thank me,” he breathed, his other hand came up to cup the back of your head, his fingers tangling with your hair. He slotted his lips between yours, and you tasted the sweetness of green tea mixed with sugar in his kiss.

“Mmn,” your hands found his face. Jeonghan’s kisses were always tender, and delicate. Almost as if kissing the petals of a rose. Even during make-out sessions, just as this moment was turning into, he kept his lips gentle on yours.

But he pulled away too quickly, sucking in a breath between his teeth. Dropping his head back, he stared at the ceiling. Jeonghan had been doing this for the past few days: stopping himself before the kissing went too far.

“What’s wrong?” you mumbled.

He shook his head silently, and then he lowered his eyes to meet yours. “Let’s go to bed,” he suggested, taking your hand again.

“Okay,” you whispered, a coy smile appearing on your face.

“Knock it off,” he snapped, but he started smiling too.

“I didn’t do anything!” you giggled as he took you to the bedroom. “What’s with that serious face? I thought you were onto something.”

“Careful, princess,” he cautioned, but you heard the hint of playfulness in his tone.

“Or what?” you smirked as you sat down on your bed and kept your eyes on him as he emptied the pockets of his black sweats on the nightstand. His phone, the keys to his car and apartment, and a green vape pen.

“Or nothing,” he huffed, motioning at the bed. “Are you going to lie down?”

“Yeah, I just…” you saw him lie down on the mattress; legs spread wide open. You sighed.  “I’ll change into pjs,” you announced, a smirk painted on your face as you rose to your feet, stripping your cozy pullover with one movement and then your pants.

“Tsk,” he clicked his tongue and reached for his vape pen, tucking it between his rosy lips. Even as you turned your back to him, you knew his eyes were on your semi-naked body. You sent him a glance to confirm your suspicions were true and smiled.

“Don’t smoke in my bedroom,” you chastised him, but your tone was made insecure by his eyes staring at you.

“I’m not smoking,” he mumbled faintly, and his statement was true. He had not drawn from his vape pen yet, but he kept it tucked between his lips.

You finished smoothing Joshua’s oversized t-shirt over your frame and walked to the bed. Jeonghan watched you crawl to where he occupied the mattress, which was your side of the bed.

“What does it taste like?” you wondered, tilting your head in curiosity.

Jeonghan said nothing, he just handed you his vape pen, matching your curiosity with his eyes. And you took it, you tried to mimic his movements you always saw him do by tucking the tip between your lips. A faint smirk appeared on his face when you sent him a glance and sucked in a breath from the vape pen.

You started coughing at once. The light smoke invaded your throat and coating it with an overly sweet taste, making it impossible to get an actual experience of what Jeonghan was so addicted to. He chuckled as your coughing died.

“It’s slowly, baby,” he instructed, taking the vape pen from your hand gently and motioned your eyes to him. “Like taking a small sip from a straw.”

He took a draw from the vape pen slowly, his throat bobbing as he seemingly swallowed the smoke, and then exhaled it through his mouth and nose.

“Try it.”

You sent him a reluctant look, but took the pen to your mouth, nonetheless. Slowly, you sucked in a breath once again, getting a taste of the green apple flavor that reminded you of Jeonghan. Then you quickly blew the light smoke with your lips.

“That was disappointing,” you mumbled. 

“What did you expect?” he chuckled.

“This is what you’re so addicted to?” you raised your eyebrows, giving the pen back to him.

“No,” he rolled his eyes. “I was that or tobacco. And I just need to keep my hands and mouth busy. This helps,” he signaled to the vape pen.

“Hands and mouth busy, eh?” you smirked.

“Shut up,” he hissed, but a wide smile took over the features of his face.

“Make me,” you whispered, zeroing your eyes on him in a tantalizing way.

Jeonghan paused, the only sign that he was not expecting you say that was a single twitch of an eyebrow. He took a long draw, an even longer one, that went on for seconds, filling his chest out with smoke.

“Come here,” he said, not letting go of even a ghost of smoke through his lips. He extended one arm, his hand cupping your cheek, holding your face inches away from his. “Open your mouth.”

You instinctively parted your lips, just as he exhaled the smoke he had been holding in his chest, pouring it into your mouth. It felt cold, it tasted like green apples, it filled your senses with the taste of him as you exhaled.

Jeonghan sealed your lips with a kiss so soft it had you asking for more. You moaned, a hand coming to hold his face to help you kiss him harder, enticingly. “Princess,” he grunted through your continued attacks with your lips. “You need to rest.”

You pulled away from his lips, looking at him in utter disbelief. “Okay,” you frowned.

Rejected, you lied down on the opposite side of the bed to Jeonghan, turning over so your back was to him. Your heart deflated with pangs of pain at each beat, your mind riddled with questions as to why he was keeping you at arm’s length.

You jolted in surprise when Jeonghan’s arm encircled your waist, nuzzling his face in your hair. Just as he did the last time he slept in your bed.

“Are we just cuddling?” you sulked.

“Yep. Just cuddling,” he mumbled, scooting his body to yours so he could perfectly spoon you.

“Why?” you whispered, closing your eyes to push down the tears trying to sting them. You felt ridiculous.

“You need to rest,” he repeated with a calming tone.

“Jeonghan,” you turned over to see his face. “Did I do something wrong?”

He frowned. “No,” he shook his head. “Why do you say that?”

“You haven’t been… as physical as usual,” you mumbled out with caution. “I’m beginning to think that I’m doing something wrong.”

Jeonghan blinked, an alarmed look settling in the features of his face. “I just wanted to take my time with you,” he said, gentleness coating his words. Once he saw your features relax, he continued: “We started with the wrong foot. I wanted you to get to know me outside of the sexual aspect, you know?”

“But I do know you outside of the sexual aspect,” you blurted. “You’re my best friend.”

As soon as the words left your mouth, you wished to take them back. 

“That’s not…” Jeonghan sighed with a frustrated air. “When you mentioned the steps to a relationship, I thought we could take it slow, and let you know me intimately.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, yanking your gaze from his face.

“No, I’m sorry,” he replied in the same fashion. “I never wanted to make you feel rejected.”

You noticed for the first time, how struggling it was for him to speak out his inner thoughts. He was an excellent communicator sometimes, but it was different when it came to his feelings.

“It’s okay,” you reassured, now enclosing the space between you on the bed, so you could entangle your body with his. “But I’m confused. I do know you intimately.”

He shook his head lightly. “You mean as your friend,” he said wearily. “I mean as a boyfriend.”

Your heart stopped, and the moment between you too. In all the past few weeks you have been with Jeonghan, in all the considerations you were trying to bring into the relationship, you somehow thought that was a given.

“Wait,” he blurted, closed his eyes tightly and then: “I want to ask you formally.”

You blinked at him, a smile slowly curving your lips. “It’s okay,” you repeated. “I’d like that, Jeongjeong.”

“You would?” he smirked. “I’m sorry, it’s been a while since I’ve done serious relationships. And I’m old. So, I don’t know what’s in anymore.”

“You’re not old,” you said slowly. “And I don’t know what’s in either, so… Chances are that whatever you have in mind is something I like.”

“Okay,” he sighed, looking more relaxed, but then he pressed his lips into a tight line. “Just so you know, it was never within my intentions to make you feel like I don’t want you.”

“It’s okay,” you reassured with a light smile. “It was just confusing to me why you didn’t want to be physical anymore.”

Jeonghan let out a low chuckle. “Princess, believe me, there’s nothing more I want right now,” he rolled his eyes in shame. “Especially when you undress yourself in front of me, doing those sounds when I kiss you.”

You had to laugh at his face in complete frustration. “Well, if you had said something about it, I wouldn’t have teased you so much,” you pouted.

“Ah, really?” he snickered. “Really, princess? I don’t believe that for a second,” he emphasized.

“Why, don’t I get the benefit of the doubt?”

“Not when you’re both mine and Joshua’s partner, mm-mmn,” he negated with his head on the pillow.

“What is that supposed to mean?” you asked, though pointlessly. 

“You’re a tease,” he said with an obvious tone. “You know what will work on me because it works on him.”  

“Mmph,” you hummed thoughtfully. “You know I don’t see it like that.”

But it did sound familiar to something Joshua said a couple of months ago. It was something that you had started to find very real: Jeonghan and Joshua were so similar to the point it could be eerie. And it did not seem impressive to Joshua that Jeonghan would find you attractive, because he also did.

“Let’s go to sleep,” he said after taking a look at your face.

“Okay,” you conceded, turning over again to be cuddled by his body.

Some moments later, you could still hear him breathing normally. His movements were kept at minimum, but you knew he was still awake. He shifted slightly behind you, you heard the rustle of the bedsheets, when he moved his head on your pillow.

You just closed your eyes, trying to fall asleep but his body behind you was too distracting, your feet bumped into his, the warmth pooling inside your tummy making you smile.

Jeonghan shifted again on the bed, encircling his arm around your waist languidly, now his body fully pressed against yours. You could understand the reason why he struggled to find a position to rest with your body close to his.

“Are you okay?” you breathed.

He blinked, darting a look to your face. “Yeah, I’m just…” he sighed, smiling shyly at you. “You’re very warm.”

“You don’t like it?” you frowned. “We don’t have to cuddle, we could–,”

“I do like it,” he cut in. “That’s not the problem.”

“Then what is?” you mumbled, giggling softly at his indecision.

When you went to bed, you had forgotten to close the blinds completely, a faint light coming from the windows painted his face in a pale white color. You could see his eyes properly as he contemplated his answer.

“I don’t think I can wait much longer,” he mumbled, laughing sheepishly at his own demise. “I thought I could, but I guess I’m not so strong when it comes to you.”

Jeonghan had his arm folded and tucked under his head, so that way his eyes lowered to find your face as you turned over, your back pressed against the mattress.

“Well, you’ve been edging me and yourself for nearly two weeks now,” you said, smiling at him as he laughed harder. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I want to be a good boyfriend to you,” he pursed his lip into a pout. But his hand parked on your tummy over your t-shirt.

Your heart stammered in your chest frantically, making your blood rush to your face. “You are a good boyfriend, Jeonghan,” you mumbled, flashing him a cheeky smile. “You can be a good boyfriend and have sex with me.”  

“I–,” he broke into an airy laugh, squeezing his eyes in utter shyness. “Don’t tempt me, princess. You’re tired and haven’t slept well.”

“Mmn, okay,” you said, but you could see it in his eyes: Jeonghan wanted you. His rosy lips parted slightly, his heavy-lidded eyes reading your face. “Come here, baby,” you whispered, sneaking a hand on his nape to pull him to your face.

Jeonghan reciprocated the need of your lips without skipping a second. The strangled sound that coiled in his throat only egged you on, your hands slid from his nape to graze his scalp with the tips of your fingers.

“Call me that again,” he breathed gruffly into your mouth as he repositioned his body on top of yours.

You paused, looking at his face that was now hovering on top of yours. “Baby,” you hummed, an ecstatic shudder shaking you when he saw the fascination flash in his eyes. “Kiss me… please.”

Jeonghan leaned down but stopped before he could reach your lips, a smile broke the features of his face. “You’re going to be the death of me. You know that, right?”

The tip of his nose bumped with yours playfully taunting you before he slotted his pretty lips with yours. You felt the weight of the pillows shifting when he placed his forearms on the sides of your head, caging you in. Blindly, you parted your legs for him just as he slotted himself between them.

He kept kissing you, he never stopped. The softness to which he was kissing you made you drunk, wanting more. “Hannie…” you whispered, turning your head as his lips kissed the apple of your cheek, trailing down to the line of your jaw.

“Tell me what you want,” he mumbled faintly, his breath fanning a spot below your earlobe.

You recounted in your head every sexual experience you have had with Jeonghan so far. Narrowing down what had made you so dissatisfied the last time you had sex with him was easy: there was a lack of connection with him. One that you craved deeply.

“I want you–,” you gasped when his lips reached your collarbone, as he pushed back his body, his hands retreated from your sides, finding the hem of your oversized t-shirt. His hands were cold upon sliding on your tummy. “I don’t care how, just do anything you like.”

A flash of déjà vu hit you hard. Jeonghan lifted his head from the curve of your neck, his long dark hair obscuring his eyes. “Anything?” he asked, tilting his head to one side slowly. “There must be something you need, princess.”

“I don’t know,” you smiled at him sheepishly.

Jeonghan leaned forward, his fingers trapping your chin. “I’ll do anything you tell me to,” he purred right before capturing your lips with his for a shallow kiss. “You call the shots, baby.”

Your breath hitched; his hand came to cup your cheek. “Keep going, please,” you muttered, though it was not necessary, his lips were still on yours, giving you soft pecks.

Jeonghan gave you no verbal reply, but he kept kissing you anyway, each kiss tenderer than the one before. It made you dizzy, the softness that he put with every touch.

“Jeonghan,” you put a hand on the center of his chest, bringing a stop to his sweet kisses at once. His dark eyes locked with yours, giving you the confidence you needed. “Can you be rough with me?”

Upon hearing your request, he stilled completely. “How rough?” he asked, much as if he did not give a second thought to your words, nor pause to ask why. He knew this was what you needed.  

“Just do it,” you asked, your tone waning over the nervousness that kicked right in. “I promise I won’t break.”

“I know you won’t,” he smirked, diving for another shallow kiss, laughing softly at the low grunt you gave him in protest.

Then he kissed you again. Harder this time, showing you how much he had been holding back. Before his touch had been delicate and tender. But now, his kiss was forceful, passionate. He crushed your lips, making you muffle out a moan in his hot mouth. 

“Want me to fuck your brains out, baby?” he rasped, backing away to take a look at your face. The lascivious glint in his eyes was unmistakable, and so eerily familiar.

“Yes, please,” you mewled, your hands snaked from his chest to clutch at his neck.

Jeonghan sighed in your mouth. “You needy little thing. You really are made for us.”

“I am,” you replied in a frenzy, returning each needy kiss he planted in your mouth.

A hand pushed your t-shirt up to your chest, uncovering your tits to him. “Do you know how fucking much I love these?” he rasped, sending you a look before dipping his head to litter your skin with kisses.

His lips attached to one of your nipples, his tongue toying with your pebbled bud, to then suckle at it with a smacking noise. “Fuck-k, baby,” you mewled, your fingers tangling with his long dark hair, giving it a soft tug.

“Mmn,” he searched for one of your hands on his head, grabbing it and driving it to the mattress. No touching, he wordlessly commanded, locking his fingers with yours.

“Sorry,” you whispered. “God, fuck,” you squirmed helplessly, the back of his tongue teased your nipple, swirling around it and suckling at it hungrily.

His free hand fumbled your other breast, his fingers pinching and tugging your hardened nipple as his mouth continued to work on the other, making it sensitive. He detached his mouth with a wet sound, his eyes marvelled at your body for a second as he released your hand.

“Behave,” he conditioned before leaning down again to tease your other nipple with his mouth.

First his lips tugged at it, to then graze at it with his teeth, making a sharp hiss come out from you. You lowered your gaze, finding his. Jeonghan smiled at you, pulling his tongue out to tease your nipple, swirling around it.

You sighed out the pleasure burning within you, sinking in the pillows as your skin prickled. “Please… more,” you mewled, your hands clawing on the bedsheets. “Keep going, Hannie, please.”

The corners of his mouth lifted slightly, but the motion of his tipped tongue did not stop. His hands cupped your tits, making them bulge, and he lowered his face onto your chest. The low grunt that he muffled in your tits told you that he was enjoying sucking at your nipples just as much as you.

You closed your eyes, focusing on the pleasure building in the pit of your tummy, your muscles clenched in response when he sucked harsher, then changed to toy with your nipple with swift motions.

“Ha-hannie,” you called shakily. “I think I’m gonna come.”

For a moment, you thought Jeonghan had not heard you. He made no move, no sound to acknowledge your words. He just kept going: sucking, licking, pinching your sensitive nipples. Drool dripped down on your bumpy skin, the wet sounds Jeonghan made, paired with the low groans he gave you whenever you moaned. 

“Oh god… I’m coming,” you choked out, hands clenching around the bedsheets. Your orgasm flooded within you, it was quick and sweet, and even though the feeling was short, it had you panting. And wanting more.

Jeonghan hummed with satisfaction, leaving a kiss on each of your nipples before meeting your eyes. “Was that a first?”

You recognized where his game was going at once. “Yeah,” you sighed with a meek smile. “It felt good. I needed that.”

“Mn, princess, you’re such a needy mess,” he said gruffly, his hand caressing your bumpy skin over your tummy. “Is that why you can’t write, baby? Too much in your head?”

“Think so,” you replied coyly.

Jeonghan sat back on his heels, contemplating you for a second under the pale light coming from the window. “These need to come off,” he toyed with the band of your wet panties with his lithe fingers.

He hooked his fingers around the hem of your panties, pulling them down your legs with your help, lifting your hips for him.

“No, not that. Keep that on,” he instructed when he caught sight of your hands trying to get rid of your t-shirt.

Then he stretched one arm, reaching for something on the nightstand. Your heart stammered when he grabbed his phone. “Are you ready for this?” he asked, sending you a glance.

“Yeah,” you replied.

The flash of the camera hit your eyes, making you squint at it. But you quickly adapted, seeing Jeonghan’s fascinated face behind his phone as he directed it to your naked body. He caught on video everything he liked to see: your face, your tits smeared in his spit, and your pussy.

“You got so wet, baby,” he mumbled, making a trail with the tips of his fingers from your bellybutton to your mound, caressing it. “Baby needs to be fucked everyday, or she can’t function properly. Right, princess?”

The white light returned to your face, you nodded. “J-jeonghan!”

His fingers continued trailing down, finding your pussy lips spread open. “So fucking wet,” he sighed in awe, dipping one finger in your pooling entrance. “You got like this just by playing with your tits a little…”

Another finger joined in, pushing inside your throbbing walls as the phone captured it in video.

“Jeonghan,” you protested. “Please, just fuck me.”

“Stay still, baby,” his voice was low whenever he gave you a command, and that way you knew not to challenge him again. “I’ll give you what you want if you promise to be good.”

You sighed in frustration. “I promise,” you hated the way your voice sounded.

That seemed to please him. The flash of the camera went off, Jeonghan tossed his phone on the bed near your body, pulling his fingers out of your pussy.

The loss of stimulation had you protesting with a lewd whine. “So impatient,” he tutted. Then he nodded his head at you. “Knees up.”  

His hand pushed on the back of your leg, making your chest compress a little right before he dipped his head to your needy pussy, his tongue swiping a line between your folds. Your muscles tightened under the overwhelming sensation of his tongue licking your arousal, drinking you in.

“Fuck,” you gritted, your hands flew to grab your own legs to keep yourself in place for him.

You heard a muffled laugh, his breath fanning your wet pussy causing you to shiver. The tip of his nose bumped against your clit as his tongue sank inside you, then retreated, only to dive in again, his face pressed flush against you, fucking you with his tongue.

A strangled gasp escaped you, his tongue left your pussy and was quickly replaced by his fingers, slipping them in until he was knuckle deep inside you. But his tongue slid to your clit, teasing it with swift jabs, getting it to swell by teasing it with his lips, tugging and suckling at it.

“Oh, g-god,” your body shook on the bed sheets, your eyes squeezed shut so tight you started to see colors.

The low hum he gave you was paired with one deep intake of breath on his part, breathing you in practically, his mouth unrelenting on your pussy. His fingers kept dragging inside and out of your throbbing walls, delighting himself with moans each time you clenched around him.

“Fuck, Hannie,” you mewled, pushing your head back onto your pillow. “Don’t stop, baby, please…”

Jeonghan pushed his face onto your cunt harder, groaning against you as his fingers thrusted inside you harshly, curving inside your walls and finding that spot effortlessly. Your mouth fell open, pelvis tilting towards his face. All focus, was narrowed to his mouth making out with your pussy, his fingers teasing that spot inside your walls.

“I’m there,” you sighed out. “Jeonghan, I’m coming,” you let out a long cry of pleasure, body shaking on your bed.

Your orgasm washed down your spine, burning inside you. His fingers kept thrusting inside you, his mouth helping you ride your high without stopping for a second to breathe. Just as you were coming down, he detached his mouth from your throbbing pussy, but his fingers did not.

“Jeonghan?” you panted.

His fingers kept teasing that spot inside you, the force from his hand on your cunt had started to make a single vein pop out along his forearm. “Can you give me one more, baby?” he asked, his free hand reaching for the phone he had discarded earlier.

“I… yeah,” you decided, holding your legs to your chest with your hands.

The camera flashed your eyes again. “Good girl,” he whispered, capturing the mess that you were in. It occurred to you that Jeonghan did not want you to remove the t-shirt you were wearing… he wanted to fuck you in it for Joshua to see.

He pointed the camera at his hand pumping in and out of your puffy cunt, the wet sounds coming from it sounded loud and almost dirty. His fingers picked up the pace, now teasing relentlessly inside you, making you gasp and jolt at each harsh jab.

“J-jeonghan!” you cried out.

“Careful, we can’t make too much noise, remember?” he smirked at you.

“I-if you keep going, I’m gonna… I’m gonna–,” you choked out, arching your back on the mattress as the hot liquid spurting from you landed onto his hand and the bed.

Jeonghan smiled, his fascinated eyes flitting from the screen of the phone capturing the mess you were making, to your body writhing on the wet sheets. “Tsk, messy girl,” you heard him say between the loud wet noises and your own breathless moans.

To see him smile sent you onto another wild frenzy. You moaned as his fingers left your throbbing pussy, his other hand tossing his phone heedlessly. Then, Jeonghan grabbed his t-shirt, peeling it off his torso with one swift motion.

“Remind me to put a towel under you next time,” he smirked, using his own t-shirt to wipe your arousal and his own spit from his chin, then his hands.

You sighed, embarrassment heating your face, but you could not deny that you liked this. And Jeonghan saw right through you. He leaned over to you, capturing your lips in a kiss, he smelled of you, and you could taste yourself in his mouth. The act was so dirty it had him swallowing your moans, your pussy clenching around nothing.

“Jeonghan… I want you to fuck me, please,” you whined when he pulled his head back.

“Do you think you deserve it?” he asked, his voice was low and slightly raspy.

“Yeah?” you smiled coyly.

“Why shouldn’t I edge you a little bit more?” he grabbed your legs, wrapping them around his waist, as he pressed his chest against yours, grinding his hips against yours.

The bulge of his hard cock pressed against your cunt. “Jeonghan,” you gasped when he ground against you harder, teasing you. “You’ve been edging me for days now.”

“You said I could do anything I wanted to you,” he smirked, his hand grabbing your jaw before pressing a chaste kiss on your lips. “

“But I want you now,” you mumbled wantonly.

“Don’t argue with me,” he retorted, the glint in his eyes giving away the playfulness behind his actions.

“Stop teasing me, Jeonghan,” you whispered, your hands holding onto his back as he kept rubbing his hard dick against you, smearing your wetness all over his boxers. “Please, I need you, baby,” you whined pathetically.

He dived for another hungry kiss. “God, you’re so fucking needy,” he protested, but his tone made him sound just as pathetic.

“Don’t mock me, Jeonghan,” you bit back. You should not have done that.

The slap came to your face in the blink of an eye, it was swift and painful, but the wave of both excitement and arousal barreled down your spine, making you gasp. Your widened eyes found his face, gaping at him as your cheek tingled.

“I told you not to argue with me,” Jeonghan laughed, and the sound of his laughter sent a wave of shame that burned in your face.  

A low moan escaped you when his hard cock rubbed against your swollen clit. “Jeonghan, please fuck me. Fuck me now,” you pleaded with a whiny tone, ignoring how pathetic you sounded, or felt.  

“That’s it, baby. Beg for me,” he purred, nibbling at your lower lip right before kissing you. His tongue caressed the roof of your mouth, making you whimper at the sensation.

