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loversandantiheroes · 4 years ago

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Okay my whiskey fantasy. It’s a holiday, anniversary, I dunno. But he comes home. You’re in lingerie, teddy, the garter belt, the thigh high tights (I am having an absolute brain fart and can not remember the name), the high heels. you’re cooking him dinner in it. Somethin real texas for dinner. He wants to immediately fuck yiu, BUT NO he has to WAIT bc its dinner time and you worked hard. He’s waiting, and he’s watching you, you’re bending over at the stove, all that. Dinner is served, you —-

You lounge on the table to eat like a decadent and gorgeous pain in the ass, so he can see you’re whole body while he eats, forced to be patient. You’re being an absolute menace. He’s running his mouth the whole time OBVIOUSLY. Then he fucking wrecks you

No Candles Necessary

As I am a bonafide yeehonk foole (and I have the t-shirt to prove it), I could hardly resist this idea. Nonny, I hope like hell I did you proud.💗

Shameless Whiskey/F!Reader smut (18+ and yes that means you), 5.3k+ words (they just wouldn’t shut up), mildly beta’d and lightly edited.

Warnings: established relationship, unsafe food preparation practices, light foodplay (it only goes in appropriate places I swear), egregious dirty talk, improper use of a dining table, Switch!Whiskey returns, Switch!Reader by extension, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), deepthroating, PIV sex, unprotected sex (do as I say, not as I fictionalize), cream pie (bc I’m lazy quite frankly), actual pie (peach!), a little soft schmoop in between the smut just because I can.

Permatag: @missredherring @dovesnroses @astroboots @magpierhymes @alienprincesspoop @aasimarr @maythxthirstbxwithyou @recklesswit

Pedro Permatag: @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa (sorry bab, more yeehonk) @corvueros @thirstworldproblemss @littleferal @krissology @frannyzooey @forallthstarsinthesky @princess76179 @keeper0fthestars @venusandromedadjarin

Cooking your boyfriend a birthday dinner in lingerie is probably not the best idea you've ever had. The man isn’t even home yet to witness the trouble you’ve gone to, still wrapping up a day’s work at HQ after closing out another mission. So you didn’t jump right into cooking in your frillies. No, you did the bulk of the work in sweats and a t-shirt, only stopping to change once you were down to the last stretch and the steaks had come off to rest. You've got sense enough at least to put on an apron, not wanting to risk getting hot grease on the delicate fabric or the vast amounts of bare skin the thing doesn't cover, and while you've already donned the garter belt and stockings you've left your heels up against the island counter so you can slip them on quickly when you hear the door. Still you can't quite help but feel less sexy and more silly as you stand there carving up a pair of garlic butter basted steaks while your forehead prickles with sweat and your ass, covered by neither the teddy or the apron, feels ice cold.

The things I do for love of a goddamn cowboy, you think with a shake of your head. Your whole plan is honestly on the high end of ridiculous. But then Jack is a ridiculous man, and he always seems to drag you headlong into absurdity with him. Some days it's his only saving grace - the boyish playfulness that tempers his arrogance into something charming rather than infuriating. It seems only right to be a little ridiculous for the occasion.

Once the carving’s done you give yourself a second to go over the spread and make sure everything's ready to go. It's early yet, but you're expecting to hear Jack's key in the front door any minute. He's made no mention of returning home early, of course, but he is every bit the sort that would try to surprise you on his birthday, and you’ve developed an uncanny ability to anticipate his moves ahead of time.

As it turns out, you have just enough time to slip on your heels before you hear the front door open and Jack calls out your name. You allow yourself a moment of satisfaction - you do love being right when it comes to this sort of thing - and slip into your heels.

“In here, baby,” you call back, stepping out to lean against the door frame.

“Somethin’ smells like heaven,” Jack says, rounding the corner into the dining room. He stops dead when he gets a look at you, mouth falling open in surprise. He’s hung his hat at the door, his hair already flopping over in a revolt against the slicked-back way he styles it in the morning, his suit jacket still on and buttoned. “Looks like it, too,” he finishes, the corner of his mouth curling into a grin. “I feel overdressed all of a sudden.”

You can’t help but answer that grin. “Happy birthday, cowboy,” you tell him, beckoning him over.

He all but rushes across the room to slide up against you, hands curling around your hips and playing with the tie to the apron. “Sure as hell is now,” he mutters. His palms slide down, cupping your ass to pull you in close. You bite back a hiss at the warmth, and he gives a low approving hum at the expanse of cool, bare skin. “Looks like I don’t even need to unwrap my present.”

“Patience,” you insist, pushing his shoulders back and grazing your lips over the tip of his nose as you evade the kiss he tries to pull you into. “No dessert until after dinner.”

“Dinner can wait-”

“No it cannot. I did not just spend the afternoon trying to keep hot butter off my tits so you could get impatient and let your supper get cold.” He traces a finger across your cleavage as you talk, tugging at the top of the apron to get a better look at the skin underneath. You feel the quip coming before he even opens his mouth, so you take the opportunity to give him a little push and show him just what he’s in for tonight. You bring up your hand, fingers curling under his wrist, turning his hand away and using it to pull him flush to you, the line of your thigh landing against the covered denim crotch of his jeans with just enough force to make him jolt.