Then you understood what he was doing, he pushed his boxers down, freeing his pretty cock. He grabbed it with one hand, one thumb pressing down his tip, directing it to your pussy. And just when you thought he was finally going to fuck you, he decided to do something else.

“I don’t hear you begging,” he said, fucking his cock between your pussy lips, making his tone waver. A low grunt escaped his lips, and you responded with your own.

“Please,” you breathed.

“Please, what.”

“Fuck me,” you mumbled, regretting the minute you asked him to be mean with you. But you could not lie to yourself, you liked this. You liked seeing his cock glistening wet with your arousal.

“I am fucking you,” he chuckled airily, pushing his hips against you so his tip nudged your entrance, but slipped between your folds.

“I need you inside me, Jeonghan,” you whimpered as his shaft rubbed against your clit. “N-need your cock inside me, please.”

“That’s better,” he sighed, retracting his hips to then sheathe himself inside you with one full thrust. He lowered the upper half of his body to yours, repositioning his arms above your head.

“F-fuck, Jeonghan…” you gritted as his cock filled your walls. You sighed in pleasure, finding his face with your hands to pull him in a kiss.

You saw something flash across the features of his face, making him groan as his lips met yours. “God,” he gasped. “I love how you squeeze around me, baby.”

“Y-yeah?” you breathed pathetically.

“Mmn, yeah. Your pretty little c-cunt feels like magic,” he shuddered in pleasure, grunting in your mouth before kissing you again.

“It’s yours, Hannie,” you replied dazedly.

“I know,” he grinned, his hand finding the back of your knee, pushing it to your side to hold you open for him. “You’re such a needy slut for us, right?”

A wave of arousal tore through you. “Yes,” you breathed. “I am.”

Jeonghan noticed your demeanor, your eyes glazing and mouth parting in utter pleasure. “Wait,” he stilled. “Turn over for me, baby,” Jeonghan pulled his body, sitting back on his heels as you reluctantly turned facedown on the bed. “Ass up.”

Then on your side, Jeonghan handed you his phone, the front camera was already recording. You grabbed it and searched for somewhere to place it, deciding for to put it against the lamp on your bedside table. You saw yourself on the screen and Jeonghan on his knees behind you.

Through the screen you saw Jeonghan sneaking a hand between your body and his, then felt the tip of his cock searching for your entrance. A strangled moan came out of you as he sheathed himself in, a hand pushing your lower back down for you to tilt your pelvis for him.

“God,” he groaned, his head lolling back, grabbing your hips with his hands as he fucked you slowly.

You were too entranced by watching his face through the recording to focus on his cock massaging your walls.

“You feel so fucking good, princess,” he swallowed a moan, making his throat bob. 

“Y-you too, Hannie,” you responded faintly, lowering your face back onto the bed covers to see him through the screen of his phone.

“No, no. I want Joshua to see your face,” Jeonghan rasped, grabbing you by the hair, pulling your head upward with little to no heed for you.

The sheer thought of Joshua seeing this made you clench around Jeonghan’s cock. He moaned in response too, his fingers digging into your skin, squeezing your ass firmly as his other hand kept pulling your hair.

“Jeonghan,” you called breathily, the hard thrusting had you panting already. The rails of your bed banged against the wall with the pacing of his thrusts. “Harder. Fuck me harder.”

Jeonghan laughed, ignoring you completely. He pulled your hair firmly, making sure the camera captured your teary eyes. “Jeonghan, please.”

“Alright, alright,” he conceded, placing his hands on the middle of your spine, pushing your chest onto the mattress. “You asked for it.”

You could no longer see yourself on the video, your face was mushed against the covers, giving you space to cry out as Jeonghan started pounding on you. The brutal pace of his thrusts knocked the air out of you, the sound of skin slapping against each other was the only thing you could hear above your muffled cries.

“Jeonghan!” you forced out, your sweet release flooding inside your body. “Oh, god, Hannie…”

“That’s it, baby,” he rasped. “God. Keep squeezing me like that,” his hands clenched on your ass, switching the motion to his hands, fucking you on his cock instead of moving his hips. “Fuck,” he gritted with a sigh. “Yeah, just like that…”

You gathered yourself, breathing in slowly as you lifted your head. In the screen of his phone, you saw him looking at your body, moving your hips to meet with his languidly.

“Hand me the phone, baby,” he made a motion with his head.

You reached for his phone in your nightstand and passed it to him, turning your head to see what he was doing. He was now pointing the camera lens to your ass, and you knew that he was capturing your messy cunt, filled with his cum as he kept pushing his cock inside you.

He was panting when he tossed the phone one final time. “Are you okay?” he asked breathlessly. “Want more?”

You shook your head. “I’m sensitive,” you admitted. And you were so tired that all you wanted now was to rest in the pleasure he had given you.

Jeonghan nodded, caressing your ass gently before pulling out of you. “Lie down, baby,” he muttered as you just eased onto the bed with a tired sigh. “I’ll bring you something to clean up, hold on.”

The bed shifted around you when he climbed off the bed and exited the bedroom. You closed your eyes, breathing out in pure bliss, enjoying how languid your body was after being pleasured over and over.

You heard him come in. “Turn over for me, princess,” he mumbled with a sweet voice. He had a towel in his hand, soaked in warm water. “What do you need?”

“Sleep,” you slurred out. 

Jeonghan nodded. “Do you have clean blankets?”

“In the closet,” you said, pointing to the double doors in the bedroom.

Jeonghan got a bundle of blankets, spreading them over your naked body to then slip beneath them and next to you. As you searched for his body to hold him, you realized that he had not slept naked with you before.

“Thank you, Jeonghan,” you hummed happily, wrapping your arms around his torso.

“For what, baby?”

“For taking care of me,” you mumbled, your heart swelling with warmth and love. “And for fucking my brains out.”

Jeonghan chuckled, his hand brushing your hair slowly. “Anything for you.” 

“Do you think we’ll get another noise complaint after this?” you asked sluggishly.

“If they come to the door, I’ll deal with it,” he said decidedly. “Sleep for now.”

You lifted your head to give him a kiss. “Goodnight, baby.”

Jeonghan gave you a sweet smile. “Goodnight, princess.”

“We have a date tonight,” Jeonghan announced the morning after.

“We do?” you asked. “You know, I’d appreciate it if you invite me out with more time in advance.”

“I forgot to tell you last night… you kept me busy,” Jeonghan rasped sleepily, his arm wrapped your back, his fingers trailing gently down your spine.

“So it’s my fault,” you laughed.

“We’ve talked about this,” he slurred out, but a lazy smile spread on his lips. “Everything is your fault.”

“Maybe last night was my fault,” you conceded playfully, lifting your head from his chest. “Where is the date?”

“Mmn, I don’t know, I have to ask,” he mumbled, his eyes were closed but you noticed his heavy lashes shaking slightly.

“Ask?” you inquired.

“It’s a double date,” he explained, peeling one eye open.

“Oh,” you gasped. “With whom?”

“My best friends,” he said with ease, but you knew how this important was to him.

“You have a lot of best friends, baby,” you chuckled.

“Mmn, yeah, you’re right,” he said, his voice was still lazy, but he had gained more lucidity. “These are friends I met in school, while I was getting my degree.”

“Exciting,” you smiled at the way the features of his face were lax in the serenity of his sleep.

“What?” he noticed, his lips pouting slightly as he asked: “What, why are you looking at me like that?”

“I like your face, handsome,” you mumbled sweetly, running the tip of your finger down the bridge of his nose.

Jeonghan looked confused for a second. “I like your face too, beautiful,” he whispered.

The effect his words had on you made you freeze in place. You leaned to plant a small kiss on his lips, which he reciprocated with a low hum.

But then you were turning around, reaching for your phone on your bedside table to check if you had any updates from Joshua. He had replied to your last few texts, telling you excitingly that he had a date for you to visit him soon. And that he could not wait to see you again.

“That reminds me,” Jeonghan sighed, reaching for his own phone on the bedside of your side of the bed.

The videos. As soon as he unlocked his phone, the sounds from the night before flooded your ears: your whiny moans, the sounds of skin slapping together. Jeonghan wrapped one arm around your waist as you leaned your head on his shoulder and watched the videos you recorded together.

You hid your face flush on his shoulder when you saw a few seconds of one of the videos, making your insides twist in utter shame. “Oh god,” you groaned.

Jeonghan rested his hand on the back of your head. “What?” he asked, shifting his face to take a look at yours.

“It’s so…” you made a motion to the video playing on the screen, grimacing at the lewd sound of your moans.

“Hot?” Jeonghan lowered the phone after hitting Send with his thumb, sharing the videos to your boyfriend with nothing else to say in the message, no preamble whatsoever.

“Can I see?” you mumbled, extending your palm.

“Sure,” he deposited his phone in your hand without hesitation.

The videos were saved in a secret folder that he shared only with Joshua, you realized. “You were quick,” you said. He must have created the folder after recording he fucked you in a changing room.

“I don’t want them to fall on the wrong hands, princess,” he muttered, lazily drawing in a breath before yawning.

“Mmn,” you swiped your finger through the set of videos. You saw your face in so many of the frames captured. “Can I have access to this too?”

“Of course, baby,” he giggled sweetly. “I should’ve asked, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you mumbled, aimlessly fidgeting with Jeonghan’s phone. You went back to the main folder where he kept all of the photos he took.

Jeonghan did not stop you, so you dived in the rows of snapped memories. Most of the photos were of himself with his friends, photos you helped him take, photos with you… Joshua.

The tip of your finger chose a photo, almost as if it had a mind of its own. “Where is this from?” you asked.

Jeonghan had chocolate brown hair in the photo, his head leaned on Joshua’s shoulder. The smile plastered on his face was sweet, two fingers in a peace sign held to the camera. Whereas Joshua had a pale bond hair, also smiling and holding a peace sign.

“That was… I think it was one of the first times I saw one of his shows,” he said, coughing a laugh. “He was a complete mess. He wasn’t the confident sexy rockstar you know now.”

“Mmph,” you smirked. “So you think he’s sexy?”

The restaurant was located on top of a hotel building. The tables were beautifully flanked by water gardens, lamps hanging from the open ceiling, illuminating everything with a warm orange glow.

“They’re usually late,” Jeonghan explained. But this was not said with his nonchalant and characteristic way. He anxiously looked around the tables with a pout on his face.

The air was damp, urging you to fan yourself with your hand in slow, lazy motions. Jeonghan wore a white shirt, unbuttoned all the way through, a white tank top underneath it. His long dark hair tucked behind his cute ears, he chewed on his lip.

“Are you nervous?”

His fleeting gaze fixed on your face. “A little,” he admitted, giving you a meek smile.

“Should I worry?” you raised your eyebrows.

“No, baby, not at all,” he slipped a hand under the table, finding your thigh to five it a squeeze.

“Okay,” you sighed, returning the smile he had given you.

Then you saw a familiar face, something helped by the fact that you had scrolled through Jeonghan’s photos on his phone. It was a friend of both Joshua and Jeonghan’s, but apparently so, Jeonghan had met this person long before Joshua did.

“They’re here,” he announced with a shaky mutter, standing up as the couple approached the table.

Then, with the nervousness that you had never seen in him before, he introduced you to his friends by name, sending you a glance. He probably saw the nervousness mirrored in your eyes, but somehow his confidence was restored upon mentioning that you are his girlfriend.

The man that was introduced to you as Choi Seungcheol blinked from your face to Jeonghan’s one time only. There was something exchanged there, but it was quite obvious that the man was not understanding this. The thought of this going badly set your nerves on fire.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you,” his girlfriend stepped in quickly, reading the situation too. 

“Baby, why don’t you go with Cheol’s girl to see the water gardens?” Jeonghan cut in, giving you a knowing look.

You paused before nodding with evident reluctance, stepping away from the table, leaving both men to have a moment alone.

“What the fuck?” Seungcheol whispered, looking around the tables to avoid dragging attention in. So he sat down.

Jeonghan returned to his seat too. “What?” he shrugged, pulling out his vape pen from his pocket.

“Why do you have the same girlfriend as Joshua?” as soon as the words left his mouth, Seungcheol grimaced.

“Because she is Joshua’s girlfriend,” Jeonghan replied with faux nonchalance, drawing a long stroke from his vape pen.

“Gimme that,” his friend gritted, yanking the vape pen from Jeonghan’s grip. “Jeonghan, I’m being serious,” he regained some control before asking: “Is she your girlfriend?”

Jeonghan exhaled slowly, trying to keep his heartbeat steady. “Yes, she really is my girlfriend,” he replied. “We’re both dating her.”

Seungcheol blinked, looking at his girlfriend in the distance walking alongside you. You both are looking quite friendly with each other, laughing, and chatting. “So, when you told me that you found someone, you meant…”

Jeonghan hated this, he hated to be open and vulnerable about his feelings. But this was Seungcheol. Jeonghan could not hide from him, and he did not want to.  “We’re all in a relationship, us three… It’s complicated,” he choked up a little, rolling his eyes to the sky. “I love her.”

For a moment, both men were lost in thought.

“Are you happy?” Seungcheol asked.

“I am,” he forced out. That was a lie; Jeonghan was not fully happy. There were somethings he still needed to figure out with you, with Joshua. But in that evening, he felt happy.

“That’s all I need to know,” Seungcheol sighed, pushing his hair back with one hand.

“Good,” Jeonghan agreed. “Can I have that back?”

Seungcheol rolled his eyes, giving the vape pen back. “You know, you’ve always been really weird, you and Joshua.”

This made Jeonghan tilt his head to one side “Weird how?”

Seungcheol shrugged. “I noticed it before but never said anything. When we get together, talking, or playing a game… something always made me think about it. It’s like you two share one mind. It’s creepy.”

“Pffft,” Jeonghan broke into a chuckle. “Alright.”

“What? You move at the same time, you finish each other’s sentences! It’s weird!” Seungcheol protested with a pout.

“Let’s order something to drink,” Jeonghan dismissed, raising one hand to motion for you to return to the table.

As soon as you sat down, you searched his face as he grabbed your hand again. You sent him a questioning look, subtly asking if everything was okay. Jeonghan laced his fingers with yours, giving you a reassuring squeeze with his hand.

And at that, the evening went on. Meeting his friends gave you another insight into his personality, and you were glad to find out that his friends were accepting of you. Soon, you felt a bit embarrassed for being so nervous before, as you realized that Seungcheol and his girlfriend were really understanding.

“Would you share a bottle of red wine with me?” you asked, reading the menu.

“I don’t know a thing about wines. But I trust you,” Jeonghan mumbled beside you. He chewed on his lip, absentmindedly mouthing the words his eyes were going over on the menu.

“You’re okay?” you asked discreetly beside him, darting a glance to the couple sitting across the table.

“Why do you ask?” he replied as quietly, shifting his gaze from the menu.

“You look worried,” you pointed, sending another swift glance. “Something happened?”

“Nah,” he discarded the idea at once. “I’m just thinking what to order, baby,” he said reassuringly, grabbing your hand to nibble at your knuckles with his lips.

“Let me order for you,” you offered, sweetening your voice involuntarily. “Something that goes with wine.”

His eyes triangulated to your own and your lips. “Alright, beautiful,” he smirked. “Impress me.”  

You gave him a badly coordinated wink. “I got you, handsome,” you said, laughing at yourself.

He shouldn’t lie to you, he reprimanded himself with a stab to his heart.

“Oh, shoot,” you muttered under your breath, getting your phone from your handbag. Jeonghan knew who it was before he even thought to glance at the screen. “I’ll be right back. Order, these,” you pointed with your finger at the menu, pressing the phone to your ear.

“O-okay,” he stuttered, watching you leave the table to take Joshua’s call.

Jeonghan hid his reaction behind the menu, but he knew Seungcheol was looking. The man was resting his chin on his hand, and Jeonghan wished that he just spoke what his eyes were trying to say. It would have been better that way, instead of suffering the weight of his dark gaze. 

But he ordered the bottle of wine and pasta that you pointed to before leaving.

The order arrived just as you were returning to your seat. Jeonghan made no question, no comment about Joshua’s call, like he usually did. But instead, he just grabbed your hand, giving it a comfortable squeeze before raising his wine glass and giving it a generous gulp.

Jeonghan made a face.

“What, you didn’t like it?” you asked, taking the glass of wine to your lips.

“It was just a big gulp,” he said with shame in his eyes.

“Small sippy sips,” you indicated, lifting a finger in a knowing expression.

Jeonghan laughed. “Sippy sips,” he repeated, giving you a nod before raising his glass at you. “You’re cute.”

You touched his glass with your own. “Try it again.”

Jeonghan took another sip cautiously, letting the rich taste of wine linger on his tongue as he savoured it. “It’s fine,” he decided, nodding approvingly.

“It’ll taste better with the food,” you pointed at his plate with your fork.

You ignored the two pairs of eyes watching your interaction with Jeonghan, smiling at him as he experimentally took a bite from his plate of pasta, chewing graciously and washing the flavours with the red wine.

“I like this,” he said contently, giving you a loving smile.

“See, I told you,” you replied in kind.

As the minutes passed, Jeonghan began to loosen up. His shoulders slacked, leaning back in his chair as he downed the first glass of wine and pouring himself another without you noticing. The warm glow of the lights above showed the light dewy layer of sweat on his forehead.

“Are you hot?” you asked innocently, setting your empty glass on the table, leaning towards him.

“You are hot,” he replied, breaking into a hearty chuckle.

“Shut up,” you rolled your eyes. “Not here.”

Choi Seungcheol lifted his head, frowning lightly at the pronounced sound of Jeonghan’s laughter, but made no comment. Jeonghan’s lucidity had started to wane, and only a keen eye like Seungcheol’s would notice.

“Let him have fun,” his girlfriend advised him, giving him a gentle nudge with her elbow.

Seungcheol nodded, visibly discarding his worry away with a light shaking of his head. “So… how did you two meet?”

Everyone on the table noticed that the question was good in nature, harmless, but indirectly putting you in a tight spot.

“Joshua introduced us,” you explained, ignoring the groan from the other two displeased parties. “He wanted me to meet his best friend.”

“How does it work?” Seungcheol asked, ignoring the more aggressive jab of his girlfriend’s elbow. “Sorry, I have to ask. I need to know.”

“It’s okay,” you assured. “I realize how this is confusing; it was for me too. But we just work it out. Make sure that it’s all fair for everyone in the relationship. It’s still all new but I’m glad we made this choice.”

Jeonghan placed a hand on your thigh in a subtle gesture of thanks. You eyed him, noticing the light glow in his face, the rosy cheeks, and lips.

“It seems like a difficult choice to make. How did you arrive at it?” now Seungcheol’s girlfriend asked, equally as curious. And you only understood it as them caring out for their friend.

“We had a threesome,” Jeonghan blurted, a bemused smile plastered on his face.

You realized too late, that as the night had worn on, Jeonghan’s demeanor had changed, from being rigid and nervous to being less coherent, and more reckless.

“You’re drunk,” Seungcheol sighed, dropping his forehead onto his palm at Jeonghan’s chuckles. He had been blunt in order to stop them from asking more questions.

“How much did you drink?” you asked him, taking in his flushed face, his glazy and unfocused eyes.

“I don’t know. A whole bottle, maybe,” he admitted with a slurry speech, a light frown on his sweaty face. “I’ll be right back.”

He grinned sheepishly as he excused himself from the table, walking disjointedly to the bathroom.

“I’ll take you home,” Seungcheol told you, motioning to a waiter to bring the bill.

“No, it’s okay,” you shook your head. “I’m okay, I can take his car.”

Seungcheol stilled, cocking one eyebrow at you. “He lets you drive his car,” he pouted sulkily, looking at his girlfriend. “He doesn’t even let me go near the wheel.”

“Come on,” you struggled to get the tall man through the hallway of his apartment, nearly dragging him into the marbled floors until you reached the master bathroom. You giggled nervously when his shoulder bumped against the doorframe, making him groan in pain.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he mumbled some seconds after, making you think that the alcohol had set deeper in him during the ride to his home.  

“Help me, Hannie,” you giggled at his clumsiness.

“Don’t you laugh, I’m drunk!” he pouted, his eyebrows pushed inwards in a cute frown.

“Sorry,” you sighed with a smile. “You’re a big baby,” you explained, groaning as you helped him sit down on the rim of the bathtub, you swiftly turned the shower on and kicked your heels to one corner of the big bathroom. Jeonghan languidly raised his head to follow your movements, tilting his head back to look up to see your face. “Let me take these off, okay?”

He blinked slowly, taking some seconds in to process your words, biting his lower lip, he nodded.

“Don’t get any ideas,” you whispered, but could not help to also mask your smirk as you worked to get his white shirt off.

Jeonghan smiled, giggling goofily. “Caught me,” he muttered, raising one hand to clutch your wrist, looking now at your arms working to get his clothes off. “You’re very beautiful.”

“Tha-thank you Jeonghan,” you awkwardly replied. “You're beautiful, too.”

That made him chuckle again, slowly, but it was a joyless laugh. “That’s not what you said earlier,” he muttered, raising his arms as you peeled the white tank top off his torso.

“Did I said something earlier?” you asked with genuine curiosity, making a gesture with your hands, motioning him to get to his feet, which he obediently did, but with paused movements.

“Don’t play coy with me,” he tilted his head to one side, his half-lidded eyes now lowered to find your face.

“I’m not,” you blinked, but noticing it was just playful and drunken banter, you continued to undress him. “I–I’m taking your pants off, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, his head bouncing and then he smiled shyly, bristling when your cold fingers slid on his belly, unhooking the waistband of his pants to push them down. “God, I’m so drunk. This is not how I pictured this night going. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you shook your head dismissively. “Are you okay though? Can you step in the shower?”

Jeonghan nodded, wordlessly moving to stand under the shower stream. He let his head hang forward lazily as he seemed to come back to life under the lukewarm water.

“Is the temperature right?” you asked, leaning against the wall, enjoying the sight of him standing upright, and tilt his head back, letting the water shower on his face fully.

His hands pushed his damp hair back, feet stumbling clumsily as he seemed to lose his balance for a second.

“Be careful,” you mumbled, quickly shuffling on your feet to ready yourself to lend him a hand if needed.

“I'm okay, I'm okay,” he tried to reassure you, but your brow did not relax. “I’d be better if you hop in here with me.”

“Jeonghan,” you said chastising.

“Alright, alright,” he chuckled, nodding his head as he washed his face nearly methodically. When he was done, he looked around and said: “Can you pass me that towel?”

You should have known better, from the moment he did not seem to be shutting the tap off, you should have just waited but you dumbly grabbed the folded towel and handed it out to him.

Jeonghan was swift, grabbing you by your arm and pulling you in with such a strength that you nearly stumbled over his body.

“Jeonghan!” you squealed, awkwardly steading yourself before you made him stumble too.

But he seemed to be fine, laughing like a kid playing in the rain, his hands grabbed you firmly by your waist, pulling you to him so you were now pressed to his body.

“That’s better,” he whispered, making you stop in your attempt to step out of the shower and raised your eyes to him.

“You’re crazy,” you half scolded but could not continue suppressing your smile. “I don’t have a change of clothes,” you mumbled, being swiftly swept away by the beauty of the man in front of you.

Now you remembered. You had called him handsome. You called him in the same way you did to Joshua routinely and although he noticed your clear mishap, he liked it.  

“I can lend you something,” he replied, his voice was barely a mumble. “Will you stay here? With me? Please.”

You quickly understood what he was doing, playing the same cards you did on him when you wanted him to stay the night at yours. You smiled at him knowingly and he quickly returned your smile, although his was relaxed.

“Of course,” you whispered, eyelids fluttering repeatedly when Jeonghan swayed your body in a drunken motion, the shower stream washing over you, dampening your hair and dress.

“Good,” he mouthed, pressing a lazy kiss on your mouth. Then his hands moved from your waist to remove the pin from your head, releasing your hair.

“Jeonghan,” you called when he pressed desperate kisses on your lips, trailing down to your chin and then your neck, breathing heavily as if tired. “Hannie, let’s get you to bed.”

“Mmn, yeah, okay,” he sighed, but he did not stop kissing your neck, lips pressing quick kisses. But then in a movement, he lost his balance once again, his body stumbling over, pushing your back against the wall. “Oh, shit, shit. I’m sorry,” his hands held onto the wall to regain some balance.

“Let’s go,” you insisted, blindly finding the tap with one hand to shut it off.

You managed to slip the straps of your dress off, removing the soaked material from your body and stepped off the shower, grabbing the nearest towel from the hanger and wrapped your body, handing the bathrobe to the very drunk Jeonghan who just followed you with his gaze.

“You look troubled,” he mentioned, much as if he could not stop his mouth. “Am I overstepping?”

“No,” you immediately blurted. “No, Hannie, I’m just worried about you.”

“Don’t be,” he muttered, squaring his shoulders as he adjusted the knot of his bathrobe. “I can do this, I’m fine.”

Then he turned to leave the bathroom with a slow pace in his footsteps. “Jeonghan, wait,” you chuckled at his determination.

You followed him out of the bathroom, across his walk-in closet and to his bedroom. Where you were mildly surprised by the minimalism of the space occupied by a lonely king size bed. It was neatly made, the white covers folded by the hem, pillows fluffed.

Then you realized, Jeonghan had not spent a night at his place in a while. He had been spending night after night at yours, just sleeping and leaving the next day for work.

Jeonghan stood by one of the sides of the bed, clumsily getting on it with his hands and knees crawling to slump down on the pillows with a pleased groan.

Hesitant, you approached the other side of the bed, sitting beside his body, thinking that he had already fallen asleep. But he lifted one hand, blindly searching for your body. He first found your hand resting on your lap, then he palmed your thigh, right before he moved his head to rest it there.

“I’m sorry, this wasn't in my plans for tonight,” he mumbled, his cheek was tightly pressed against your towel covered lap, making his words partially muffled.

“It’s okay, Hannie,” you sighed, bringing a hand to caress his wet hair. “I’m beginning to think that you like being babied.”

He chuckled, his body vibrating slightly on his bed. “Yeah, maybe I do,” he replied, moving his face against your body to nuzzle you slightly. “But not like this. I wanted you to have a nice dinner.”

“I had fun tonight,” you replied with a sweet tone, feeling crushed when Jeonghan pouted, turning his head to see you face to face. “I thought your friends were nice.”

“Did you really?”

“Yes, of course,” you smiled at him. “Let me take care of you, yeah?” you muttered, his dreamy eyes blinking confusedly at you. “I’ll dry your hair and get you dry clothes, okay?”

Jeonghan took a long second before nodding with his head in a stiff motion. “Okay,” he conceded.

Once you got him to wear some clothes you found in his closet, he slipped underneath the heavy white bed sheets and covers, motioning you over to his side. Jeonghan was quiet, the kind of quietness that no longer felt welcoming, nor comfortable.

You unwrapped the towel before sliding to his side under the covers, thinking that he was about to fall asleep. But he raised his gaze at you, and your stomach twisted violently when you understood that there was a reason why he had been behaving like this.

“I want to be more than your best friend,” he whispered groggily, struggling to stay awake. “I want to matter to you as much as Joshua does.”

“Jeonghan, that's not what I meant,” you breathed, chest deflating painfully upon finding what the root of his erratic mood was. “I trust you.”

Jeonghan decided that it was best to wait to hatch this conversation again once he was sober. You waited for his answer, but instead, he was surrendering himself to the fatigue that was accentuated by the alcohol.

“Hannie,” you called, but he made no motion. “Talk to me, please,” you whispered, shaking under the stress of thinking that you had hurt him with your actions.  

“It’s nothing, baby,” he whispered languidly. He should open up before he gets worse, he told himself. But Jeonghan was not a person who would confess his feelings first. His ability to think coherently was almost completely gone, and he feared to say something he might regret the next day.

“Are you sure?”

“Let’s talk tomorrow. When I’m sober,” his hand came to your cheek, whispering a sorry when you bristled upon his cold contact.

“Yeah, okay,” you mouthed, wriggling closer to him, where he received you with a kiss on the crown of your head.

But you could not fall asleep at the same time he did. You watched him breathing slowly, his heavy eyelashes tremble in deep slumber. You kept your movements at minimum, as quietly as you could, admiring his beauty without him knowing.

When you could finally fall asleep, you adjusted in his welcoming embrace, letting yourself ease into his warmth and leaving your worries for the following morning.

Jeonghan groaned, waking up to a light, but throbbing headache. But you were buried beneath the bundles of white covers with him, peacefully asleep, your cheek squished by the hand you kept under it.

He remembered you tend to have a light-sleep when you wrapped your arms around his torso too. “Good morning, princess,” he whispered, sounding gruff.

Your arms tightened around him slightly before you moved your head back to lock eyes with him. You looked tired, but there was a calmness in your entire demeanor that Jeonghan knew that was not because of your recent sleep. It was something else.

His heart sank once again. Did he say something last night? What happened?

But you just pressed your lips against his, humming in delightfulness when he reciprocated the kiss. “I love you,” you whispered.

Shock, relief, joy. Elation. All coursed through him upon hearing you say those words. He knew just how much you had been overthinking, grappling with questions about fidelity, jealousy, hurt feelings and such. So, to hear you finally say it lifted a stone from his chest.

Jeonghan took one look to your face and smiled. “Well, look at that,” he whispered, teasing you. But he could not deny, he was over the moon pressing his smiling lips to yours repeatedly. “I love you too, princess.”

You smiled on his lips. “I'm in love with you,” you reaffirmed, almost as if it was relieving for you too to say it out loud.

Jeonghan laughed in your lips, shyly lifting a hand to cup your cheek. “I know,” he touched your forehead with his own. “I'm in love with you too. I have been for a while,” he whispered nervously.

“I know,” you giggled too. The truth was, whatever Jeonghan thought he felt, you felt it too.

“Mn, I know you do. You made me suffer a little,” he teased, his voice muffled by the closeness to which he kept his lips on yours, pressing them repeatedly.

“It wasn't on purpose, Jeonghan,” you replied with a remorseful tone, pausing the kisses to send you a saddened look.

“I'm joking, baby,” he cupped your cheek, moving his hand to tuck your hair behind your ear. “I wanted to wait for you to be ready.”

“Thank you,” you whispered shakily, denoting on how much this still affected you on an emotional level. “I'm sorry I kept you waiting.”

“I'd do it all over again,” he assured, his eyes reading your facial features slowly, committing to keep the glint in your eyes in his memory.

“I never wanted you to feel shunned,” you confessed, feeling emboldened by the honesty in his eyes, the softness to which he welcomed you in his arms. “I'm still thinking of how to make this relationship fair for everybody.”

“But this is fair,” his brow furrowed slightly, lips pouting slightly as he spoke. “I just wanted to feel reciprocated.”

“I know,” you nodded slightly, still looking at him in his eyes, which had something in his chest fluttering crazily. “I took my time to realize that.”

“It's okay. And it's all better now,” he whispered, leaning so his forehead touched yours once again. “I know this is hard for you.”

You nodded again, taking a deep breath. “Having two boyfriends is difficult,” you confessed.

“Yeah, I imagine. And it must be doubly difficult if both boyfriends are possessive, clingy, and obsessive, right?” he conceded with the smallest of smiles. “Maybe you should leave the thinking on how to make this fair for you to Joshua and I.”

“Mn, that would be nice,” you muttered, but you were quickly swept away by the softness of his lips, the way he hummed in delight as you kissed him repeatedly.

Jeonghan sighed deeply, nearly shuddering with the ecstatic feeling coursing through his veins. “I love you,” he whispered.

Both of his hands came to cup your face, squeezing your cheeks as he pressed more loving kisses on your lips. It made you smile the way his kisses took on a more hurried speed, as if he were trying to convey all his adoration before combusting.

“I love you, Jeonghan,” you replied when he stopped for air, deciding to keep his forehead resting against yours.

“I needed this,” he mumbled in between kisses. “Needed you.”

“I know, baby,” you admitted. “Me too.” 

Your hands searched for him while keeping your lips latched onto his. You found his torso, sneaking beneath his t-shirt. This time, Jeonghan did not protest against your touch, he let you touch his torso freely, roaming the skin of his back with your fingertips. You swallowed one of his moans, shuddering against you. 

“We never finished watching that show,” you muttered aloofly as you continued giving him open mouthed kisses, almost as if you found it impossible to part from his lips, and he very much welcomed it.

“What show?” he hummed, equally aloof, his hands were already on you. A groan tore his chest when his hands found your bare skin and he remembered that he held your naked body through the night.

“Love Island, I think is,” you giggled nervously when his hands pulled you to him just as he turned on the bed, lying flat on his back, with you on top of him.

“You think?” he asked, but none of you were interested on the topic of conversation, you and Jeonghan were all about to keep touching each other, unable to stop the warm, open kisses. “I thought we did.”

“Mmn,” you breathed out as you placed your knees on each of his sides on the bed. “They released another season,” you said right before diving on his lips for a longer, deeper kiss.

“Mn,” his hand cupped your chin, keeping you close with his pointer and thumb on you. “Wanna watch it, baby?” he asked, but his voice had dropped to a low, raspy murmur.

“Yeah,” you breathed out aloofly, then realizing how your voice sounded, you giggled.

“Right now?” he paused, his sweet brown eyes scanning the features of your face swiftly.

“Sounds like you have a better plan,” you quipped, running the tip of your finger down one of his cheeks, a soft smile spreading on your lips when you realized the lascivious need glinting in his eyes.

“I might have one,” he replied, a shyness in his face revealing itself in a smile and he finally giggle, making you do that too.

“Of course you do,” you quipped.  

“Come here,” he whispered, pulling you with his hand already on your chin for a kiss.

With that, Jeonghan came to his resolve. He was in love with you. And he was determined to make this work with you. No matter what.

✮ author's note: hi hi hi hi there i really have nothing to say. i was thinking of explaining the dynamic between bunny and joshua, and her dynamic with jeonghan but i hope i did a good job of conveying that in this chapter so tell me what you guys think? hehe also, i want to thank you guys for showing me your love for this fic in the last chapter. i was losing purpose in writing and seeing you guys show this fic some love made me so happy. i thank you for staying and for being here on this journey with me. i love you all 🩵😭 anyways, toodles!! ✮ STAY TUNED FOR THE FIFTH CHAPTER!! ✮ JOIN MY TAGLIST | PREVIOUS CHAPTERS | BUY ME A COFFEE? (●'◡'●) © RIGHTS RESERVED TO HANNIEWEEN I DO NOT ALLOW TRANSLATIONS, CONTINUATIONS, REIMAGINATIONS OF MY WORKS OR THEIR REPOSTING ON OTHER WEBSITES.

[oddinary4bts]

Chasing Cars | ch 13 (jjk)

☆summary: when your brother goes to study on a semester abroad, your life collides with his best friend Jeon Jungkook, who's coincidentally your roommate. Will you survive the collision, or will you crumble into dust?

☆pairings: brother's best friend!Jungkook x younger sister!female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, some chapters have mature content)

☆genre: forbidden love?au, college!au, slice of life!au, smut, angst (as usual a lot of it), fluff

☆warnings: college anxiety, angst, Gabrielle, Lisa, alcohol, cursing, mentions of cheating, a frat party, explicit content: implied sex

☆word count: 8.9k

☆a/n: more angst oop- I hope you guys like it :') thank you to @moonleeai for beta-ing, you're the best <3

☆series masterpost

☆add yourself to the taglist here!

☆☆☆☆☆

If I lay here If I just lay here Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Chasing Cars, Snow Patrol

☆☆☆☆☆

Friday, August 30

Summer came and went. Like everything in life, it became just a moment in time, a short movie consisting of flashing scenes of friendship and fun and sun, of pools and tanning and hikes. Summer was perfect, summer was healing, yet summer couldn’t heal everything.

Summer hasn’t healed a doe-eyed boy from your heart, but you think it’s okay. You think, perhaps your love for Jungkook is just everlasting, another one of those memories you know you’ll cherish for the rest of your life.

You reckon, if you were to have kids one day and they’d asked you who your first love was, you wouldn’t be able to answer their father.

It will always be Jungkook, no matter the bitterness and the pain of the ending.

It’s his necklace you wear on your heart every day after all.

You’ve worked all summer, amassing money to cover your expenses for the year. You’ve gone back home with Taehyung for a week your mother had off, and you spent it camping like you did when you were kids, gaze getting lost in starlight and sun rays on the water, reflections of light that left afterimages on your retina.

Much like Jungkook is an afterimage on your heart. Never fully erased, yet the pain isn’t as sharp anymore. Like the time soothed its edges, reminding you of the good part, allowing you to let go of the bad.

The first news you had of Jungkook this summer was stories posted on a Saturday evening, of him and Lisa and friends in New York City. Turns out Lisa landed an internship at an architect firm in New York through her father’s connections, and turns out it was all she needed to be welcomed into Jeon Jungkook’s world over there.

You’d been jealous back then, bitterly so. Yoongi, bless his heart, had forced you to hang out at his place, claiming the empty room needed to be repainted before Namjoon moved in for the semester. It’d been a good distraction, and by the end of the weekend, you’d realized that Jungkook was allowed to have friends, to move on from your idyllic moment in his life.

It hurt, but it was a sign of healing.

You got closer to Yoongi over the summer. Learned all about his past, about his high school and how his parents were supportive when he came out, yet reluctant when he brought his first boy home. He’d told you how he met Hoseok in his last year of high school despite not attending the same school, and how their friendship had immediately blossomed.

Only to wither in April, when Hoseok had chosen to leave. None of you or your friends have had any news of him since then, like he wiped his existence from all of your lives like it was nothing. It’s been hard for Yoongi, harshly so, so you’ve made sure to always be available for him, too.

Namjoon and Nabi’s relationship didn’t suffer such a fate. They’ve only been growing stronger over the summer, proof that despite Namjoon getting out of his relationship with his ex and jumping in the one with Nabi right away, they were meant for each other. In truth, you’ve never seen anyone love each other like Namjoon and Nabi do, and maybe that most of all has healed your bleeding heart.

There has to be someone out there who’ll love you like you’re the one who paints his every sunset. 

Seokjin wasn’t on the receiving end of such a relationship. He’d confessed to Ria halfway through the summer, telling her that he couldn’t do the see-saw anymore, that he needed everything or nothing, and in good Ria fashion, your friend ran. She ran and ran, until Seokjin told her he was ashamed of having believed she deserved to be loved.

The blow has been hard on Ria, and she hasn’t been with anyone since then. Hasn’t mentioned Seokjin once either, but you know that, whenever you go out, he’s the one she’s looking for. 

The strangest part of this summer happened on a random Tuesday evening when you’d just come home from work. Taehyung and Ariane, ever so the lovebirds, had been hanging out in the living room when you’d crossed the threshold. Taehyung’s gaze had shot to you, and he’d uttered words you think have been carved into your brain.

“Did you know Jungkook is the heir of JJS pharmaceuticals?” 

You did. You knew about his father’s company - he’d told you once when you’d been lying with your head on his chest, one of the rare times he’d talked about his family after your weekend escapade to New York.

But you knew Jungkook’s existence had been mostly a secret, his father refusing to announce his existence to the world because Jungkook had refused to study at an Ivy League College.

At the confusion on your face - or rather, the masked pain you’d been hiding for weeks and months - Taehyung had added, “There was a conference press, and he’s all over social media.”

He was. You found out quickly enough, articles and articles about him showing up on your Instagram as well. You’d seen pictures from the press conference: though his father had been smiling wide, Jungkook had only been staring at the camera, like he’d wished he could disappear.

You don’t know what led him to accept a position at his father’s company before he’d even graduated, but you knew then and know now that it had to not have been his choice.

So indeed, summer came and went until it became just a memory, and the new semester now looms over the horizon, a reminder that though your skin might have been sunkissed these last few months, it’s now time to return to reality.

You’re sitting in the kitchen, indulging in Buldak noodles as you read a book about Faes and High Lords and a Night Court. You’ve started reading again over the summer, another way to escape that helped fill your breaks at work when you didn’t go out for lunch with your coworkers. It was nice to reconnect with your previous love for reading - indeed, you’d spent years in middle school and high school getting lost in fantasy and dystopian worlds, and recovering this part of you might have been another way to heal.

It’s reminded you that every story is worth telling, even those that don’t end well.

So you sit at the kitchen table, halfway done with your noodles, when the front door opens and closes. 

“Hello!” you greet out of reflex.

Taehyung and Ariane were out shopping for groceries, and though they haven’t left a long time ago, you assume it’s them coming home.

“Do you need any help?” you ask as no one replies, which is strange.

They’re always talking about everything and nothing, joking around like they’re the only people in the world. It’s something you do find cute, but that always grates your nerves in all the wrong ways.

Where Nabi and Namjoon have been making you feel hopeful when it comes to love, Taehyung and Ria have made you jaded too.

The silence prolongs, and you don’t even hear them taking off their shoes. You furrow your brows, wondering if they’re trying to prank you. So you put your book down even though you are in the middle of a good scene, and you push up from the table, heading towards the kitchen’s doorway.

You reckon, maybe you should have expected it. You’d known he was coming back at some point - he still has a year left of college. But you didn’t think he’d show up on an early Friday evening, clutching his duffel bag and standing by the door like he’s a guest in his own home.

He’s changed. The first thing you notice is that he’s changed: he doesn’t have the eyebrow piercing anymore, his hair is shorter - almost entirely shaved at the sides - and though he still has the lip piercings, he looks different than what you remember.

As if a few months was enough to blur your memories of Jeon Jungkook, and the wound you’d thought to be healed over the last few months reopens, pouring liquid lava on your entire body until you think you’re burning, and not in a good way.

He’s dressed in all black, like some things don’t change after all. He looks more built than he was last semester, like he’s gone to the gym a lot more over the summer. His tattoos have also changed - they’ve been coloured, some of them, as if he tried to put colours back into his life.

You hope it worked. But when you hold his gaze, the heaviness making you want to disappear through the floor, you think maybe it didn’t work at all.

“Y/n,” he greets.

His voice has changed too. Or maybe it’s just the emotions, maybe it’s just the fact that the last thing he ever told you were those words in the letter you keep hidden in your night table, words you’ve romanticized every night trying to fall asleep.

Not that you would tell anyone.

“Jungkook,” you reply in the same tone.

He nods once, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and then he takes off his shoes. You watch him, dumbly standing in the doorway, and he shoots you a look once his shoes - black boots that look far too warm for the summer - are off.

“How are you?”

His three words throw you off. They make you feel like last semester might have been a construct of your imagination, but then again you hold that letter too dearly, and the memories of him have been your favourites for months now.

“I’m okay,” you reply, nodding once. “How are you?”

He pulls on his piercings, the gesture familiar yet so different than how you’ve been imagining it every night. “I’m chill.”

He starts to walk towards his room, but he stops halfway there, glancing over your head into the kitchen. 

“Want something to eat?” you ask, and you wonder if he hears your heart as it picks up in your chest.

You see the moment he spies the Buldak noodles on the table. He smiles softly, with his eyes first, and you think maybe this is it.

Maybe he came back home.

Came back home to you.

But then his features fall, the smile vanishing and darkness invading his gaze. He shakes his head no, nodding towards his room. “Thanks, but I gotta unpack.”

You watch him walk the rest of the way towards his bedroom. He turns the knob, pushes the door open, yet he freezes there. His shoulders tense, and even though you don’t see his features, you know he wants to say something else.

You hope he will, hope he’ll say something that might mend the bridge between the two of you. That might erase this abyss between you and him until the ending disappears.

You know it’s because you haven’t seen him in a long time. Know that, when it all comes down to it, you wouldn’t go back to him - he broke your heart, and you’d be a fool to return to him. But you like to imagine that you would as he stands there, that you’d run to him if he turned and said the right words.

But he doesn’t. He sighs, and then he walks into his room, shutting the door softly behind him. And as he disappears from view, you feel yourself stumble, like you’ve taken a hit right to the chest. You lay a hand over your beating heart, almost expecting to feel blood trickling through your fingers.

As if he’s just broken your heart all over again, torn it from your ribcage. Yet it breaks - you didn’t think he still had that power over you.

Hell, you thought you’d been moving on.

You walk back into the kitchen, the room spinning around you. You drop in the chair you were sitting in before, eyeing your book. And though you want to get lost in the fantasy world again, you’re bleeding out on your chair, pain burning along every single one of your nerves.

How are you supposed to share a roof with the one that broke your heart?

The answer is easy. You can’t.

You need to get out of here, and quickly.

Monday, September 2nd 

Your first day back to college is long. You’ve got two classes - a morning and an afternoon class, both of them three hours long. 

When the second one ends - luckily half an hour early ‘because it’s the first day’ as the professor said - you make your way out of class with Nabi. She’s typing away on her phone, likely asking Namjoon when he’ll be home, yet she follows you as you head to the dorms.

You’ve been crashing at the girls’ dorm over the weekend, as you try to figure out what you should do. You haven’t figured anything yet - Taehyung’s been telling you that you shouldn’t move out, asking if it’s because of Ariane moving in, and though you’ve been good at avoiding mentioning Jungkook, there’s just so much you can do before you burst and admit that it’s because of him.

But it’s okay - Nabi’s been staying with Yoongi and Namjoon, so you have her bed all to yourself, and Ria and you have been treating it like a massive sleepover, doing face masks every night and getting mildly drunk on Saturday.

Nabi sighs as you walk towards the dorms, and you throw her a look. 

“What’s wrong?”

“I feel like this semester is about to be the worst,” she admits, slightly shaking her head. “Namjoon basically confirmed it.”

You hook your arm with hers, resting your head on her shoulder. “Baby, it’s fine. We’re in this together.”

“It’s easy for you to say, you’re the top of our class.”

“And you’re the second,” you remind her. “We’ll be okay, I promise.”

She nods, heaving out a heavy breath again. “Is it bad that I’m already anxious?”

You don’t reply right away, as you pass through a group of engineer students gathered in front of a class, most likely getting ready for an evening class. An evening class on the first Monday… 

You feel bad for them.

“It’s not bad,” you reply once you’ve finally walked past. “It means that you care about your grades. You just need to not let it eat you alive.”

“I think I’m just realizing that getting into med school might be harder than we thought,” she says with a sigh.

You stop, tugging on her arm so that she stops too. “No, I’m not having any of that,” you tell her. “We’ll both get in, Nabi, I promise.”

“Are you sure?” she asks, folding her arms on her chest.

“Yup.” You nod forcefully. “Dead serious. And after that, it’s smooth sailing until residency. And then we get a residency together, and we become sexy doctors.”

“Bruh,” she lets out, and she chuckles.

You’re happy your distraction works because you truthfully didn’t know where you were headed with it. “I promise!” you insist. “Give us a couple of years, and we’ll have our own practice.”

“You want to be a surgeon, and I want to be an ophthalmologist,” she reminds you. “Not quite sure we’d practice at the same place.”

You shrug, and you start walking towards the dorms again. “To be fair, we’ll probably both end up at a hospital. We just need to find a way to work at the same one.”

She purses her lips. “That sounds doable.”

You smirk mischievously. “Damn right.”

*****

Nabi ends up staying with you and Ria at the dorm for a couple of hours after class, and you order takeout that you eat sitting in a circle on the floor like you usually do when you do pre-drinks before a party. It’s fun, more chill than a pre-party gathering, and Ria tells you all about how she ran into Seokjin on campus today.

“He didn’t even look at me,” she admits. “What a dick.”

You exchange a knowing look with Nabi. “Maybe he didn’t see you,” you try.

“He ignores me when we all hang out together too,” she points out. “He’s doing it on purpose.”

Nabi scrunches up her nose. “Yeah… you did lead him on for months.”

“Not my fault if he fell in love,” Ria grumbles, her gaze dropping to the rice bowl she’s eating.

“It might not be your fault, but you still led him on,” Nabi pushes.

Ria huffs a breath, scoffing, but she doesn't say anything. She never really does when it comes to Seokjin anyway.

“Why are you so against the idea of being with him again?” you ask.

The scalding look you earn would put a dragon to shame. “Because I don’t want to be in a relationship,” she says, sounding like you a year ago when your friends had been pestering you about Hoseok.

Oh, how the tables have turned.

“We all know he’d treat you like a goddess though,” Nabi says. “The guy’s a hopeless romantic.”

Ria rolls her eyes. “Cringe.”

You playfully push her, and she bursts out laughing. You don’t miss the way her cheeks have dusted with pink though - and neither does Nabi - but you don’t mention it.

You have a feeling Ria is lying to herself more than she’s lying to the both of you, but you’d never dare tell her. She’ll figure it out on her own or not, and that’s what being in college is.

You try stuff; some of it works, and some doesn’t. 

Jungkook invades your thoughts, your chest aching all over again. You reach for the peach at the end of the chain, playing with the pendant mindlessly as if that can tame the ache, push it back to the back rooms of your mind.

It barely works, yet you manage to be able to let go of him after a few deep breaths, and a prolonged silence of Nabi staring at Ria while the latter is solely focused on eating. Your unease went unnoticed, which you reckon is a relief.

Confiding in them about Jungkook has helped over the summer, obviously, but there are some things you want to keep to yourself. Because Jungkook deserves the centrepiece in all of the secrets you’ve ever held - he was the grandest of them all last semester after all.

Still is, considering you’ve been lying to Taehyung about him all summer. Not that you really had to lie. You just avoided mentioning Jungkook, staying vague about your semester while Taehyung told you everything about Paris. 

And so you end up saying goodbye to Nabi when she decides to go over to Yoongi and Namjoon’s apartment - Namjoon was quick to take Hoseok’s old room, seeking to leave the dorms once and for all - and you and Ria watch Demon Slayer, her favourite anime.

Coincidentally one of Jungkook’s favourite animes too, not that it matters.

You sigh - reminders of him are everywhere lately, and though you have been moving on over the summer, the ache has been revived. You wonder what he’s doing right now. Is he at home, watching anime or playing video games? Is he hanging out with Taehyung, with Jimin and their other friends? Or is he locked up in his room like he was all of Friday, before you fled the apartment?

It shouldn’t matter to you, but it does. Because Jungkook will always matter: he meant too much to you. Still does, and you don’t know what to make of it.

Ria sighs, pulling you out of your thoughts as the episode finishes. You glance at her - you’re lying side by side on her bed, a laptop in between you to watch the show.

“What’s wrong?” you ask her.

She purses her lips, shrugging, though it proves to be awkward considering the position. “I don’t know. It’s just… Is something wrong with me?”

A concerned crease appears between your eyebrows. “Why would you say that?”

“I don’t know…” She pauses, gaze still focused on the laptop screen as if she can’t bring herself to meet your own. “Why am I so opposed to relationships? To love in general?”

Oh. 

“Oh Ria…” you let out.

“Don’t,” she warns. “I don’t want to be pitied.”

You press your lips in a tight line, nodding once. She chuckles, and then she starts the next episode, like she needs a moment to collect her thoughts.

“It’s just…” she says as Tanjiro fights a demon, the fight continued from the last episode. “I’m aware that Seokjin would be good for me. I enjoyed spending time with him too. But the second he mentioned feelings…”

“It turned you off,” you complete for her.

She nods. “It really did.”

“Why do you think it did?” you ask, even though you know it has to be because of her ex.

She sighs deeply. “That’s the thing. I really don’t know. I had a loving family growing up, so I can’t blame it on that. I had friends too, good friends, but then when my ex cheated…”

“It broke the part of you that could trust easily,” you say. “And it’s understandable, and totally valid.”

“I guess so…” she trails off. “I just feel like letting someone in is too much of a vulnerability.”

“That makes sense,” you say. “You like being in control, and you feel like being in a relationship would make you lose control.”

She glances at you, eyes slightly narrowed. “Sometimes I swear to God you sound like a therapist.”

You laugh - it’s not the first time you’ve been told that. Yoongi said so last semester too, when you’d helped him get over Hoseok.

“Don’t ask me for advice though,” you say, scrunching up your nose. “I don’t think I’d have any good advice.”

“Not to be mean, but after what you put yourself through last semester, I don’t think your advice would be really helpful,” she teases.

You widen your gaze. “That was mean.”

She pouts, offering you puppy eyes. You push her on the shoulder, and she rolls on her back, laughing. “No, but seriously,” she says. “I don’t blame you. You fell in love, and that’s not your fault, is it?”

You remain silent, not wanting the conversation to turn to Jungkook. 

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes after a few seconds of silence. “You’re right, that was mean.”

“You’re not wrong, though,” you reassure her. “I saw all the red flags and chose to ignore them.”

Ria turns on her side again, facing you. “That’s love for you. Everyone ignores all the red flags the moment they start having feelings for someone else.”

Like Seokjin, but you don’t say it. You highly doubt she needs to hear it.

“Cheers to that,” you say, though you are void of any beverage at the moment.

You’ve left your water bottle on the floor, too far to reach from where you’re lying in bed.

“You know what we should do?” Ria says a while later, when the episode is coming to an end. “We should go to the party on Friday. The one Dave’s frat is hosting.”

The name Dave rings an extremely distant bell - you think you went to a party hosted by his frat last semester, but you’re not quite sure.

“I thought we were already planning to go.”

Ria looks at you, mischief slowly filling her gaze. “We should go and find some cute guys to forget about all of our problems with.”

You laugh. “Men aren’t the solution to everything, you know that, right?” you tease.

“Oof. They’re the root of the problem most of the time, I know.” She pauses, purses her lips. “But we’re due to have fun. You know Nabi and Namjoon will come for an hour or two and disappear anyway.”

“What about Yoongi?”

“We’ll find him someone too! He deserves it.” She nods, clearly convinced that her plan is the best she’s ever come up with.

And Yoongi does, you think that out of the three of you, he’s the one that deserves a healthy relationship the most. 

So you nod your head, saying, “It’s going to be lit.”

You can only hope that it is and that you don’t end up crying because of a certain doe-eyed man you should have let go of months ago.

Friday, September 6th  

[11:17 am] bröther👽: just letting you know that Gaby is in town so Ari will be staying with her [11:17 am] bröther👽: come home

The texts Taehyung sent to you in the morning sit unanswered on your phone. Mostly because you didn’t know what to say - he still firmly believes you’ve decided to move out because of Ariane, and you think it might have killed a possible friendship with her in the bud.

If only they knew why you truly left. It likely wouldn’t be any better - Jungkook would be dead in a ditch somewhere, and you’d be grounded by your older brother like you were when you were in high school.

You know Taehyung is likely only going to grow suspicious if you ignore him, but you really just don’t know what to say. He’s likely going to be at the party tonight - you’ll make an effort to speak to him, to reassure him, and then you’ll disappear with your friends.

That is, if Jeon Jungkook isn’t with him. Because if Jungkook’s there, you’ll avoid Taehyung like the plague, no matter if that might make him even more suspicious.

“I literally cannot physically wait,” Ria says next to you, and you shoot her a quick look as she puts mascara on.

She’s going all out tonight, and you wonder if it’s because Yoongi mentioned Kim Seokjin will be in attendance. Obviously, you don’t want to attract her ire, so you don’t say it, but you reckon Seokjin has been a ghost in every conversation since last Monday.

Much like Jungkook has been, but you’ve been good at pretending he hasn’t.

“I really hope they’ve stocked up on free alcohol,” you say, knowing you’ll need it, mostly because if Taehyung is in attendance, then Ariane will likely be, and so will Gabrielle. 

Your heart sinks in your chest at the thought - you haven’t told Ria, not wanting to ruin her enthusiasm. 

“Do you want to curl your hair?” Ria says as she finishes with the mascara. 

You shrug. “Nah, I think I’ll keep it natural,” you answer. “But you should curl yours.”

She narrows her gaze, staring at herself in the mirror. “You know what, yeah, I should.”

You chuckle, and then you both busy yourself getting ready. You apply more makeup than you usually do, only because you know it’ll be a mask you’ll use all evening.

Does Gabrielle even know about your existence?

You finish getting ready, stealing from Ria’s closet to get dressed. You settle on a pair of black leather pants, along with a black crop top t-shirt that hugs tight to your frame, revealing just an inch of the bird tattoo you got done on your right ribs in May.

You stare at the ink, thinking about Taehyung’s reaction. He’ll likely be pissed at you, but you’re done caring. If he wants to be mad, then so be it.

“Your ass looks amazing in this,” Ria compliments from behind you, and you snort as you turn to look at her.

She’s wearing a sage green corset that leaves little to the imagination. You compliment her in return, and she winks at you, before suggesting to down a couple of shots before leaving. You immediately agree, and you’ve got a light buzz by the time you leave the dorms, heading to the frat house.

It’s already crowded by the time you get there, the loud music having attracted all the party-goers on campus. The front lawn is cramped, and Ria grabs your hand, pulling you through the crowd to head to the house proper.

You make it to the hall, and luckily enough, there aren't as many people here. You’re able to navigate to the living room, where Dave - he really is the guy from last semester - finds you, offering drinks to the two of you.

You grab a beer, not trusting the questionable punch that Dave claims was prepared earlier today. Ria follows your lead, and you clink bottles with Dave, who admits he has no clue what’s in the punch when you’ve all taken your first sips.

“Bruh, why were you trying to sell it to us then?” Ria asks, eyebrows raised.

Dave laughs, shrugging his shoulders. “Colton said it was good.” 

Colton… you wonder if it’s the same Colton that had warned you about Jungkook once.

“And we’re supposed to trust Colton?” Ria teases.

Dave winces. “Not really, no, he’s already drunk.”

Ria nods as you take a sip of your beer, the bitter liquid heady on your tongue. You turn your head to the side, noticing a very distraught Yoongi walking into the living room, followed close by an even more distraught Seokjin. You wave them over, and Ria and Dave both turn their heads towards the new arrivals.

You notice Ria tensing from the corner of your eye, and Seokjin looks just as uncomfortable as he stops next to you. You hug Yoongi hello, and he doesn’t let you go right away, whispering in your ear, “This place is a shitshow, I don’t think we’ll stay.”

You pout as you pull away. “We said beer pong,” you remind him.

He rolls his eyes, though you know he’s always liked playing beer pong. So you manage to convince him to go for at least one game, though you know you’ll have to wait in line for a while before it’s your actual time to play. It makes for an awkward waiting - Ria and Seokjin are both ignoring each other, and Yoongi and you are standing in the middle, trying to engage in conversation.

You’re finally on the side of the table when you recognize your brother’s laugh, a sound you were sort of hoping not to hear in this crowd. You look to your left - he’s by the garden doors that lead to the backyard, Ariane cuddled up against him, and you think the girl standing with her back to you has to be Gabrielle.

“Shit,” you let out.

Yoongi furrows his brow at the sudden curse. “What’s wrong?” You motion towards the door, and his eyes widen. “Is that who I think it is?”

He knows about Gabrielle. He’s stalked her with you, during one of your many downward spirals, and Gabrielle has that kind of aura that is all too recognizable, even if you’ve only seen her once in a picture.

“I think so,” you reply, and Ria finally leans in to join the conversation.

“Is that Gaby?” she asks, loud enough for the people around you to hear.

You tap her arm, giving her a warning glance, though you’re pretty sure no one’s actually listening. Even Seokjin didn’t glance towards you at the outburst.

But Taehyung notices you, and you quickly turn away, pretending to be focused on the game unfolding on the table in front of you. There’s one cup on the left, three on the other side, and the girls playing are clearly more talented than you: they both shoot it in the lone glass when their turn comes, hugging as they shriek in happiness from their victory.

“Let’s go,” Ria says, and she pulls you to one end of the table as soon as the girls have moved. 

Yoongi and Seokjin take the other side, even though Seokjin truly does appear like he wishes he wasn’t here, and you put the cups back into their spot, reorganizing the table.

Your brother appears next to you before you start, and you offer him a tight-lipped smile.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asks. 

“Me?” you let out, your voice uncharacteristically high. “Nothing.”

“You’ve been ignoring me,” he says through gritted teeth, the typical Kim temper flaring up.

You grab the neon orange ball Ria hands you, shrugging your shoulders. “I haven’t. Just been busy.”

He clenches his jaw, yet remains silent as you focus on the table, preparing for the first shot, the one that determines who between you and Ria or Yoongi and Seokjin will play first.

You’re against Yoongi, so you know you’ve already lost when you shoot. To your surprise, Yoongi misses, his ball bouncing off on the side of a cup. Yours flies way off the table, and you wince.

“That was trash,” Taehyung comments.

“Thanks,” you fire back.

Ria and Seokjin throw, and Ria surprisingly manages to get the shot. You clap your hands as she offers you a thumbs-up.

“Seriously though,” Taehyung asks, handing you the ball that Seokjin threw. “What’s wrong? Why did you move out?”

“Hold on,” you say. 

You take a deep breath, trying to push the anxiety of his questioning away, and you throw. The ball stays on the table this time, bouncing right next to one of the cups.

“Honestly it’s just so that I can spend time with Ria,” you answer, motioning to your friend. “She’s going through shit.”

Ria tenses next to you, offering you a quick glare before she focuses on shooting, unfortunately missing the cups.

“Oh,” Taehyung lets out. “I thought it was because of Ari.”

Speaking of Ari, you don’t see her anywhere near. You wonder where she went off to - are you lucky enough that she and Gabrielle left the party?

“Not at all,” you reply, and then you focus on the game as Seokjin and Yoongi prepare to throw. They both make it into a cup, and you clink your almost empty beer with Ria’s, taking a long sip before you move the cups to the side. “Ari’s super sweet.”

“She’ll be relieved when I tell her so,” Taehyung admits. “She was saying she could leave if it was an issue with you that she moves in with us.”

“It really isn’t,” you reassure Taehyung, feeling momentarily guilty for making Ariane feel like that. “I’ll probably come back eventually too.”

Taehyung’s eyes light up. “That’d be sick. We need to start doing Taco Tuesdays again.”

Taco Tuesdays. You’d forgotten all about them last semester - you’d spent every Tuesday last fall eating tacos with Taehyung, Jungkook joining once in a while. It was a tradition you’d had growing up with your mother too - when she wasn’t too busy working.

“I’m down,” you reply, and you get ready to throw.

To your surprise, you make the shot, landing it in the first cup at the front. Ria throws hers, and it bounces on the rim of one of the glasses before Seokjin catches it expertly. 

“Is Jungkook coming tonight?” you ask.

Everything stills inside of you. You don’t even know why you asked - you didn’t even think about it before the question fell. But then again, you think it makes sense that Jungkook would invade your thoughts now. 

When does he not?

Ria throws you a curious look at the question, though you don’t miss the disapproval in the furrow of her brows. 

“JK?” Taehyung says, as if he wasn’t sure. “I don’t think so. He says he wants to focus on college this semester.”

You nod curtly, getting ready to defend your cups as Seokjin and Yoongi throw. To your luck, they both miss, and you let Ria shoot first as you focus on Taehyung again.

“Makes sense now that he has to work for his father’s company, no?” you say, trying to sound as if you don’t care.

As if Jungkook is not the center of your universe, still to this day.

“I guess so,” Taehyung comments, and you throw, entirely missing the table again.

Ria lands hers in a cup though, which leaves four cups in front of the boys and three in front of you and Ria.

“I still can’t believe the motherfucker is rich and he never told us,” Taehyung adds.

You get the feeling. You still think New York was a fever dream - even more so now that you’ve lost Jungkook. The thought makes your heart ache in your chest, and it trickles down your body, burning all along the way.

“It’s crazy,” you let out, and it sounds just as flat as you feel - like maybe your heart just flatlined in your chest.

Taehyung makes a non-committal sound, and you’re able to focus on the rest of the game without any interruption. You evidently end up losing to Seokjin and Yoongi, and you shake hands with the boys, congratulating them for their win, even though you’d all expected it. 

“I’ll go get something to drink,” Taehyung says when you finally glance his way again. “Stay away from the punch.”

And then he leaves, and you mimic him as he walks away, raising your middle finger to his back. Ria snorts next to you, and you laugh along with her.

“He’s making me want to have some of the punch,” she says, and you laugh harder.

“Hard pass,” Seokjin says, and Ria stiffens next to you. “I tasted it, and it tastes like piss.”

“Wouldn’t even be surprised if someone pissed in it,” Yoongi says. “This party is…”

“Juvenile?” you provide.

Ria laughs, though it sounds a little forced. “It’s fun, stop.”

She sounds just as unconvinced as you think she seems, yet you all don’t mention it, which you reckon happens a lot around her lately. 

“I think we’ll head out,” Yoongi says after a few seconds. “Want to have a beer back at my place?”

“And disturb the lovebirds?” Ria answers. “No thank you.”

Indeed, Namjoon and Nabi chose to stay in tonight, and you don’t have to use a lot of brain power to imagine what they might be doing right now, when they finally have full privacy in the apartment.

“Right,” Yoongi lets out. He winces, then shrugs his shoulders. “Guess we’re stuck here for a couple of hours, then.”

He says that in Seokjin’s direction, who runs a hand on his forehead before nodding. “Can we at least go outside?”

“Sure. You girls coming?” Yoongi asks, motioning to the backyard.

Ria doesn’t even wait for you to reply, instead tugging you towards the garden doors. You stop her, glancing over your shoulder. “I actually really have to pee, but I’ll join you guys outside?”

She narrows her gaze in suspicion, and you furrow your brows. She leans in, whispering, “Are you trying to leave me alone with Seokjin?”

You snort. “Not at all,” you reply, patting her hand on your arm. “I genuinely am just about to pee myself. You know how I am with beer.”

She fake-gags, and you playfully push her as she bursts out laughing. “Ayt, we’ll be outside.” 

You wave them goodbye, and Seokjin awkwardly waves back before following Yoongi and Ria. You chuckle at the sight before heading to the bathroom, which you think is probably on the second floor.

So you make it towards the staircase you see in the corner, squeezing through the crowd and apologizing all the way, though most people are too drunk to even notice you. You successfully make it to the staircase, and you walk around the group of girls sitting on the steps, making it to the second floor unscathed. 

“Bathroom?” a guy who clearly looks like he belongs to the frat asks you.

You almost startle at the unexpected question, though you recover quickly, nodding your head. 

“Last door on the left,” he tells you. “I think someone’s in there right now though.”

“Should I not wait then?” you ask.

He chuckles. “From what I saw when I exited it was just one girl alone so, you should be good.”

“Thanks,” you answer, offering him a small smile, and he nods once before heading down the stairs, though he quickly realizes that it might be too big of a feat. He indeed just plops down on the stairs, striking up a conversation with the girls there.

They look like they know him, so you walk away, heading to the last door on the left. You lean against the wall outside, pulling your phone out of your pocket. 

No notifications greet you, so you push it back into your pocket, right as the door unlocks, and then opens.

You freeze, just as much as she does. Both of your gazes widening, until she lets out a small, “Hello”, the word heavy with a French accent.

Of course, the girl in the bathroom had to be Gabrielle.

“Hi,” you reply, and you try to smile, though you’re not sure it works.

“You’re Taehyung’s sister, aren’t you?” she asks.

You nod curtly. “The one and only.”

She smiles. “Thought so.” There’s a pause as she doesn’t move from the doorway, and you just wait, awkwardness filling every inch of you. 

Her next sentence throws you off the axis you’ve been spinning on for months now, and you just stare at her in disbelief. 

“You’re not with Jungkook tonight?” she asks.

You feel hot and cold at the same time, your heart rate picking up uncomfortably in your chest. Your palms turn clammy, and you wouldn’t be surprised if sweat appeared on your temples.

“I’m sorry, what?”

She frowns. “I thought Ari said…” she trails off, and then she shrugs her shoulders. “Whatever.” She smiles gently. “I’m happy he’s got you now.”

You think your eyes are bulging out of your head. They have to - the conversation isn’t making any sense, and you aren’t drunk enough to blame it on the alcohol.

“What?”

Her frown reappears. “Aren’t you two dating now?”

You laugh. It’s a sad, pathetic laugh, and Gabrielle looks at you like you’re crazy.

“He cheated on me with you,” you say. “Why would I be dating him?”

The frown falls, replaced by utter surprise. Her mouth opens on a silent ‘Oh’, like she wants to say something but doesn’t know what to say. It takes her a few seconds to collect herself, and then she says, “Non mais putain qu’il est con.”

You don’t speak French, so all you can do is cock an eyebrow quizzically. And then she lets out a small disbelieving laugh, shaking her head.

“I told him to tell you,” she says, and she closes her eyes, pinches the bridge of her nose. “But he’s really stupid sometimes.”

“I’m sorry?”

She offers you a small smile bordering on pity, and you brace yourself for what she’ll say next.

“Fille, I’m gay,” she says. “Jungkook was always only pretending to be my boyfriend so my family wouldn’t know. I didn’t know about you when I kissed him in Paris, and I only kissed him because Ari was growing suspicious.” 

You think you’re frozen in place. Like, stared into Medusa’s eyes and turned to stone frozen in place. All you can do is stare at Gabrielle, unblinkingly, as her words spin round and round in your head, caught in a dizzying tornado you can’t follow.

“I told him to tell you,” she repeats, and she sounds far too apologetic for the erratic beating of your heart. For the realization that she just hit you with.

You think she hit harder than a physical slap would have.

“What?” you say, voice small and weak and oh so broken.

Months. You’ve been breaking for him for months… and for what? For a promise he refused to break, one that would have explained everything in a way that would have made you work.

You would have forgiven him, no hesitation. Hell, you reckon you would have told him you loved him, would have told him you wanted to be with him from now on until you turn to dust.

But he had to choose to respect a promise he made years ago, to an ex that wasn’t really an ex after all, was she?

Just a friend from high school.

She was, after all, just a friend from high school.

She nods. “Yeah. He told me all about you.” She smiles again, though this time it’s just sad, like she knows just how shattered you are over this man. “I was rooting for you two.”

“He didn’t tell me,” you whisper as if Gabrielle hadn’t already pieced that together. “Why?”

She sighs. “He’s stupid,” she says as an explanation. “He’s the kind that’ll sacrifice himself if it means helping someone else. I suppose you know that already.”

You nod, because you do.

He sacrificed himself for you last semester when you got home crying on Valentine’s Day. And he sacrificed countless parties over his promise to Taehyung to look after you.

And he sacrificed you to protect Gabrielle’s secret.

“Holy shit,” you let out.

“Talk to him,” she says softly. “Go talk to him now. I’m not letting him lose you over me.” She scoffs, the frown she’d sported earlier returning. “I should have realized before. That he didn’t tell you. I’m sorry.”

Your gaze widens, and you shake your head no. “Oh, no, don’t apologize. It’s not your fault.”

It’s not your fault if he broke my heart.

It’s always just been his fault, hasn’t it?

But then again… you know now. You know that he never cheated on you, that he was right when he was saying that it wasn’t what you thought it was. 

You know that he was there, with you. That he felt for you what you felt for him, that he was chasing cars around your head, too.

And if there’s a chance you can salvage that, repair two hearts in one stone, you know you have to do it.

“I have to talk to him.” You say the words with quiet conviction, and Gabrielle nods, offering you an encouraging smile. “Fuck.”

“Go to him, fille,” Gabrielle says. “And tell him he’s an enfoiré for me.”

You highly doubt you’d be able to repeat that word, yet you still say, “Will do.”

And then you take off, entirely forgetting that you had to pee. You have one goal in mind, and it’s to run home, where you know he has to be according to what Taehyung said. You don’t even stop to text him, to confirm that he really is.

No, you run down the stairs, through the crowd and outside. The front lawn isn’t as crowded as earlier, and you easily make it to the sidewalk, skidding to a halt just long enough to change direction. 

And then you’re running home. Running home to him, your heart beating wildly. For the right reason this time. And as you run, lungs struggling to get enough oxygen in, thighs burning with heat, you feel infinite. You feel like you’re a star in the sky above, or maybe the moon returning to her lover. You feel like a bird soaring high, like a dolphin riding the waves.

You feel young and old and small and big, all at once. Like nothing is ever going to stop you again. You feel in love, you are in love, and after all the months of suffering, you reckon it’s the most beautiful feeling you’ve ever experienced.

You didn’t know you could sprint like you are right now, yet even though your body is straining, you’re not slowing down. You’ve pulled your phone out of your pocket to make sure it doesn’t fall as you run, yet you don’t slow down.

You can’t slow down anymore, not when your gravity finally aligned with his again.

Like it was always meant to be. Because it’s always been meant to be you and him, hasn’t it?

You make it home in a record time, climbing up the stairs… only to realize you don’t have your keys. They are back at the dorms, but it’s too late.

You try the door, and to your surprise, the doorknob turns, and you barge into your home, barge into this life with him.

You catch your breath as you stop in the hall, doubling over when you realize you’ve actually ran - sprinted - for nearly a mile. You’re lucky the frat house wasn’t further away - you highly doubt you would have made it home if it was any further.

“Y/n?” Jungkook says from his bedroom.

You straighten, trying to catch your breath. And the second your eyes land on him, you know it was all worth it.

Every single second of suffering was worth it to be here with him tonight.

“Jungkook,” you say in between two heaving breaths.

He’s shirtless, his honey skin just as warm as you remember it to be. He’s in fact only wearing grey joggers, and his hands are lost in his pockets like he’s trying to look nonchalant.

The concern on his features tells you he, as a matter of fact, isn’t as nonchalant as he’s trying to appear.

“Shit,” you let out. “Jungkook.”

“Yes?”

You laugh. You know you might look crazy, but you literally just ran a mile for this man, and each foot was worth it. 

The grandest journey of your life, wasn’t it?

“She told me,” you say.

He cocks an eyebrow. “What?”

“Gabrielle told me everything.” You surprise yourself by blinking away tears, and you let out a small laugh as you go to dry them.

Jungkook remains silent, just staring at you with horror slowly inching into his gaze. You don’t know how, or why, but it only occurs to you then that he might not be alone right now. 

“Kook?” you whisper, unable to say it louder.

Not when you’re slowly crashing down from the high.

“Y/n, I…” he trails off. He closes his eyes, head hanging low. “I wasn’t expecting this.”

You gulp as you swallow. “Yeah, huh.”

You look down, noticing a pair of sneakers you’ve never seen before.

It takes all of the courage you can muster up to look back up when the door of the bathroom opens, revealing a dishevelled Lisa, in only a t-shirt you recognize all too well.

You’d used to sleep in that t-shirt, too.

Lisa sees you after you see her, turning beet red. She’s naked under Jungkook’s shirt, or at least you think she is.

You assume she is considering that he’s shirtless too.

“Oh,” you let out.

Choke out might be a more appropriate word. Because you’re crashing, and you’re crashing hard. Hitting the wall at 120 mph, splattering on it until there’s nothing left of you. Nothing left of that hope you’d found at the party, the hope Gabrielle had so kindly gifted you even though she owed you nothing.

Someone’s screaming. You think someone’s screaming - is it just in your head?

“Hey, Y/n,” Lisa says awkwardly. “Didn’t know you were here.”

“I live here,” you reply, voice empty of any emotion.

She purses her lips, nodding once, and then she hesitantly walks out of the bathroom. “I’m sorry I… I didn’t know you’d be here tonight.”

Neither did you. Neither did Jungkook - it would have saved everyone a whole lot of breaking if you’d known. 

If you’d known that having hope for Jeon Jungkook was futile and useless. 

How could you even think you were meant to be with him? There is no universe for you and him out there. Just different worlds of breaking. Because it’s all your soul knows how to do - all your soul knows is to break for him, to shatter and crash and fracture for the man standing in front of his opened bedroom door.

“No worries,” you say, though this time your voice does wobble.

This time, the pain does colour your tone in heartbreak blue.

Jungkook just remains silent, like he’s suddenly gone mute. You think it’s better like this - if he were to say anything right now, you think you’d likely break down here. Instead, you take a deep breath, pat your pockets and say, “I think I forgot my keys at the party.”

Unable to help yourself, you glance towards Jungkook once. He meets your gaze - he looks infinitely pained, the heartbreak stark on his features too. There’s some reassurance in knowing that he’s breaking, too. That you’re doing it together. 

Heartbreak isn’t as lonely when you’re doing it together. 

“How did you…” Lisa trails off, but she doesn’t finish.

She falls silent, clearly hearing the screaming in your head too.

You’re outside a second later, carefully closing the door behind you. Carefully severing the rest of your relationship with Jungkook, until all that is left is the memories.

You take a step back, looking at the door, thinking he might open, might come see you.

Thinking he might be your home after all.

But he doesn’t, the door staying stubbornly closed. You get the message - your souls were never meant to merge. The songs that you thought were about him, about you, about the two of you together, they were never about you. You were never meant to lie down and forget the world with him. 

Or maybe you were, but it came with an expiration date.

You reckon you and Jungkook have always had an expiration date. You just forgot tonight, became blind to it thanks to false, treacherous hope. And so you leave, walking down the stairs as you blink away the tears that are clinging to your waterline.

You embrace the heartbreak, let it sweep through you until you think it’s all you’ve ever known. And like a true companion, the heartbreak carries your steps through the night.

Prev | Chapter 13.5 | Next

☆☆☆☆☆

do I feel bad for the amount of angst I wrote into this story? Maybe a little. I promise one day things will get better for these two, but in the meantime, what did you guys think?

All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2024. Do not copy, repost or translate.

[queen-morgana91]

One of my favorite parallels in the series. Kya and Aang’s sacrifice to the fire nation are nearly identically framed here

-the fire nation was looking for the last airbender AND waterbender

-both Aang and Kya sacrificing themselves to protect katara and the southern tribe village

Love how this scene builds how attached Katara and Sokka become to Aang. He was just a stranger they happened upon. And then when he gives himself up just like that, he becomes one of them.

For their whole lives they feared the day when the Fire Nation would return to raid and take their people to never see them again. Then one day it happens, and that’s when they learn they had a no prisoners policy in the worst way possible.

That’s why Sokka was so suspicious and mistrustful towards Aang at the beginning and Katara was so drawn to him for bringing them some simple joy they haven’t know since Kya died.

When the Fire Nation arrives, their worst nightmare comes back to life as they are helpless to wonder who will die or be taken this time. Thanks to Aang, this complete stranger who had no obligations to them, it was no one but himself. Their village was safe and everyone was sound, but realized at that moment that they did lose someone special.

Book 1 is as good as book 2 and 3 :)

[thesiltverses]

A very big thank you

I posted this on Patreon, but really wanted to share it here as well:

Post-show life begins

For a long while now I’ve been getting up at 4.30 or 5am, grabbing myself the first coffee of four, and then coming to sit at my desk.

I open up the assembly cut of the newest TSV episode.

I listen to it, I try and pin down which scenes I need to be going back over today. I try and push through the entire morning without a break because when the momentum stalls, that’s what kills your release schedule. (I also worry endlessly about just how much of my hair is falling out, and how spending 12 hours a day wearing headphones could be contributing to that.)

Today was different. I still woke up early - it’s a hard habit to shake off, and probably a useful one going forward. But I didn’t go to my desk, and I didn’t put my headphones on.

I went to the rocking chair we bought for our son when he comes, and I sat there - gently swaying and trying not to spill my coffee all over it, because for some reason it’s fucking beige - and looked out over the city skyline. 

I slugged back my coffee surrounded by all the stuff we’ve panic-bought for the baby, and I got to take all of it in - washcloths and the changing table and romper suits - with a sudden focus and a clarity and a rising excitement that I really hadn’t allowed myself to feel until today, because until today the work was still unfinished and there was still much left to be done.

All at once I felt very free, and fully sated, and happy and proud for everything that’s coming next.

There’s so much to feel grateful for from the past three years of working on this show. But what’s probably going to sit with me the most is being able to arrive at that moment and those feelings today, - and we have all of you incredible people to thank for that.

Not just in terms of listenership or financial support, although that’s been truly invaluable and a lifeline for us that’s enabled us to actually make the show - but also your enthusiasm, your passion, your jokes and comments and everything that’s helped to keep us motivated and working on it.

So - with as much feeling as words can convey, thank you so, so much for everything.

What’s coming next, in rough order

#1: Parentdom is going to take over our lives for a while! I also want to write the final Patreon episode commentaries in the next few days, while I have the time and the clear memories. #2: The next thing we’ll organise will be the post-season Q&A (we’d also like to do some kind of off-camera cast party if we can make schedules work, just to say thank you to our amazing VAs and celebrate with them). Please do ask us questions! #3: We have long-unfinished commitments to the Patreon which I need to complete: the last two episodes of So Long, Good Luck, and rounding off Sid Wright’s story. As ever, huge thank-yous for your patience with these; they’ve just been impossible to polish off while also working on the main show so much. #4: Something I’ve been thinking about for a long time is the possibility of going back to Season 1 and redesigning it from scratch to try and bring it closer in style to S2 and S3. We have the raw audio files - some of the mic quality will just be rough no matter what, but we can certainly try.  This is something I want to be conscientious and careful about; I very much want to respect the sound design work that’s already taken place, and ensure we’re not overriding anything. But I do know that the initial quality still sometimes puts new listeners off; we were learning a lot about direction and mastering from scratch, and our designers were working with limited budget and a total lack of plugins, so there’s simply a lot more we can achieve now. (This would also be a good opportunity for me to finally rework the transcripts, another fallen hurdle). #5: A few months back, we were contacted by a literary agent in NYC who was interested in us adapting the show into a series of novels. There’s a long road ahead to actually get published, but I'm thrilled to say that I have signed with them and I’m really excited to hopefully start work on the first book once I’ve settled into dad-dom. I’ll need to check what’s possible, but if it doesn’t interfere with any contract condition I’d obviously love to share excerpts on here as it’s written. #6: Then there’ll also be another larger audiodrama project - we’ve spoken about the different possibilities before! Excited to get started on our final choice.

Just one last word about endings

God, endings are scary. Because endings are impossible.

How many serialised stories actually end in a way that’s received unequivocally well?  People yelled at The Sopranos for its ambiguity and open-endedness. People criticised Breaking Bad for treating Walt too sympathetically at the end and relying on a generic mob of snarling Nazis to act as his final foe.

Endings are either too pat and neat, or too inconclusive to be satisfying, or too surreal and dreamlike, or they simply make what feels like the wrong choices for the characters we care about. We’re all caught in that barbed wire, creators and audience alike, weighed down by the baggage of what’s come before and we've already spent so much time anticipating the infinite possibilities of how it could all turn out - it’s like we can’t get free of the story that’s trying to end. 

And the beautiful thing about these longform, iterative works is that they insist upon becoming completely ungovernable. No matter how much of a planner the creator claims to be, how much prepwork they carry out - they were never really in control. There’s spontaneity and surprises and dead ends and beautiful distractions that come spilling out along the way (I was baffled and delighted to learn that people really - at the end of the show, with such limited time to spare - wanted to find out what had happened to Eddie*). 

So they can’t end. Not really. There’s too much wonderful mess in them to ever be reasonably disentangled.

And, of course, for every ending people remember with frustration or dissatisfaction, there’s another hundred endings that nobody remembers at all, because we lost our enthusiasm along the way and it feels better to keep going back to the start and avoiding the slow decline. (Who the fuck remembers how the umpteenth X-Files reboot ended? What increasingly tired post-modern antics was Alan Moore getting up to in the final League of Extraordinary Gentlemen books?). I really just didn’t want the show to end up in that latter category.

All of that probably sounds like I’m warding off criticism about the show's ending, but for me it’s actually been the opposite. 

For an ending which is all about narrative dissatisfaction, and failed potential and missed opportunities, and how we need to come to terms with the lack of existential fairness and certainty and narrative control in our lives and keep ploughing forward all the same for as long as we possibly can, I’m massively stunned at just how positive the reception has been on here and elsewhere, and that’s something I’m actively having to process, because I think I was fearfully anticipating much more pushback.

But, look - the Eskew finale was originally quite poorly-received and then people came back around to it over time. So I’m not going to pat myself on the back too hard, because maybe it’ll ultimately be the opposite with this show, and that’s OK. For 200 years everyone was convinced King Lear was improved by having everyone survive at the end and get married. Endings take time to settle into their final condition.

For now, I am incredibly relieved that the ending we chose seems to have landed for most people, and I’m incredibly grateful for the lovely messages we’ve got about it and for the trust in us that you’ve all shown throughout the story.

So, yeah, let’s end with another thank you, because that’s what I feel so deeply and so forcefully at this point.

Thank you so much again, and speak soon.

Jon

*My take? We’ve established that the guy is in some kind of blue-collar job and has been pushed into constant overtime due to the reduced workforce. We’ve seen that the so-called ‘national holiday’ doesn’t actually rescue workers from their commitments. So I personally imagine that Eddie was working during the parade somewhere on the city outskirts, and is alive and well.

[moonieandi]

snapshots pt. 3 | stanley pines x f!reader 

summary: a quick look through concerning the early months of your life “married” to stanley pines, particularly centered around moments on the couch

warnings (TW): mdni, contains mature/suggestive content, swearing, alcohol consumption, mentions of drug use

tags: mature/suggestive content (in act iii), fluff, early relationship described, pining, affection

notes: please note that there is heavily implied/suggestive/mature content in act iii of this posting (after the second break)- if you do not wish to interact with this type of content i swear to you you can completely skip it if you like, i attempt to not tie TOO much significance to the written scene- and if you would prefer that the postings stray away from this kind of content i will attempt to better balance it in the future! i am in no shape or form a very “smutty” writer (mainly bc i have never written it), so i hope the scene isnt like… terrible ya know lol (also i don’t consider it much for “smut”- i am def using said word very loosly). annnnyyywayyys hope you enjoy and as always my dms are open for suggestions in the future and general conversation and encouragement! enjoy!

also to note! I believe the story is best read in order- i put certain dependences on certain words and bring descriptions back to really solidify the importance of certain scenes/interactions ! but completely up to you, lol

edit 8/27/24: hello! below i have linked the up to date masterlist for this series- thank you for reading, hope you enjoy!

word count: 4.5k

| masterlist | part iv |

She had caught him sleeping on the couch in the early heat of June. 

They had a late night on the couch, discussing Ford’s margin notes and rewatching The Price is Wrong. Stan had a certain affinity for price matching, and she was more than a little stunned to learn of it the first couple of months they resided in the shack together. 

She just didn’t expect this 30-year-old man to know the price of most common household appliances. 

After his divulgence last month, in which he had confided a little bit of his background in sales, she began to piece together that although Stan considered himself a conman in every way but words, she considered it pure brilliance. 

So she quickly got used to late-night T.V. shows, as they discussed next steps back and forth, with Stan interrupting conversations to yell out extremely accurate prices at the small box T.V. in front of the couch. It had grown on her, actually, and had turned rather… endearing. 

If not also incredibly hilarious, as he was so passionate about his own accuracy he usually forgot his volume, and sometimes took to ranting at her. 

“Hun! Hun! This is a load of malarkey I tell ya! That vacuum price is way too high! It don’t even come with added nozzle attachments!” 

She would laugh, and he would revel in making her do so. 

They had concluded the night in a similar fashion, and she had stumbled up to her bedroom. The first one on the right from the stairs. But he had lingered in the living room, muttering about tidying up some soda cans and taking the trash out quickly. 

She had shrugged it off, giving her goodnight, and made her way up the stairs. She had fallen asleep so quickly, she hadn’t heard the usual meandering steps of Stan as he made for his own room across the hall from her. 

She almost never woke up before him, another thing that surprised her. She figured he was the type to doze in and out in the early morning, but he seemed to be quick to rise and even quicker to make a pot of coffee, usually stumbling down the stairs thirty minutes before she could manage to roll out of bed. 

So she thought it odd to look down the stairs and not see the usual kitchen light on, and the usual grumble of the shitty coffee machine either. 

She found him snoring on his back, the throw blanket she had brought with her half on half off him. It had grown a little muggy in the shack, due to the distinct lack of central air, but Stan’s solution seemed to be very simple. 

Just wear less clothes. 

Something that wouldn’t disturb her in the slightest, if it were not for, well… Stan. 

She was a scientist, a usual logical thinker, and only slightly prude (due to her upbringing), but she was no idiot, and she knew the man she was cohabitating with was attractive. 

I mean, he was also funny- made her laugh more times than she could count. He was oddly sincere for his age and even more oddly protective. He was flippantly affectionate and even more flippantly kind to her. 

And he was also shirtless. 

Something she takes note of instantly, instinctually. Whipping her head to make for the kitchen, and trying to forget the curve of his broad shoulders and the slight swell of his stomach. The smattering of dark hair on his chest all the way down to the crisp edge of the boxers she had folded two days ago. 

Coffee, coffee coffee! 

She didn’t make as good of a cup as he did, she had never had to before. Something he scoffed at, but quickly took to doing himself. He made it every morning, now. Always up before her, with her mug waiting for her by her worn kitchen chair. 

She turned to the stove instead, moving pans and turning on the burner. She’d make breakfast for them instead of her shitty burnt coffee special. Pulling eggs and bacon out of the small fridge she went to work. 

The smell woke him up, and she noted his groggy fumbling to redress himself. Glancing out the archway from kitchen to living room she watched him pass to the stairs, still shirtless. He takes the stairs two at a time, back up to his room to retrieve new clothes she presumed. 

He returns in minutes, in typical fashion it took him not too long to get ready in the morning. 

He walks in, still stretching, with hair muddled from sleep. A pair of work jeans that had seen a lot of love in the past month, and a shirt that was quickly growing too tight around his arms and shoulders. She decided to ignore that sliver of stomach that peaked out when he raised his arms a little too high, otherwise, the bacon would burn. 

He made his way to the coffee machine, beginning the usual morning routine as it spurred to life. Moving to the sink he began washing their shared mugs. 

Breakfast was always a little quiet like they both couldn’t be bothered to open their mouths beyond sating their appetite. They still moved the same, instinctually and without words. Falling into their unassigned assigned seats, Stan moving to grab her feet and drag them across his lap, while she moved the salt and pepper between them both. She always reached across to his plate, grabbing his toast to butter first and then moving to her own. 

She had decided to interrupt their usual silence this morning, looking across to Stan as he fumbled with the morning paper. He always went straight to the comics in the morning, hoping to pick up on a joke to read to her that day, hoping to make her laugh first before anything else in the morning. 

But she had thrown a wrench in his usual plan (that she still hadn’t picked up on yet). 

“Why were you on the couch?” She asked, biting around her toast. 

“It’s cooler down here hun.” 

“I know heat rises Stan, but the sun rises on my side of the house in the morning. It ain’t that hot upstairs yet. Is there something wrong with your bed?” 

When first rearranging rooms he had resolved to take Stanford's old one. He didn’t want her to have to live in the shell his brother had left behind. His more intimate nick-nacks and sticky notes had been scattered around what is now Stan’s room. Along with his random mismatched socks and sweater vests, and his cologne. And he didn’t want to think about having her live around the last remnants of Stanford, because she got this weird look in her eyes already when she retraced his brother's writings and he couldn’t stand it. He had lived with Stanford for eighteen years, and sometimes entering the room was at least therapeutic. 

Except Stanford always had a weird affinity for sleeping on the ground. 

It’s the main reason Stanley even had the top bunk during their preteen years to begin with, because Stanford would find himself stiff on the floor most mornings. His brother had a tendency to doze away on any hard surface he could rest his head on, starting at his desk most nights, moving to his bed, but usually rolling off it in favor of the floor. Stanford was… not one for restful sleep. And his hard ass mattress showed it. 

“Ya.” Stan muttered behind the newspaper. “‘Ford trying to fuck my back up from another dimension.” 

“You can have my bed?” She offered up her own mattress, one she had splurged on with her own money. He still remembers her playing Goldilocks that day at the flash mattress sale she had circled in the classifieds the week before. 

He shook his head at the memory, them both laying side by side on each bed as she had discussed odds and ends. She had argued that she needed approximately 5 minutes on each mattress to sink into each, and that she couldn’t be intrinsically thinking about her comfort when doing so. So she had him lay beside her and talk to her, as she flipped from her back to her side testing out her comfort and considered the gravelness of his voice. Until she had landed on the right bed, the tenth one, declaring it her perfect match as she looked over at him beside her. 

“Nah, I can’t take your perfect match, hun, your one true love.” He joked, folding up the newspaper with the comics up, setting it aside in favor of looking at her. “Besides my bed is fine for now. I just… sometimes I like being close to the door.” 

She hummed. “I can rearrange the living room today? Do you want to move your bed downstairs?” She hadn’t even questioned it, still searching for something to sate his comfort. 

He laughed at this, he would never let her rearrange things without him and she knew it. He had hovered something harsh those first three months, moving around most things for her as she pointed from object to object. 

“No, no.” He shook his head. “I just, I ain’t used to sleeping in a room without a straight way out of it yet.” He admits, munching on his bacon, shrugging like he was discussing the weather. “So sometimes I just, sleep on the couch. No big deal.” 

She sits back in her seat, shock marring her face. He had spent so long hopping from place to place she had forgotten he hadn’t had a place to call home in a decade- besides his car. Something that may have four walls, but had no heart. 

Hotels, to cars, to floors of shelters, he had slept in questionable places for far too long, and in some cases Stanford’s room sometimes felt like a new prison, or at least reminded him of a certain Colombian one. Except this one contained taunting memories and a stupid amount of sweaters. 

It hurt more, to open his door to find hers closed, for some reason. He didn’t like the thought of her trapped either, nestled in a part of the house he couldn’t get to. But he didn’t know how to voice this to her without sounding mad in a way. Or obsessive maybe. 

She digs her toes into the junction of his ribs, grabbing his attention. She’s smiling across from him, and standing before he can ask why. Grabbing his hand, she pulls him up the stairs to their own parallel doors, not even hesitating to walk through the door Stanford used to call his own. 

She’s muttering under her breath as he stands in the doorway, landlocked by witnessing her in this exact space for some reason. She moves to the window, opening it all the way and fumbling with the screen. She gets it off and makes to climb out the window before he can protest. 

“If you want a way out, you got it right here!” She grunts, footing her way through to the shingled roof, his protests falling on deaf ears. 

“Get the fuck back in here!” He leans out, making to grab her. “Ain’t no way this shack's roof is any good!” 

She prances around, slightly mocking him by moving away from his waving arm. “Stan! It’s fine!” She laughs, the sun shining on her figure. Suddenly serious she stops, hands on her hips. “Seriously, if you need a way out, keep the window open, okay?” 

She crawls back through the window a moment later, using Stan’s hand as a weight as she balances back on the wooden floor. 

Still serious, she continues, “Stan if you need to keep the window open, you can keep the door open also if you feel like it.” 

She smiles like she has a brilliant idea, moving across the hall she opens her own room to display her own mess of things. “I can keep mine open also if it helps.” 

How the fuck had she read his mind? He was continually dumbfounded by her unquantifiable amounts of patience she had for him. Like it was a reserve she tapped into, to specifically deal with all his dumb bullshit. He would let it pile in the back of his head, but she’d reach back in and shake him awake, present him with a solution, and he forgets himself in his need to question “why?”. 

He had taken too long to respond, and she stands in the hall, hands wringing her too large t-shirt and looking surprisingly bashful. “Is this okay?” She asks, is this what you need? Vying for his approval as she continues. “Because really I don’t mind you sleeping on the couch, I really don’t, you can keep doing it if you like! Really! I just… I just…” 

Unspoken between them, he already knew. She meant well, she meant the best actually. She wanted him to be comfortable, here, with her. Wanted him to stop moving from place to place in the house because no where felt right because it all felt like a trap. Wanted him to know the four walls they shared could never be a prison, and that she didn’t want him to hop around anymore searching and clawing his way out of it. To not have to Goldilocks around the house, because across the hall from her had to be just right. 

And it was. Because she had read his mind as usual, and he was almost tired of being absolutely astounded by it. 

He nodded, smiling across from her, his confirmation in the squeeze he gave her hand as he reached for her again, and in the ruffling of her hair he gave her as he slipped from the house later. Making his way outside to his work, somehow lighter than usual.

They ended up on the couch most weekends, or at least most Saturday nights. 

She had insisted, against his better nature, that it was not appropriate to drink yourself into a stupor on a weekday. So he had gotten used to the shared moments on the weekend, routinely looking forward to shitty VHS movies and even shittier boxed wine and beer. 

She laughed at fucking everything when she was drunk. He almost wondered if she had ever been high, or if she even needed to be. He might as well be a stand up comedian most weekends, because if he thought he had a great audience Monday through Friday, well he had an even more endearing one on the weekends. 

It was a hot July night, and she had scoffed at his light beer that resided in the back of the fridge. Tisking at him as she danced around the kitchen, pouring sweet red wine into mugs (their only cups), and shooing him back to the couch. Only wine in the summer, only wine when it was this hot.

And it was hot, and humid, unsurprising for Oregon really. So hot in fact, that she had decided pjs were appropriate attire for the night, luckily for him. So he shed his jeans in favor of loose boxers and a well worn shirt. Unluckily for him, she had decided upon much the same wardrobe, which was odd for her and only uncomfortable for sober him. 

But he wasn’t sober anymore, and he had to admit she was rather enchanting hunched over on the couch, laughing at his shitty jokes with one of his old band t-shirts on, shorts that she made no indication of even owning, bagging up around the tops of her thighs. 

He had been intoxicated on numerous amounts of things, nothing, of course, too hard or addictive per say, but it’d be the first time he was this drunk on wine. 

And it was… different. 

He had scoffed at the movie she chose originally tonight. She always chose the second movie, and he chose the first. They had a habit of in depth discussing during films, especially when more intoxicated. 

But he had never been so incredibly invested in a romantic comedy in his entire life, he blamed his company and the alcohol. 

“I can’t believe that he thinks he stands a chance with the likes of her! She’s sacrificed so much! Her jobs on the line here and he won’t even consider marrying her for a green card!” He yelled, just about jumping at the screen. This man in the movie was ridiculous, demanding things from his assistant and throwing her away the next. 

She ran back into the room, mugs full with their next round. She had become the bartender tonight, waiting on him and grabbing snacks when he’d ask in exchange for rubbing her aching shoulders. 

“What did I miss!” She rushed back, handing him his mug and taking her seat back in front of him on the floor, her throw blanket being used as a cushion. 

He takes a sip, setting the mug aside her own on the floor and moving back to place his hands on her tense shoulders. 

“She’s being kicked out of the country right in front of her boss and he ain’t gonna do anything about it! She basically does everything for this man, why doesn’t he see he needs her?” 

She groans below him, her head rocking back as she takes her own drink. “Are we gonna discuss the intricates of them having a relationship though? I love marriage of convenience, don’t get me wrong, but that’s her boss! Isn’t there a weird power dynamic here?” 

“Oh ya!” He agrees, nodding along as his fingers began to dig into her muscles. “We gotta talk about that because if this gets creepy we gotta pick out a different one. He’s already pissing me off!” 

She looks up at him, eyes glowing with an idea. Enchanted, she moves away from him, crawling to the cabinet beside the T.V., and he really swears that he tries to look away. But he also reasons that it’ll be a while before he gets the chance to see her in shorts again. And fuck. 

She turns back, a new VHS in hand. “This!” She exclaims. “Now this is my favorite rom-com!” 

A shitty picture is well worn on the front of the movie sleeve, a VHS he doesn’t recognize from the donation bin sitting in her hands. She must have brought it with her, and she must have had it for a while. 

She crawls forward, movie in hand and a bright, flushed smile on her face. 

“Please, please, please Stanley! This one!” She all but yelled as she leaned up into him. His legs had already been parted to accommodate her sitting in front of him, but now were warm with her torso between them, as she crawled into his lap, movie still in hand and smile still on her face. She leaned up onto his chest, a fake pout on her lips as she looked up at him. 

He forgot himself for a minute, excusing her silently for calling him Stanley in her drunken plee. His hand finding her waist as he answered. 

“Okay, okay!” He snorted. “Better be a better love interest because this guy sucks.” 

He missed her as soon as she left, but his heart still felt something sick when she yelled victoriously on the ground, hand raised in celebration, movie clutched to her chest. Rolling from her current position to the VHS player and popping out the current horrendous movie. All the while she giggled, and he followed in much the same manner. Laughing while running his hand through his hair, trying to soothe himself to forget her warmth. 

She crawled back to him (fuck) settling back into his knees from her position on the ground. The title screen flashed, but he was much too busy watching it illuminate her face. Heart sick again when she leaned her head all the way back, hair across his knees and thighs, she smiles up at him, a thank you on her lips. Clutching his mug in her hands, bringing it to her lips for a sip before passing it up to him too. 

And when he carried her to bed that night he wondered when the tight sickness would leave him. He never closed either of their doors. 

It didn’t happen like this, that night. 

Not from what he could remember anyway, but he felt too groggy to care about accuracy and too intoxicated by the image of her to care much for what was right. 

Her hands had continued up his thighs from her place knelt in front of him, his back hot against the living room couch. She had climbed up on top of him, creeping up to sit on his knees and thighs like she had been there before. Her smile turned sweet into something twisted as she leaned in close to his face, the closest she had ever gotten to it. Whispering something between the heat between the two of them, something lost on him, as he tried to lean closer, tried to bridge the gap between their chests, aching to feel her against the very front of him. 

He knew it was different because she had never worn this in front of him before, at least willingly. He had caught her in the middle of the night, stumbling from her open bedroom door to the bathroom down the hall, panties striped and endearing on her ass. He had seen them in the washer, had seen her fold them and tuck them away. And she was in them, sitting on his fucking lap. 

His hands made for her, reaching behind her and dragging her close, his fingers edging the back of the band of her striped panties. 

She gasps like she does when she’s happy for him, always jumping from her position on the couch cheering along with him when he gets a stupid fucking The Price is Wrong answer right. 

And it’s how he imagined it, fuck, how he was currently dreaming of her noises. In bits and pieces he could remember, his brain scrambling to paint an image of her wanting him.  

Her hands edge along the back of his head, running through his long hair, and tracing to the front along his jaw. Mouth open, her fingers glide along the bottom of his lip, teasing. 

She whispers again, closer now. Her chest heaving against his own, her ass waits precariously positioned above right where he dreamt of her being. Right along the space he places her feet every morning, right where he thought she may kill him.

He catches it this time, between them. Her voice wavering like it had that day in the car when she had apologized for calling him him. He thought of begging for it, allowing her to say his name, but she had read his mind like she always fucking managed to do. 

“Please, Stanley.” 

He had surged forward like his own tidal wave, meeting her in the hot space between them. But he could only imagine a kiss with her, dream of it here. 

He imagined it slow, and building. Imagined her hesitation and the pout of her lip between his fucking teeth, imagined her moan when he eventually came back for more. 

Her hands pulled at his fucking hair, the only time she had placed them there to harm, and he groaned as she pulled him forward, meeting again in the middle of the heat they shared there on the couch. She moaned, her hips rushing to his own, making a new heat between them. 

The friction between them was the same as the kiss, slow and building. Grinding herself in the curve of his lap, right where they both needed each other. Every pass slightly faster, every groan from her more imagined, more unreal. 

The pressure felt real though, and her fingers in his hair felt even more so. His head thrown back on the couch, he looked down his nose at her, a groan leaving his throat as she makes a home in his shoulder, as her hips cause waves against his fucking lap. 

Her breath is hot on his neck, something real, and her echoing noises move up his shoulder to his ear and it makes him hotter than he could imagine. Her groans come to a precipice, getting higher in octave and volume and she thinks to fucking bite him there, right on his shoulder. 

The image she makes shakes him, his hands remembering where they are on her ass and hips, as he makes to work them harder, to somehow bring her closer and harder to the crook of his boxers. Her teeth nestle into him, and it makes him groan more, her hot breath and aching moans reverb off his skin back to him. 

It sends him reeling forward, his own head rushing off the back of the couch, groaning in heat, moving in blind passion. His head rests against the top of her own, his big hands digging into the fat of her behind, finger creeping in through the top of her panties. 

“Fuck.” He groans between them. “Fuck, honey.” His hips canting up, her moans echoing again, her teeth unlaching, like she can’t ground herself to him anymore, because all the movement is him now. He’s fucking using her, the pressure hot, and she peels back to look at him, a heat in her eyes he can’t have imagined. He must have seen it before, marring her face. He had, he swears, seen her with this heat in her eyes before.

He was using her. 

It stops just as abruptly as it began, and he wakes to his discomfort. His room is cool despite the morning sun, the curtains by his windows billowing out with September wind. His door wide open, and his hand curled around something that no longer needed relief. 

His other hand, clutching his hair in a fist. The back of his head tender from the pressure, and his fingers heavy from sleep. 

He got up quicker than usual, his heart still pounding oddly in his chest as he attempted to catch a breath he didn’t remember losing. On his way out of his room, dresssed for the day, he peaks into her parallel room, her door wide open like it was every day now. 

He groans low, she’s wearing the fucking stripes. 

He tries not to think about it the rest of the day, tries not to be disgusted with himself, but his chest aches something odd and his stride is somehow uneven for the rest of the day. His heart carries something sickly when he sees her that day, and she pretends it doesn’t hurt he’s oddly quiet that day, or that he doesn’t read her the morning comics like usual. 

She thinks it has something to do with how flushed he is, when she catches his staring that evening, as they sit beside each other on the couch, T.V. echoing in the background.

[felassan]

All companions are pansexual!!!

Game is rated M, will contain nudity. [source]

Full article:

"In a new interview with The Veilguard game director Corinne Busche, we've confirmed that yes, you will be able to romance any companion you want, regardless of your character's gender or race. It's a bit of a surprise for fans, considering that in previous Dragon Age games, the romanceable characters had different sexual orientations. Some were pansexual, sure, but others were heterosexual, others were only attracted to the same sex, and some could only be romanced if you were a certain race (Dragon Age: Inquisition's Solas, for example, could only be romanced by female elves). But Busche pushes back on the idea that The Veilguard's companions are "playersexual," a term used to describe games where NPCs are specifically only attracted to the player character. She says she's seen playersexual "done in a number of games," and "it can be really off-putting where these characters are adapting to who you, the player, are." Rather, Busche insists that they're all specifically pansexual, and that might come through in what you learn about their backstories. "Their past experiences or partners, they'll reference them and indeed who they'll become romantic with," Busche tells IGN. "For instance, we saw Harding. I might be playing a straight male character flirting with her, but I choose not to pursue a romance. She might get together with Taash. So my perception, my identity has no bearing on their identities and that comes through really strongly." When asked if that means it won't take long for romance to become an option in The Veilguard, Busche confirms that you'll be able to start flirting with everyone pretty early, as you recruit all seven companions throughout the first act. But, she clarifies, "it's not until the later parts of the game where you really commit to romance and it gets pretty spicy.""

---

"Speaking of spicy... Of course, Dragon Age: The Veilguard is a BioWare game, and games from the studio — specifically those in the Mass Effect and Dragon Age series — are known to have some fairly explicit sex scenes. Busche confirms that The Veilguard will be no different, particularly towards the end of the game: "Of course, we are an M-rated game," she says. "We do have nudity." There's also some obvious parallels to be made between The Veilguard and last year's critical darling Baldur's Gate 3. The latter became known not only for its deep romances (like The Veilguard, Baldur's Gate 3 player characters can romance any companion regardless of gender or race), but also for its sex scenes, including one involving a Wild-Shaping Druid that went pretty viral. Busche isn't afraid to admit that she has played Baldur's Gate 3, and loved it, as she's an "an RPG fan through and through": "The more character-driven party-based RPGs with deep emotional connection, the better." "What I love about the two games is I think they live side by side in a really interesting way," she continues. "They're very different games, but those emotional connections and how the narratives hook you, I think there's space for both." Specifically in regards to the sex scenes and how The Veilguard will handle theirs differently, Busche says some of Baldur's Gate 3's scenes were "shocking and comical in some ways, and I would say I loved that." "Our companions, we want them to be relatable and fully realized. So they can get spicy, but in a way that I think people will actually relate to," she says. Basically: no bear sex. Busche goes on to say that how sexually explicit the scenes are, too, will vary between characters. "Some of them are more spicy than others," she reveals. "Just like real life, our companions have such diverse personalities. Some of them are more physical, more aggressive, and some of them are more... we have a gentleman necromancer, for instance, that is more intimate and sensual." Our interview with Busche comes as BioWare continues to roll out information about the highly anticipated Dragon Age sequel, with a cinematic trailer having dropped at the Xbox Showcase over the weekend. Dragon Age: The Veilguard will debut sometime this fall."

[source]

[physalian]

10 More Character Types the World Needs More of

Part 1 was specifically character dynamics, but I’m considering this a sequel anyway.

1. Fiercely independent character’s lesson isn’t to “trust people”

I’m not projecting. You’re projecting. There is a divide wide enough to fit the Grand Canyon between “trusting that someone isn’t lying” and “trusting someone to follow through on a promise”. Most dumpster fire attempts at these characters (almost exclusively women) rely solely on mocking them for the former because “not all men” or something.

Being consistently let down in life makes you hesitant to a) gain friends, b) pursue romantic interests, c) maintain familial relationships, d) get excited about any event that demands participation from someone who isn’t you. None of this is simply a bad attitude—it’s a trauma response. There is no lesson to be learned, and not even exposure therapy can help because it’s a real, legitimate, and common stunt people pull, whether they mean it or not.

So write one of these characters and legitimize their fears, give them someone who proves the exception to the rule, but do not let the lesson be “well they just haven’t found the right person yet”. Even the “right person” can let them down. It's about not becoming a self-fulfilling prophecy by sabotaging a good thing to prove it will inevitably go bad.

2. Conventionally attractive men who aren’t horndogs

I’m going to find every way I can to tell you to write more aces. This is to fight the stigma that attractive people must be attracted to people. Give me gorgeous aces and demi’s, men, women, enbys and everyone in between, who put a crap ton of effort into looking their best, and yet happen to not have a very loud libido. They look good for themselves, and not to impress anyone else.

Give me someone who could have anyone they wanted, gender regardless, and just simply has no interest. Or, they do actually have a significant other, but sex, how hot their partner is, or how horny they are, isn’t their internal monologue. I don’t even care if it’s unrealistic, it’s annoying to read.

And, you know, giving men male characters who aren’t thinking about sex all the time can be good, right? Right?

3. Manly warrior men who also write poetry

A.K.A Aragorn, Son of Arathorn. Just give me more Aragorns, period. This dude is either covered in filth, blood, guts, and the last 30 miles of rugged terrain, or singing in Elvish at his own coronation while pink flower petals fall. A man can be both, and still be straight.

A man can also drink Respect Women juice, you know? He ticks off all the boxes—he’s gentle when he needs to be, not afraid to hide his emotions, kind to those who are vulnerable and afraid and need a strong figure to look up to, resolute in his beliefs, skilled and knowledgeable in his abilities without being arrogant or smug, and the first boots on the battlefield, leading from the front.

4. Characters who are characters when no one is watching

This is less a specific type and more a scene that doesn’t get written enough. This whole point comes from Pixar’s Cars. I. Love. This. Movie. It’s not Pixar’s best, for sure, but this is my comfort movie. The best scene, one that’s so unique, is when Doc (aged living legend) thinks he’s alone when he rolls out onto the dirt race track and comes alive tearing around the oval.

This character’s unbridled, unabashed glee and euphoria at proving to himself that he’s still got it, when he’s completely unaware of his audience, is perfection. Not enough credence is given to characters to just… enjoy being themselves. He’s not doing it to prepare for the climactic race, he’s not doing it for the plot, he’s doing it just to do it, not even to prove Lightning wrong—just for himself.

Give your characters a “Doc Racing” scene. Whatever their skill is. Maybe they’re a dancer, a skater, a swimmer, a painter, sprinter. Just let your character love being alive.

5. Characters whose neurodivergence isn't “cute”

A.K.A. Lilo Pelekai from Lilo and Stitch. Really, her relationship with Nani is peak sibling writing. But Lilo herself is just so realistic with how she interacts with the world, how she interprets her relationships with her so-called friends, how she organizes her thoughts and rationalizes what she can’t quite understand, and how friggen smart she is for an… 11-year-old?

But she’s not “cute”. As in, she wasn’t written by generic Suits who were trying to cash in on the ND crowd by writing what they think will sell, but also making her juuust neurotypical enough to still be palatable by the rest of the audience. Lilo’s earnestness is what endears her to everybody. But also, she doesn’t get a free pass for her behavior, either. Her “friends” aren’t forced to accommodate her and Nani isn’t written as the cold-hearted villain for trying to discipline her.

6. Straight male characters with female friends

Am I double-dipping a bit here? Yes. While I completely understand how tempting it can be, this type of character is in dire need of exposure and representation to prove it’s possible. No weird tense moments, no double-glances when she isn’t looking, no contemplations about cheating on his girlfriend (and no insecure jealous girlfriend either). Just two characters who enjoy each other’s company and are able to coexist in a space and be in each other’s spaces without hormones getting in the way. Peak example? Po and Tigress from Kung Fu Panda.

Let these two rely on each other for emotional strength in times of need, let them share inside jokes, let them have a night alone together at a bar, at home, cooking dinner, getting takeout, talking on the patio in a porch swing… with zero “will they/won’t they.”

7. The likable bigot

I’m actually on the fence with this one but it’s something I also don’t see done often enough and I’m adding it for one reason: Bigots aren’t always obvious mustache-twirling villains and the little things they do might seem inconsequential to them, but are still hurtful. So showing these characters is like plopping a mirror down in front of these people and, I don’t know, maybe something will click. They don’t have to be MAGAs to be dangerous, and only writing the extremes convinces the moderates that they aren’t also the problem.

Example: I have a “friend” who recently said something along the lines of “I have lots of gay friends” followed up shortly by “I don’t think this country should keep gay marriage because it’s a slippery slope to legalizing pedophilia.” You know. The quiet part being that she *actually* thinks being gay is as morally abhorrent as being a pedo. But she totally has lots of gay friends. Including one who was driving her during that conversation. (It’s me. Hi. I’m apparently the problem, it’s me.)

She’s absolutely homophobic, but the second she stops announcing it, she’s a very bubbly person. She’s a ~likable~ bigot and thus thinks she can distance herself from the more violent ones.

8. The motherly single father

I say “motherly” merely as shorthand for the vibe I’m going for here. “Motherly” as in dads who aren’t scandalized by the growing pains of their daughters, and who don’t just parent their sons by saying “man up boys don’t cry”. Dads who play Barbie with their kids of either gender. Dads who go to the PTA meetings with all the other Karens and know as much if not more than they do about the school and their kids’ education.

Dads who comfort their crying kids, especially their sons. Dads that take interest in “feminine” activities like learning how to braid their daughter’s hair, learning different makeup brands, going on nail salon trips together. Dads who do not pull out the rifle on their daughter’s new boyfriend and treat her like property. Dads who have guy friends that don’t mock him and call him gay. Dad who does all this stuff anyway and is *actually* gay, too, but the emphasis is on overly sensitive straight men’s masculinity here.

Wholesome dads: a shocking amount of single-parents to female anime protagonists.

9. The parent isn’t dead, they’re just gone

Treasure Planet is an awesome movie in its own right, but what’s even better? This is a Disney movie where the parent isn’t dead, he’s just a deadbeat who abandoned his son and isn’t at all relevant to the plot beyond the hole he left behind for Jim to fill. The only deadbeat dads Disney allows are villains and those guys are very vigorously chasing an aspiration, that aspiration just doesn’t include quality fatherhood. Or motherhood. Disney has yet to write a deadbeat mom, I’m almost certain.

I just wrote a post about the necessity of the “dead parent” cliche, but what is perhaps more relatable because it’s more common, and what earns even more sympathy and underdog points for the protagonist? The hero with the parent who left. Then there’s a whole extra layer of angst and trauma available when your hero can now plague themselves with the question of if the parent leaving is their fault. Death is usually an accident. Choosing to abandon your kid is on purpose.

10. Victim who isn’t victim-blamed or told by their friends (and the narrative) to forgive their abuser

Izuku Midoriya lost so much support from me the moment he told his friend, bearing the consequences of domestic violence across half his face, that Midoriya thinks he’ll be ready soon to forgive his abomination of a father. I am firmly in the “Endeavor is a despicable human and hero” camp and no I’m not taking criticism. I audibly gasped when I heard this line and realized Deku was serious. Todoroki needs friends like the Gaang to remind him that he's allowed to hate the man who's actions caused the burn scar across his f*cking face.

I understand that the mangaka apparently didn’t anticipate the vitriolic backlash toward Endeavor during his debut and reveal of his parenting tactics but the tone-deafness of telling a fifteen year old with crippling emotional management issues and a horrible home life that his abusive dad in any way deserves and is entitled to forgiveness on the grounds of being related is disgusting.

Take it back further to a more famous Tumblr dad: John Winchester. Another despicable human who got retroactively forgiven by his sons after his death in a “he wasn’t so bad, he really did try” campaign. It’s one thing if the character believes it, it’s a whole different matter if the narrative is also pushing this message.

Katara is a perfect example: She lets go of her grudge for her own peace of mind and stops blaming Zuko for something he had no hand in, stops blaming him simply because he’s a firebender and he’s around to be her punching bag. She doesn’t forgive the man who killed her mother, because that man doesn’t deserve her forgiveness. Katara heals in spite of him, not because of him, and had she let him off the hook, she would have gotten an apology for getting caught, not for what he did (which is exactly what happened).

[wttcsms]

angels like you can't fly down here with me (i'm everything they say i would be), megumi fushiguro ;

pairing megumi fushiguro x f!reader word count 11k  synopsis people like him don't get happy endings but megumi fushiguro (foolishly) considers himself to be the exception — after all, he has you. content contains yakuza au, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, breeding kink, slight daddy kink, attempted sa, minor violence & depictions of blood author's note if ur on my ao3, you know this is from 2021!!! my writing has changed up since then, but i'm going to be releasing a revised version of this which will be rewritten and feature more scenes, more worldbuilding, more plot, relationship and character development, etc!! i figured releasing this on tumblr would help me gauge how worthwhile revision of this fic will be, so lmk if u like this au & want to see it become even better <3

Don’t do it.

He repeats the command inside his head again, and then one more time for good measure. (And then another time, just to drive the point across.)

He won’t — can’t; isn’t really allowed to — get into (another!) fight.

(Well, there’s a part of Megumi that knows that despite Gojo’s sing-songy warning of “now, now, Megumi, I don’t need a frequent visitor’s card for the principal’s office”, he doesn’t actually care. All he’s really concerned about — if the mild interest the reckless teenager turned legal guardian shows can even be called that — is whether or not Megumi wins.

And he does.

Every. Single. Time.)

For the most part, Megumi Fushiguro is fairly stoic in general, but to a concerning degree when one accounts for the fact that he’s only ten years old. For the odd three or so years he’s been under Gojo’s wing, Megumi’s mask of disinterest stopped becoming a mask and started becoming a part of him.

(Try as he might, Gojo’s not nearly as funny as he thinks he is. Maybe the connection between them might have been stronger if Gojo was a bit more responsible and if he was actually present, but he’s got his own shit to deal with. Besides, Gojo’s under the impression that what he’s doing isn’t cruel, but rather a means to an end. Megumi’s never going to be able to get stronger if he doesn’t learn how to survive on his own.

After all, being alone and having to fight to survive is the life people like them live.)

The older preteens in the area have a bad habit of picking on the younger students. Because the elementary and middle schools are so close together, the younger students who have the misfortune of walking alone tend to be targets for bullies in need of pocket change or a good laugh. Most of the time, they get both.

As of late, everyone’s favorite target happens to be Megumi Fushiguro, the boy with the messy black hair and indifferent attitude, even when confronted by boys two years his senior and almost a whole entire head taller than him.

Last week, Megumi gave the three older boys dumb enough to harass him for money bloody noses, bruised egos, and a thirst for revenge. That was the first (and supposed to be the last) time he got into a fight (for this school year, at least — something Gojo had told him, while winking). So, even when the trio is back together again, taunting him and trying to get him to take the first swing, Megumi keeps walking forward with his perpetual look of disinterest, those cold blue eyes of his staring straight at the path ahead of him, never paying any mind to the gangly bodies of the middle school boys who keep trying to block him from moving.

Don’t do it.

He tells himself this once more. You don’t want to have to inconvenience Gojo. Then, you’ll be stuck listening to him pretend to lecture you. You don’t like spending too much time with Gojo. He’ll make weird jokes. 

The thought of having to deal with Gojo’s presence is enough to get Megumi to unclench his fists.

“Move.”

It’s the first thing he says to the group since they started following him after school. He tells the boy with the brown hair this. The brunet seems to be their ringleader of sorts, and even as nothing more than a ten year old child, Megumi knows that being twelve/thirteen and harassing little kids for sport is a sign of patheticness that will only grow and fester into something darker unless someone beats some sense into them. Obviously, they didn’t learn their lesson from last week.

“Huh? What the hell did ya just say, ya little brat?” The brown haired boy sneers, looking down at Megumi.

School has just let out, so there are dozens of kids of all ages walking down the sidewalk. They’re all aware of the situation happening, but everyone chooses to turn a blind eye to it. Partly because this is such a common occurrence that it just starts to become something that blends into the scenery, but also because there are some rumors surrounding the Fushiguro kid that’s enough to make anyone with a heart of gold reluctant to come to his rescue.

The main rumor circulating around the school is that Megumi Fushiguro has ties to the yakuza. Granted, most kids his age have no idea what the yakuza is, and even those who somewhat know only know through exaggerated definitions from their older siblings. Generally, everyone just accepts the fact that the yakuza is bad, and by default, Megumi Fushiguro must be bad too. Older siblings tell their younger siblings to avoid “that boy” at all costs, unless they want to end up with a finger cut off. Megumi’s classmates huddle together and conveniently choose to look everywhere else but at him when on the playground.

For anyone else, this might have been enough to cause some hurt feelings. Everyone thinks the boy must be some type of stupid to be so oblivious to the rumors centered around him, but the truth is this: Megumi is well aware of what people whisper about behind his back; he just doesn’t care enough to prove them wrong.

And they’re not wrong, anyway.

(For some parts of the rumors, at least.)

Because it’s true — Megumi does have ties to the yakuza. His father, who he can’t seem to attach neither a name nor a face to, must have done something bad. Something bad enough to have him cross paths with Satoru Gojo, the young head of the Gojo Clan, one of Tokyo’s most prominent crime families. It’s the same Gojo who decided to adopt both Megumi and his stepsister, Tsumiki, despite having nothing (so far) to gain from it. After all, why would a teenager willingly assign himself the responsibilities of caring for small children — one who resembles the man that tried to kill him and the other being an ill little girl confined to a hospital bed for who knows how long. All Gojo gets from this deal is a headache, bills, and more problems than necessary.

Megumi’s not really sure how the rumors started in the first place. He thinks it’s because kids his age are easily influenced and have a tendency to run wild with their imaginations. With the rising popularity of gangs from the high school students, this interest seems to have trickled all the way down to the elementary levels. Megumi certainly fits the description of their idea of someone from the yakuza: silent, secretive, scary.

(If they were a little bit older, maybe they would have just seen him as an introvert.)

No matter how ridiculous the rumors get, though, it doesn’t change the fact that the root of them is true: he is connected to the yakuza. After all, he’s being primed and prepped to be someone of value in the clan. Once you’re tied with the likes of them, you might as well just resign to the knot fate’s trapped you with. He’s learned quickly that the only thing harder than getting into the yakuza is getting out.

And because his sister’s and his life both depend on him doing as he’s told, getting out is a funny pipe dream at best and the Fushiguro siblings’ cause of death at worst.

“I told you to move. You’re blocking my way.” Megumi’s tone of voice betrays nothing. Annoyance, maybe, but he speaks flatly regardless of how he’s truly feeling. Gojo says it’s kinda creepy. Gojo also says that being a little creepy isn’t bad.

(Gojo should know; he’s a certified creep in Megumi’s eyes.)

“Oh — so the little boy can speak up.” The boy with blond hair laughs. It’s a nasally sound that grates Megumi’s ears.

He’s not an idiot. Megumi is well aware of the fact that no matter how much he feels like it isn’t true, he’s still just a little ten year old boy. He should be playing with the toy cars Gojo bought him, not worrying about the gritty future that lies ahead. But still, the phrase rubs him the wrong way.

Little boy.

He wasn’t so little when he kicked them down to his height before properly bashing their faces, now was he? Even now, he can feel the anger coming up. He clenches his fists, wondering if he’ll get suspended for fighting right next to school property.

“Leave him alone.”

Another voice appears, but not from any of the boys. No — this time, it’s coming from a little girl on the sidewalk across from theirs. Everyone involved turns to stare at the source of such a command and are greeted with the sight of you with a Hello Kitty backpack. You’ve got a frown on your face that doesn’t match the brightness of your pink outfit.

Megumi recognizes you instantly. You’re in the same class as him. You were in the same class as him last year, too. He tilts his head, trying to figure out what exactly it is you’re trying to accomplish here — and why.

He knows his social standing in the school. If he’s at the bottom, you’re right at the top. A beaming pillar of light, everyone flocks to you like moths after a flame. But you’re alone today, not surrounded by the usual crowd of boys and girls who are often vying for your attention. Seeing you alone enables him to see you more clearly, without all the distractions getting in his way.

You’re small. Shorter than him, and way shorter than the middle school boys. You’ve got a bow in your hair and brand new shoes on your feet. If anybody should be socially aware, it has to be you. Those at the top, Megumi knows, like to remind everyone of their placement. You shouldn’t be here. You should be ignoring him like he’s got the plague, just like everyone else.

All three of the boys start to laugh after sizing you up. The laughter only serves to make you even more irritated, but you can’t speak because one of them is already talking through his laughs.

“Don’t tell me. Is this your girlfriend?”

The group erupts into more laughter, and while Megumi’s expression remains the same as it’s been for the past few minutes, yours only shows your growing contempt.

“She’s no one.” Megumi throws you an odd look, one of neither annoyance nor gratitude for trying to help him out. He uses your presence as a distraction, and he manages to take a few more steps before one of the boys is yanking him back by his bookbag.

“Grab her.” One of the boys says, and the third boy, the one with the messy red hair, starts to cross the street.

Megumi watches as you stay right where you are. Are you stupid? Why won’t you run? The boy still has a solid grip on his bookbag, keeping him in place. He wonders if it’ll be a waste of his breath if he tells you to start running — you probably wouldn’t listen to him anyway.

But then Megumi figures out why you don’t look too frightened, because not even a second before the older boy manages to cross the street to your side of the sidewalk, a man in a suit is running towards you, a scowl on his face.

“You said you were going to the restroom, young lady!” The man scolds you while panting for breath. He surveys the scene, looking at you, and then the middle school boy by your side before turning his head and seeing Megumi in between the other two boys. “What’s going on? Is everything alright? Did they do anything to you?”

“No, Mr. Higashi. B-but—“ Your bottom lip starts to tremble, and even though Higashi is certain that the tears about to fall are fake, the situation itself looks serious enough to the point where he doesn’t call you out on it. “Th-these boys are being really mean.” You let out a high pitched wail that makes the boy let go of Megumi’s bookbag. “They just threatened to attack me and my friend out of nowhere.”

“Your father will be informed.” Higashi frowns, eyeing the guilty boys who look confused and a little shocked at this turn of events. “Mr. [Surname] certainly won’t be pleased to hear about this.”

The middle school boys pale when they hear the man name drop your family’s surname.

After all, it’s the same last name that’s engraved on plaques all over the school, thanking your family for the many donations they’ve received.

You enter into Megumi’s life that way: unexpectedly. He never thanked you for intervening, but it’s not like you did it for the thanks anyway. You did it, you tell him, because you figured he needed some help.

“I had it handled.” He tells you flatly. “Why are you even sitting here? Your friends keep staring at us.”

It’s true. Stories of what happened are already circulating around both schools, and while all your friends spent the whole entire day pestering you for the full story, you chose to keep quiet about the situation. And now, here you are, choosing to sit and eat lunch with Megumi, someone who also knows the true story of what went down but the only one people aren't brave enough to ask.

Your whole entire table of friends keep their heads huddled together as they go back and forth with each other, every one of them sparing glances at Megumi’s table. It makes the rice in his mouth taste stale. He should have just stayed in the classroom to eat, especially if he knew you would be bothering him.

“Gee, is that any way to treat a friend?” You huff, not at all actually annoyed with him.

“We’re not friends.”

“Too late. I told my dad we were.”

There has been one question on his mind ever since that incident. Just who exactly is your father? He’s not stupid; he knows that you must come from a wealthy family. If the buildings and auditorium named after your family isn’t enough proof, the fact that you always have the latest toys, the nicest shoes, the cutest stationery sets — that’s material proof of a spoiled princess.

You continue speaking, and as if you can read his mind, you’re already answering his question. “My daddy’s called a CEO. But the man you saw is Mr. Higashi. He takes care of me when dad’s away at work, and everything I do gets typed up in a report that dad sees every day. He wasn’t happy about what happened, so he says the boys will get in trouble. He told us not to worry, though.” You have a pleased smile on your face, waiting for Megumi to say something in reply.

“Okay.” He says, after a while. He only spoke because it seemed like you were waiting for him to. “It doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

“What’s so wrong about being friends with me?” You tilt your head. Everyone wants to be friends with you. And that’s before they even figure out that you live in a real life mansion with actual servants, and that sometimes you’re allowed to eat dessert for dinner. Even without the wealth, you still draw people in, whether it be with your bright smile or cheery attitude.

“Don’t you already have enough friends?” He can’t figure out what you could possibly want with him. Even though Gojo’s got the backing of the clan and enough funds to run the Tokyo underground with cash to spare, it’s not like Megumi is in a position to take advantage of it. Gojo hands him a thick wad of cash every week with a tip to “spend wisely, hehehehe”, and Megumi takes the tip to heart. A majority of the money sits saved in his bedroom, underneath a floorboard he spent a week trying to figure out how to loosen without anyone catching on. (Which was actually easy whenever he realized that nobody seems to really watch him to begin with.) So, he doesn’t look like he has money, and isn’t that what all rich kids want? To surround themselves with equally rich kids?

“I guess.” Your bubbly mood seems to dampen a bit at the mention of the other kids. They like you, sure. But they like each other a lot more. The gap between you and the other kids isn’t noticeable at first, but the novelty of having an endless supply of company has lost its luster. Meanwhile, the glamor of your life only keeps the hoards of “friends” to grow as the days go by. It’s always “let’s have a sleepover at [Names]’s!” or “[Name], we have to go to your house because you have the best toys!”. You wonder if they like you, or the shiny things that they get when they’re with you. “But, it’s not like youhave any friends.”

“I don’t need any.” The response is quick — instinctual. Gojo, even if not the greatest guardian by any parental standards, still presses Megumi to have a proper (or, as proper as it can be) childhood.

(“You know, I don’t care if you bring any friends over. Just make sure no one ends up accidentally getting shot, okay, Megumi?”

Yeah, because that’s definitely gonna push him towards throwing as many parties as he wants.)

People in his position don’t have many friends. It’s hard to, he assumes, because of all the killings and betrayals and power plays.

(And, he’ll soon learn that it hurts a lot less to lose an enemy than it does a friend.)

“Hmm. Okay.”

But you don’t get up from your seat, and he doesn’t tell you to move.

The next day, you’re carrying two bento boxes. The lunches are prepared for you by world class chefs and everything is done in a rather cutesy manner to entice you into not wasting your food. The fruit is cut into pretty shapes, the food has picks with animals on them, and everything is colorful and to your own personal tastes.

You take a seat next to him once again. He looks up for a second, sees that it’s you, and returns back to his meal that looks pitiful in comparison. Leftover rice and some cold meat. You think it’s the same thing he had last time.

“For you.” You slide the second bento you had requested towards him before opening up your own.

“What’s this for?”

“For you to eat, silly.”

“...How much?”

“Huh? All of it, I guess? If you don’t like something, tell me, and I’ll request something different tomorrow.” You don’t quite understand what he’s asking you.

“No. How much does it cost? I'll bring you the money tomorrow.”

“Why would it cost you?” Now you’re really confused.

Didn’t anyone ever teach you that everything comes attached with a price? If it’s not money you want, it must be something else. At least, if Megumi’s judgments are right. (And they usually are.)

“Fushiguro, I brought you this because I want you to eat well and grow strong.”

He wonders what rice shaped like Hello Kitty has to do with his strength.

“Also, so the next time people give you or me trouble, you can fight them, okay?”

Oh. So it’s protection you want. He contemplates what he thinks your request is before popping a piece of food into his mouth. A meal made with care — he can taste the thought that’s been put into it. Shoving his old lunch to the side, he quickly starts eating at the one you brought him.

Okay. So maybe he does accept your offer.

“Meguuuumi.” You whine out his name, messing up the navy sheets of his bed while he sits at his desk, trying to finish his application for university. “I’m bored.”

“Good. Go to your own house then, and leave me alone.”

“You’re so mean to me.” You sigh, turning your head so that half of your face is pressed against his pillow. The scent of his shampoo still sticks to the fabric, and you subconsciously inhale the scent some more. It’s familiar and reminds you of him, your favorite person in the world.

No one believes you when you tell them that Megumi is your best friend. No one wants to believe that it’s true. After all, the two of you look more like a shoujo manga trope than an actual pair of best friends. The cold, inexpressive dark haired male lead with a secretive past he doesn’t want anyone to know about and the bright, bubbly, ball of energy that is constantly clinging to his side. It’s like looking at night and day with you two.

“And yet, you’re still always here.”

You’re still by his side, even when the two of you reached middle school and high school together, and he spent a majority of his time starting (and finishing) fights.

(“Get off of him!” You screamed, yanking on the collar of one of the boys who happened to be trying to grab Megumi from behind. You don’t have the same amount of strength as them, but everyone at this point knows who you are and who exactly your father is. No matter what the origin of the fight is won’t matter; all that matters is that the precious daughter of one of Tokyo’s richest CEOs got caught in it, and that’s enough to get everyone involved into some deep shit.

Immediately, the boy scampers off, and the other boy Megumi was punching into the squeaky clean floors of the hallway begins to thrash around wildly, eyes wide at the sudden sight of you. Seeing you coming from behind Megumi is like watching the sun peek through a dozen storm clouds.

Megumi gives him one last punch, not nearly as satisfied as he thought he would be. Honestly, getting into fights with low level delinquents is beneath him. It’s not just his knuckles and clothes that are getting dirty; by feeding into the school’s image that he’s this young, violent yakuza heir, he’s dirtying the prestige Gojo claims is oh so important.

“Megumi.” He straightens up at the sound of your voice, which usually sounds so sweet, especially when it’s directed towards him. Instead, you have an uncharacteristic frown on your face and you sound… mad. “Let’s go.”

You’ve got a hand wrapped around his wrist, and people part when they spot the two of you making a hasty exit. The teachers aren’t bold enough to cause a scene with you, and the students know both you and Megumi are practically untouchable — one being the spoiled brat daughter of a rich and powerful businessman, the other, a ticking time bomb with ties to the yakuza.

You don’t stop walking until the two of you are in a secluded courtyard at the school. No one goes here, mainly because it’s in such an inconvenient location and there’s nothing but trees and weeds over growing it. The two of you found it within your first week of being here, and ever since then, it’s become your designated spot to avoid prying eyes.

“I thought you were over stupid fights. You told me yourself that they weren’t the type of people worth beating up.” You scold him, forcing him to take a seat on the bench that creaks under his weight. You make a noise as you inspect the drying blood on his knuckles.

If an outsider were to look at the scene before them, they would gape at the unbecoming sight of you on your knees, in between his legs, too close for a duo who claims to be “just good friends”. But there’s nothing inherently dirty in your thoughts. Instead, you’re staring thoughtfully at his hands, inspecting the minor damage done to them.

Megumi swallows hard as he looks down on you. He shouldn’t be feeling like this — you’re his best friend, his only friend. The only person who’s by his side. If you could read in his mind, there’s no doubt that you would be recoiling away from him in disgust…)

You’re still by his side, even when he told you the truth about himself after waiting years to see if you were truly his friend or not.

(“The rumors—” He starts to say, but you shush him, rolling over on your side to face him. The two of you are lying on the grass in your massive backyard, trying to spot a shooting star that’s supposed to be passing by at any second now.

“I don’t care about that.” You tell him. Middle school was a bitch to deal with, mainly because as everyone was in the process of growing up and “maturing”, so did the rumors they spread. Now, the two of you are halfway through your first week of high school. A new school, a couple of new classmates, and new rumors surrounding the odd pair.

“If I told you the rumors about me being someone you should avoid were true, would you be mad?” He’s lying on his back, still staring up at the night sky. He’s not turning to face you, almost as if he’s scared to look at you.

“Yes.” You answer without any hesitation. “At the person who’s spreading that around.” You clarify, poking him on his side to lighten the somber mood he’s setting. “You’re the only real friend I’ve had in forever, Megumi. I don’t think what anyone says about you would change that.”

“What if I did something bad?” Like kill a person. What then? What would you think of him if he told you the full truth: that Gojo told him that he can’t shield Megumi from the dirtier aspects of this type of life. That he’s spent hours after school, hours after hanging out with you and pretending to be a normal teenager, learning how to assemble, disassemble, and then reassemble a gun. That his target practice isn’t glass bottles lined up in a row or sheets printed out with human bodies. What happens if he told you that his target practice was low level scum from rival yakuza clans that Gojo couldn’t be bothered to kill himself?

“Mmm. How bad are we talking? Like, lied to me when you said my Christmas outfit looked good but half my ass was practically exposed bad or committing a felony bad?”

“What if I told you… that I really was a yakuza heir.”

The silence is palpable and especially soul crushing to Megumi as he waits for your reply.

“It wouldn’t matter to me, Megumi.” You say. You know that this isn’t just some type of hypothetical question he’s asking for fun. From his odd living situation to the intense nature of him in general to the fact that he knows practically everything about you, but you barely know the full extent of his childhood traumas despite growing up alongside him, you know deep in your heart that there has to be something going on with him. Something dark enough to harbor stories about him.

“Are you sure about that?”

You reach for his hand in the dark, finding it without really needing to look. He’s not one that’s prone to initiating physical contact, but you found out that he doesn’t really mind when you reach for him first.

“You can’t get rid of me, no matter how crazy or fucked up you think your life is.” You squeeze his hand, still staring at him.

You don’t notice the shooting star flying past the night sky, but Megumi is looking right at it. He knows what he’s wishing for.

For your words to be true.)

You’re still by his side, even when he brought you to his sister’s bedside. She’s sick, afflicted with something no one knows, not even the private doctors that Gojo’s spent millions on. She was still conscious, albeit confined to her bed when the two of you first met, but she’s been in a coma ever since the last year of middle school. You were by his side as he broke down about the news. It was the first time you’ve ever seen him cry.

So, no matter how much it may seem like he’s pushing you away, you don’t budge. For someone smaller than him and definitely weaker, you’re awfully resilient. And while people make the occasional joke, telling you to “blink twice if you need help”, you don’t pay any attention to them. If only they knew the truth: that you’ve got Megumi Fushiguro, heir to a massive yakuza clan, wrapped around your dainty finger.

He’s so whipped that he found himself asking Gojo for a rare favor.

(“College?” Gojo rubs the back of his neck, staring at Megumi. “I mean, I guess it’ll be good for you. Meet a wild party girl, take her to your dorm room, tame her—”

“An education is the whole point of attending, you know.” Megumi interrupts him before Gojo can jump into a story highlighting all of his sexual endeavors with college girls back in the day.

“Eh. I guess.” But then a grin lights up the feature of the man who [kind of/by definition] raised him. “But y’know what I know for a fact.” He wiggles his eyebrows, his glasses slipping down his nose as he tilts his head downwards. “You wanna follow [Name].”)

It doesn’t really matter if he’s not good enough to get into the university you’ve already received an early acceptance for. Because Gojo tries to make up for being an absent father figure, he fills in those empty spaces with cold, hard cash. All it takes is one nice donation, and Megumi’s wherever he wants to be.

Where he wants to be, he realizes, is to be by your side. Wherever you go, he’ll gladly follow. Funnily enough, despite the two vastly different backgrounds the both of you come from, you both have similar means of getting what you want.

Your father had already looked over the list of universities you had in mind, and all you could do was excitedly squeal and start rambling the moment the acceptance letters came in the mail. Despite the fact that your father’s physically absent from your life most of the time, he still tries to show he cares in the things he does for you. If paying off over half a dozen major universities in order to make you happy is something he has to do, he’ll do it without batting an eye.

It’s the same thing on Megumi’s end. Granted, Gojo’s means are more along the lines of using money as a lubricant and then death as an inevitable. Money talks, a gunshot to the head silences. Nobody can accuse anyone of taking bribes if said accused person is in a grave six feet under.

Sometimes, Megumi wonders how you’re just so oblivious to the fortunate circumstances in your life. You chalk up a lot of your father’s wishes as just “good luck”. In school, you’re placed on a pedestal, revered as some goddess-like, otherworldly being. People are practically tripping over themselves, running towards you for a crumb of your attention. Anyone sane would gladly wield this power and use it for all its worth. Not you, though. Not you, who’s kind and considerate and completely clean from the corruptness that plagues everyone else.

Megumi knows good and well that he’s not a hero — couldn’t be farther from it, if he’s being honest. He doesn’t feel a moral obligation to go out and rid the world of all evil. (It’d be hypocritical, he thinks, considering the fact that he’s most likely belonging under the evil category himself.) From a young age, he’s already known and come to terms with his fate. He’s going to train and learn from the best, and eventually, he will succeed as head of the clan. That is his purpose. That right there is the reason why he’s still alive today. That is why he can find himself sitting at his desk, submitting an application that’s already guaranteed to be followed up with an acceptance letter, ready to pretend for four more years that he’s normal.

“D’you think college will be fun?” You ask him, making yourself comfortable in his bed.

“No.”

You laugh at that. You like Megumi for a lot of reasons, and his honesty is one of them. Despite the fact that he likes to keep most of the darker details of his life to himself, you know that he would never lie to you. In a world full of people who are constantly lying, it gets tiring trying to figure out who’s real and who’s fake. It doesn’t help that you want to believe in everyone either. If you didn’t have Megumi loyally staying by your side all this time, you doubt you would have made it this far in your life without anyone taking advantage of you and your kindness.

“My dad said I can finally get a boyfriend when I go to college.” You say this fact so casually that Megumi almost — almost — gets fooled into believing that this is not a cause for concern. Almost.

“Oh.” He’s at a loss for words. He knows that it’s inevitable; that one day, you’ll find a guy you like and want to get closer to him. He knows that you’re not always going to be by his side, and he knows that it’s going to happen because he’ll have to push you away eventually. The older he gets, the deeper he’s burying himself into his grave. He doesn’t want you to get caught in the crossfire.

It’s not like boys have never tried approaching you before. People have spent years thinking that you and Megumi were a couple, and then after finding out from you that the two of you are nothing more than “best friends”, boys were still hesitant to talk to you. The glare Megumi would give them from behind your shoulder acted as a strong enough deterrent.

“I know. Now the only problem is finding a guy who’ll actually wanna date me.”

“They all will.” The words leave his mouth faster than he can even think about them. He’s not wrong, though. Every time the two of you are out in public together, he sees people shooting quick glances at you, at your ass, at your bright smile. The looks they give are predatory, dangerous, even. If it’s not your looks, it’s your shining personality that draws them all in. And if that’s not good enough, there’s always the enormous wealth attached to your last name. That’s the key to getting them to stay.

“You can be so sweet sometimes, you know that?” You giggle, glad that he’s still typing away on his laptop. If he were to look at you right now, he would see that you’re reacting way too positively to such a lackluster compliment. It’s not like he listed reasons on why anyone would ever want to date you, so he probably could just be complimenting you to make you happy.

(That’s just the excuse you’re going with. You know your best friend — that means you know that he would never say something he doesn’t truly think or believe.)

There’s a secret you’ve been keeping from him. A secret so big that you think you might’ve been keeping it from yourself, too. Something so big that your body simply can’t contain it any longer.

You like Megumi. 

Of course you do. You keep telling the whole world what great friends the two of you are. You talk to him about your dad all the time (which must mean he’s important, because you rarely get to speak to your dad, so you have to choose your topics of conversation wiseley). You trust him more than you trust yourself. Ever since middle school, you’ve been telling yourself that you liking Megumi isn’t anything to be ashamed or confused about. You like him because he’s your friend, and you’re supposed to like your friends.

And then you came to terms with the fact that you like Megumi beyond the borders of friendship.

It starts with you seeing him the way other girls must see him. You’re not blind, you know. It’s obvious that Megumi is far from ugly. If he wasn’t so intimidating, you’re sure he would have had his fair share of confessions, too. Megumi’s pretty, although calling him a pretty boy wouldn’t do his character justice. He’s got lashes people pay extensions for theirs to look like, and the prettiest dark blue eyes you’ve ever seen, and his hair, which he doesn’t put forth any type of effort in, always looks good whereas the same hairstyle would look messy on anyone else.

It’s not just his looks, though. Even if you look like the type of person who would judge others based on such shallow standards, you didn’t approach Megumi simply because he’s attractive. He’s… interesting. He’s got this reputation for being a delinquent, and maybe all the fights on his school record prove it, but he’s surprisingly respectful. He’s the type of guy who gets up from his seat to let an eldery woman have it. He loves animals. He’s honest and sweet despite his seemingly stoic nature, and he’s so oblivious to just how good he is.

Maybe it’s because he’s so blinded by the light that is you. You, with your cutesy bento boxes that used to be made by your team of personal chefs but are now made with your own manicured hands. You, with that bright smile of yours that he wants to always see because god — he thinks he would be willing to destroy the whole world if something were to ever make you so upset. You’re kind and beautiful and everything people write love songs about. You’re so good, and he’s nothing like you.

He’s nothing like you, because he highly doubts that you spend your time fantasizing about him like he does with you. It’s wrong, he thinks. And dirty, and disgusting, and vile. You’d hate him, he’s sure of it, if you knew what he thinks about late at night. That he sits on his bed with his cock pulled out from his shorts, leaking with precum as he strokes himself to the thought of you. Do you not see him as any other guy? Despite your lack of experience, surely you know just how dirty boys’ minds can be? You’ve got to be conscious of the fact that he’s any other guy, right? So, why — why — do you always roll around in his sheets, letting your sweet perfume stick to his sheets. Your tiny tops and skirts are always clinging tight to your body, and you never feel the need to readjust your clothing when it rides up. Do you not see him trying his hardest to look you in the eyes when the two of you are talking, despite the tantalizing sight of your skirt bunching up, exposing the smooth skin of your thighs?

Little does Megumi know (and if you have your way, he’ll never find out), you spend nights in your room, whining and trying to stuff your cunt with the same fingers that painstakingly made him his lunch. He’s your best friend since childhood. He looks at you like you’re an angel, and you don’t want to destroy that image by revealing just how dirty you really are. How every time he gets so close to you, you subconsciously bring your thighs together, trying to rub them together in a poor attempt to relieve some tension. He’d be disgusted with you, you’re sure of it. Maybe even betrayed.

Besides, it would never work out. Megumi doesn’t see you the way you see him. He might look at you with a soft look you’ve never seen him give anyone else, but that’s because you’re his only friend. It’s not like he’s harboring any hidden feelings for you, and just because you’re so convinced that there’s no one better than Megumi around, it doesn’t exactly mean that you won’t feel this way about anyone else.

Megumi’s got a rather monotone cadence with his voice, so you’re not too surprised by his seemingly unethusiatic response to you saying you’re now allowed to date. Still — there’s a slight pang of disappointment when you realize that he doesn’t sound jealous at the prospect of you dating someone else.

You decide right then and there that the healthiest thing to do now is to just bury your feelings for him deep inside your heart, to tightly pack in all those pesky feelings and store them away so you can make room to allow others to fill in his space.

gumi <3: where are you? gumi <3: i’m feeling tired and i have an assignment due tomorrow. i’m going home. gumi <3: you know i wouldn’t leave without you. cmon [name]. let’s leave now

Megumi frowns at his phone. He can clearly see that all his messages are being delivered, not to mention that he’s already called you twice and has been sent to voicemail twice. He can be patient when he wants to be, but right now, he’s getting a little pissed.

You know that he doesn’t like parties, and you know that he doesn’t hang out with the same people you do. He also knows that you don’t even really like most of the people you surround yourself with, so whyyou suddenly decided to do a 180 and reestablish your throne as the head of the social pyramid, he doesn’t know.

Lately, things between the two of you have been a little… weird. Sometimes he catches you staring at him with a sad smile on your face; one that you immediately replace with your usual one when you realize he’s looking right at you. Despite him asking you if everything’s okay, you vehemently deny that there’s anything wrong, and you’re quick to change the subject.

He thinks he’s losing his best friend, his only friend. And maybe it only hurts because he’s grown used to your presence in his life. Maybe it hurts because you’re his friend. But he knows the truth. It hurts because he’s losing you.

Did he do something wrong? Did he accidentally somehow reveal the extent of his feelings for you? Did you suddenly decide that maybe associating with someone like him isn’t something you’re meant for? Do you…

Do you hate him now?

It doesn’t matter. Maybe it does, but not right now. Right now, he’s more focused on getting the hell out of this stuffy ass living room, filled to the brim with drunken young adults and people he couldn’t care less about. The only person that matters right now is you, and he’s on a mission to find your location.

He’s got this ominous feeling in his gut, like something bad is about to happen. He’s Megumi Fushiguro, for fuck’s sake, so bad things have a habit of following him wherever he goes. But still, he’s made a personal promise to himself that no matter how bad things get, you’ll never get caught in the crossfire. He’s willing to die to keep that vow.

If you don’t reply to him, you most likely have a good reason. He doesn’t want to be clingy, is pretty damn certain he doesn’t even have a right to be, but he’s still worried about you. He’s pushing past the wall of sweaty bodies, trying to catch a glimpse of your hair color, the waft of your perfume, the familiarity of your laugh, but he can’t catch a single crumb of you anywhere.

You’re nowhere in sight, and he’s immediately filled with dread.

He yanks a guy who’s coming from upstairs.

“Ow, man, what the fuc—”

“Is anyone else up there?” Most of the time, the parties are restricted to just the first floor, with the unspoken rule being that only the upstairs should be used for people trying to fuck or to use the bathroom (or, people trying to use the bathroom to fuck). You’re not anywhere downstairs, and if you were simply using the restroom, you would have been back down here by now.

“Shit, I don’t fucking know.” The guy squints at Megumi, as if trying to see if he knows him or not. With the way his expression pales, Megumi comes to the conclusion that the guy might not really know him, but he knows ofhim. Gojo says that with the right reputation, the two concepts are practically synonymous. “But I heard a guy ‘n a girl, I think, walk past the bathroom. I don’t know who, though!”

Megumi lets go of the boy’s shirt, and he’s quick to run off before Megumi can give him any more wrinkles in his shirt — or do something much worse.

He’s thinking. Odds are, it’s probably not even you. With so many people roaming around this house, it’s likely that he just missed your presence. Your phone could have died, so that explains why he can’t reach you.

He finds himself heading up the stairs anyway.

It’s fine. He tells himself. You’re fine. You’re okay. Nobody would dare to touch a single hair on your head unless they want to suffer directly at the hands of Megumi. People around campus call him your guard dog, and it’s not necessarily a nickname he hates.

The atmosphere upstairs is vastly different from the one downstairs. There are no lights turned on, and all the doors to the rooms are closed. He hears a flush coming from one end, and out walks a tipsy girl who’s staggering a bit. There are only so many doors to choose from, and he doesn’t really want to accidentally walk in on two people trying to have sex, but the need to confirm your safety outweighs any possible embarrassment he may suffer from, so he continues on his mission.

The first two rooms are revealed to be empty, leaving just one more. Megumi takes a deep breath before trying to turn the handle.

It’s locked. 

His gut is telling him something isn’t right, but he’s forcing himself to chalk it all up to paranoia. He curses under his breath, wondering why he even let you out of his sights for a single second.

Because he didn’t want to seem clingy. Because he didn’t want you to have any more reasons to keep on pushing him away. 

He decides to call you one more time, and as he’s listening to the dial tone, he hears a faint sound coming from the other side of the locked door.

It’s a phone ringing.

He presses his ear against the door, trying to make out any more sounds he possibly can. Is it still a coincidence when the phone stops ringing right as Megumi is greeted with your voicemail message of “sorry, I can’t come to the phone right now, but you probably should’ve just texted me!”

Without the annoying dial tone distracting him, Megumi can listen a little more clearly to what’s going on. There’s… there’s someone crying.

The voices are muffled, but he can make out bits and pieces of what’s being said.

“—fuck up… crying like a damn bitch… want this.”

He’s heard enough before he’s banging his shoulder against the door.

“OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!” He’s screaming, hitting it again. There’s a chance, the voice of reason inside of him is saying, that it’s not you that’s crying behind that door. Even if it wasn’t, Megumi still wouldn’t have stood by idly. But instinct is telling him that it is you, and that’s enough cause for him to bang his shoulder against the door once again. He hears a scream, and a male voice cursing.

The force of his body banding against it is enough to have the door really test the strength of its lock. Megumi’s never been the bulkiest person in the world, but he’s still got some defined muscle to him. The door is creaking, almost bending to his will, but he fumbles in the dark for the gun safely tucked away by his side.

It’s a gift from Gojo. To speed up the process when something needs to be done quick is what Gojo said it was for. He’s never used it in such close proximity to you, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

No silencer. He forgot the fucking silencer. With the deep bass rumbling from the speakers, he doubts anyone would be able to hear the gun go off anyway. He aims for the handle, pulling back the safety, and fires once, then twice. With a foot aimed at the door, he kicks at it, pleased to see the way the abused door finally bends to his will.

The open door reveals a scene that makes Megumi see red: you, with tear stained cheeks and your clothes bunched up and strewn across the floor with a guy Megumi vaguely recognizes as someone sharing the same Econ class as the two of you — Mahito.

“You fucking bastard.” Megumi practically lunges forward, tossing his gun to the side. He doesn’t see reason, is numb to common sense at this moment. All he feels is the need to hurt this fucker. To make him bleed, to have him on the brink of death, to see the light of life leave his dark eyes.

Mahito is fast, but even he couldn’t imagine the speed that Megumi would possess when pushed to the edge. This is different from the fights you’ve witnessed during school. This is something entirelydifferent.

The first punch has Mahito wincing in pain. The second, third, and fourth ones are thrown back to back, and there’s no time given to recover, no chance to gain the upper hand. He’s falling down, and Megumi’s on top of him, drawing back his fist only to slam it against him again and againand again.

Megumi knows he’s got something fucked up inside of his head — what other explanation is there to reason with why he finds this bloody violence so satisfying? His knuckles are bloody, and he can’t tell where Mahito’s blood starts and where his own ends. There’s a wild grin on his face, one that you’ve never seen before. You’re not sure if it’s a trick of the shadows, but the feral expression on Megumi’s face transforms him from your loyal best friend to something monstrous.

“‘Gumi, st-stop.” The words stumble out of your mouth as hiccups, but you don’t miss the way Megumi’s raised arm freezes in its higher position before he slowly brings it back down to his side. He’s breathing deeply, and all is silent in the room.

As if the sound of your cries is enough to snap him out of his daze, it’s almost scary how fast his mood shifts. Just a second ago, he was hellbent on beating Mahito to a bloody pulp, and now the darkness drowning those blue eyes of his is practically gone. He makes his way to the bed, each step hurried but still hesitant. Do you even want to be near him right now? 

You answer his question with some more small sobs. “‘Gumi, I—”

“Shh, it’s okay, [Name].” He’s picking up your clothes from the floor, ready to help you get dressed. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

“Megumi.” His name seems to be the only thing you’re capable of saying right now. After he helps you get dressed, he’s thrown off guard when you cling to him, with your arms wrapped around his neck and your wet cheeks pressed against his shoulder.

The moment the two of you are exiting the room, both of you far too wrapped up with the other to pay him any mind, Mahito lets out a laugh before groaning at the pain Megumi inflicted.

The two of you don’t know what you just started, but no worries — Mahito has the means of ending it.

It’s only a matter of time.

You’re too good to be true.

You won’t listen to him when he tells you this (you never do), but he swears you’re a fucking angel or something otherwordly. There’s no other possible explanation for just how breathtakingly beautiful you are, or how you’re the only thing consuming his every thought. Despite the fact that all the blood on his hands has reached an amount that he’s sure he’ll never truly be able to wash it all off, you don’t shy away from his touch. As a matter of fact, it seems like you’re keening for it.

“‘Gumi.” You mewl out, sticking out your tongue to lap at the precum on Megumi’s thumb.

You’re well aware of just how dangerous your boyfriend (the title makes you giddy every time you refer to him as that) is, but you know him. You know that the hands of a killer are the hands of your lover, and most of the time, you have a hard time believing the awful things he’s had to do with them. Because right now, those hands that are meant to be weapons are handling you with care, touching you so gently, you would have thought you were made of glass and ready to shatter.

“Look at you, all spread out for me. What happened to my precious, shy little girl, huh?” He removes the hand that was cradling your face back to his cock, stroking his length, the saliva from your tongue acting as a minor lubricant. The first time he fucked you was the first time you’ve ever had sex with anyone ever, and it had been the start of an addiction. You love Megumi. You love everything about him, from his character to his tenacity, all the way down to his cock, with its red tip that’s sticky with pre and leaking out more as he stares down at the obscene position you’re in.

Your face feels warm as he stares down at you, his eyes darkened with a mix of love and lust that you don’t think you’ll ever get used to being on the receiving end of.

“Need you, need you so bad, please, ‘Gumi—” You’re staring up at him, giving him your best doe eyes.

“Fuck.” Just the sight of you beneath him, completely bending to his will, whining out for him to pretty please fuck you has him ready to cum right on the fucking spot. He’s pressing the tip in, his breathing faltering just the slightest as the warmth you provide envelopes the most sensitive part of him, nearly causing him to lose all self control right then and there.

You let out a cry as he pushes himself deeper in you, making himself at home in your gummy walls, one hand gripping your hip and the other holding onto the headboard.

“You feel so good for me, baby, shit.” He hisses, waiting for you to adjust, impatient but willing to bear it if it means it’ll feel better for you in the long run. After all, there’s nothing he wouldn’t do, nothing he wouldn’t endure, just to ensure your happiness.

“Mm — ah — please.” There are still tears welling up in your eyes — precious girl, he hasn’t even began to properly fuck you, and you’re already tearing up? The sight of you completely and willingly at his mercy is enough to get him to start rutting his hips against yours, the satisfying sound of skin slapping against skin resounding and bouncing against the walls of his bedroom that is starting to feel more like the both of yours.

“Y’feel so fuckin’ good for me, baby.” He groans, his pace quickening, the thrusts getting sharper and rougher with every roll of his hips. You’re powerless against his strength, and this type of easy submission feels so natural, feels so good, when it’s him that’s taking advantage of it. “You’ve got the sweetest pussy, y’know that?  I could fuck you forever.”

His praise goes through one ear and out the other with you, but your heart swells up to twice its size. Even if you can’t focus on the words all too clearly, you’re still aware that Megumi’s probably praising you. You can come to this conclusion because he’s always praising you. He’s always so sweet, so gentle, so loving — when it comes to you, that is.

“Hng — daddy!” You can’t help but let out a high pitched moan as he hits that sweet spot inside of you that makes you buck your hips up.

There’s no way you don’t know what you’re doing. Clenching around his cock like that, making those cute little noises that he can’t help but want to hear all the time, and then calling him that.

“Daddy, daddy, daddy.” 

Forget igniting something within him; you whining for him, calling him something that’s the root cause of all his childhood traumas… That’s like dousing him with gasoline and tossing a lighter at him. He’s going to burn through all his energy, channel all this dark, feral energy, and use you as the one unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end.

He fucks into you so deeply that if your eyes weren’t shut tight, there’s no doubt that you wouldn’t see the unmistakable shape of his cock outlined against your tummy. The headboard is banging against the wall, and the squelching sounds of him roughly thrusting in and out of your sopping cunt is so lewd and so dirty that if you had any room to harbor a single ounce of shame, you would be downright embarrassed.

“How about you make me a daddy, huh? How about I fuck a baby in you?” He won’t lie and say it’s not something that’s never crossed his mind. The thought of your stomach round with a life the two of you created is enough to get him to continue with this near-brutal pace he’s set forth. “Doesn’t it sound nice, baby? My baby giving me a baby, what—” He grits his teeth as you tighten up. “—a fucking dream.”

“Baby. Wanna have your babies.” You cry out, tears spilling out and wetting your cheeks as your arms find their way to his neck and broad shoulders, trying to pull him in closer. The heat building up from within you feels like you’re about to fucking explode. “‘Gumi, I love you, Iloveyoupleasegimmeababy—'' Your words are practically unintelligible as you slur them out, the words sticking together as you cum all over his cock, all that pleasure that has been building up now physically tangible, if the white ring encasing his cock every time he pulls out is evidence.

“Fuck! You feel so fucking good. Always so fuckin’ tight.” He’s reaching his own end, and you’re just lying there, trying to recover from such an intense orgasm but unable to as your too sensitive walls clench around the constant intrusion of his cock. Spurred by your little love confession and his mind imagining his daydreams coming true — you, as his cute little housewife, taking care of the kids the two of you made together — he finally shoves himself as deep as he physically can, making sure that as he cums, nothing will spill out.

“‘Gumi.” You whisper, your head resting against his chest, listening to the beat of his heart. “Did you mean it when you said you wanted to start a family?”

He’s silent for a minute.

“I wouldn’t mind starting a family with you.” And he means it. He knows this life isn’t one meant for children — look at how he turned out, for god’s sake — but he thinks that for you, he can do anything. Even make a family work out. As long as it’s what you want, he doesn’t mind how hard it may be.

You snuggle closer to him, burying your face in the warmth of his chest. “Good.” You mumble. “I wanna start a family with you, too.”

Megumi feels… at peace. Like he’s got the whole entire world in the palm of his hands. He wraps his arms around you, and realizes that no — right now, he’s got his world right in his arms.

Mahito likes to play with his food before he devours them whole.

Humans are just so… vulnerable. Even the coldest people have a heart; it’s only a matter of whether or not they find someone warm enough to defrost it. Megumi Fushiguro, for example, likes to walk around this world, acting indifferent and claiming to follow his own moral conduct, only to give himself the biggest weakness he could possibly harbor: you.

He still remembers that party. He still remembers the way you were dressed like a little slut, completely oblivious (or maybe you were just acting coy) to the wolfish stares all the guys were giving you. He had the same class as you. Seen the way you clung to Gojo’s charity case, as if the ground would swallow Megumi whole if you let go of him. You’re cute, and you scream naive virgin, and that’s precisely why Mahito wanted to take you to that bedroom and have his way with you.

And then, your infamous little guard dog bared his teeth and pummeled him into the hardwood of a stranger’s bedroom floor.

Grudges are cancerous. If you don’t deal with it right away, it develops into something worse. It takes over all your internal organs, ruining you ‘til the only thing you can focus on is getting revenge. And the longer you wait, the more vengeful you get. It doesn’t become a matter of ruined pride or reestablishing honor — it becomes about inflicting the most pain one possibly can. It becomes about suffering — about transferring your pain, your anguish, onto someone else.

Mahito isn’t the type to hold grudges, but for Megumi, he’ll make a special exception. He wants to see just how well trained the boy is; after all, he’s been taken under the wing and supervision of Satoru Gojo, the myth himself. Surely, his student must be nearly as skilled, right?

It’s been a long game of watching and waiting on Mahito’s end. A lot of lurking in the shadows and gathering intel. It’s a lot more boring than he anticipated, but today’s the day where all his hard work finally comes to fruition. Megumi Fushiguro is going to regret ever interfering with him that one fateful night. The burning humiliation he’s felt has long since fizzled out, but since he’s already been set on the path of orchestrating Megumi’s destruction, he figures it only makes sense to see it through. You only can let go of a grudge after you get your proper revenge.

He’s been leaving Megumi all sort of taunting, teasing threats any chance he gets. Mahito’s got nothing but disgraced yakuza members on his side; those who have committed acts vile enough to get them kicked out of what is essentially a group of criminals. He knows how to be twisted — hell, twisted might be the only thing he knows how to be.

Killing girls that resemble you and sending him the photos. Taking videos of you when you’re out in public alone. Leaving voicemails for Megumi, ones that leave him pale faced and unable to breathe as he listens to how Mahito wants to tortue you.

Megumi’s been on edge for the past few months, unable to explain to you why. It’s why you don’t understand why Megumi won’t let you go back to your car, even though you left your phone in there.

“I’ll go. Or, we can go together.”

“You have to wait for our coffee! And besides, I don’t even know where I left my phone. It might not even be in the car, but you’ll just waste your time searching for it if it’s not there.”

“So then why do you have to go look for it?”

“Because it’s my phone? Also, I reeeeeallly don’t wanna have to wait for our coffee, so I figured looking for my phone in the car would kill some time.” You give him that sweet smile of yours that he loves so much before waving him goodbye. “I’ll be back by the time our order is ready, pinky promise!”

At the end of the day, it’s all luck. Mahito realizes this as you happily skip out of the crowded cafe, headed towards your car to search for your phone. He doesn’t know why you’re returning back to your car, doesn’t even really care. All he knows and all he cares about is that you’re headed there alone. And while you’ve been alone plenty of times, he’s never had an opportunity quite like this one. A chance to finally detonate the bomb that’s been lying dormant underneath your car, ready to be activated at the press of a button. He could’ve killed you plenty of times already, but it’s not enough to merely murder you. He wants to make it a spectacle, sure, but he also only cares about one audience member watching: Megumi.

From where he’s hiding, blending in with the rest of the customers from the bakery across the street, he’s got a decent enough view of Megumi, who’s sitting by the glass windows, watching you with furrowed brows as you unlock the car door.

Mahito can’t help the cruel smile that spreads across his face as pushes the remote connected to the bomb.

Nobody expects to hear the loud, resounding boom of something exploding. The surrounding cars parked next to yours have their alarms going off like crazy; it’s nothing but high pitched, blaring noises blending together to create a disruptive harmony. People are screaming, someone is on the line with emergency services, and—

—your precious car is set aflame, reduced to a burning pile of scrap metal no salvage yard will take.

In this moment, Megumi Fushiguro’s world crumbles to ashes.