“Be a good boy, Jack,” you say against his open, breathless mouth, “or you won’t get any dessert at all.”

Whiskey pouts, but his eyes have that dark glint that says he knows he’s in for trouble and he is just as pleased as punch about it. “You mean to torture a man on his birthday, honeybee?”

The smirk you give him makes his heartbeat kick up a little faster - you can feel the quickening of it in the pulse point against your fingertips. “Absolutely.” You stretch up enough for one brief, warm kiss and then step back, jerking your chin towards the dining table where there’s already two glasses of wine poured at the ready. “Sit. I’ll bring out dinner.”

He nods, tongue rolling slowly against his bottom lip. “Yes ma’am.”

His gaze is a heavy weight on your body as you walk away, raking down across so much exposed skin. You hear him groan at the sight, low and appreciative. He’s always been fond of seeing you wrapped up in lingerie, even more fond of tearing up the expensive scraps just to get you bare for him. You’d chided him about it the first time - the bodysuit he’d ripped clean in half from gusset to tit hadn’t been cheap, even though that little display had thrilled you far more than you’d ever want to admit - but he always replaced what he ruined without fail.

When you come back, divested of the apron with plates in hand, Whiskey is sitting just as instructed, elbow on the table, chin resting on his knuckles. He tracks every move you make, every sway of your hips, a playful smile hiding the effort of his restraint as you set his dinner in front of him. He barely spares the food a glance when you elect to forego your own chair and simply hop up onto the table, setting your plate near his and dragging over your glass of wine.

“You’ve outdone yourself, honeybee,” Whiskey rumbles, sliding a hand up your knee to your thigh, and he could not be talking less about the food.

You only smile, taking an unhurried sip. “Somehow I thought you’d prefer this to a new tie. How old are you now, anyway?” you tease.

“Sweet sixteen,” he says dryly, hiking an eyebrow while he squeezes your thigh for your cheek.

You chuckle. “Uh-huh, and I’m Mother Theresa.” You lean in, spearing a slice of steak on his plate with your fork and holding it out for him. “Now, I worked very hard on this, and I am going to be very disappointed if you try to skip dinner on me just ‘cause you can’t quit eyeballing your dessert. Open.”

He tips you a wink before dutifully opening his mouth, letting you feed him. The soft, indulgent moan that leaves him as his eyes slip closed is too subdued to be anything but real. “Honeybee that is gorgeous. My compliments to the chef.”

“The chef is glad to hear it.” You swipe your thumb over his lip, collecting the sheen of juice and garlicky butter and bringing it to your own mouth, delicately sucking it off. “Could’ve used a bit more rosemary.”

Whiskey shakes his head. “Mm-mm. This is perfection on a plate, baby. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

The smile that earns him is genuine, and you bend to give him a quick kiss. He presses it, just a little, a swipe of his tongue that you open for just enough to nip at before pulling away. “Eat.” You gesture meaningfully at his plate.

All told, there isn’t actually much on it. Steak, roasted new potatoes, and asparagus with hollandaise sauce. You’ve only served up maybe half of what you’d usually set in front of him for dinner, opting for more reserved portions. It’s a favor to you both - his patience wouldn’t last through a full meal without the need for physical restraints. There’s more in the kitchen, of course, and an actual pie for dessert if you happen to get that far. You’re both bound to be hungry again after.

Whiskey tucks in, fork in his left hand while his right stays comfortably curled around your thigh, slowly creeping higher and higher until he’s playing with the lacy top of your stocking. You give him a warning tilt of your head, your own fork poised halfway to your mouth. All you get in return is those plaintive, innocent puppy dog eyes of his, but his hand doesn’t advance further.

All in all you’re rather proud of his restraint, at least until one spear of asparagus manages to drip hollandaise down onto your cleavage. Suddenly that quietly repressed hunger cracks and he’s surging up towards you, mouth half-open and tongue peaking out, ready to clean you up.

But that won’t do. Not yet. Your reflexes might not be as good as his, but they’re nothing to balk at, either. You brace yourself back on one hand, leaning away and planting one of your high heels against his shoulder to shove him back into his seat. The look on his face is priceless; mouth agape and pupils blown.

Slowly you shake your head. “You know better, Jack.”

His eyes track up the inside of your thigh to the crotch of your bodysuit - or rather, the lack thereof - and the split strips of lace that don’t cover your mound, but frame it prettily for him. “Fuck, honeybee,” he mutters breathlessly.

Dinner and a show was always the plan. So you take your time, dipping your finger and swiping up the stripe of creamy yellow and holding it out to him. Whiskey stares you down as he takes the tip of your finger into his mouth and sucks dutifully, his tongue plush and soft and working against the pad of your finger the same way he worries it over your clit. A rush of heat rockets through you, leaving your belly warm and a sweet tingle tripping down your spine in its wake.

Biting your lip hard to rein in the impulse to just slide into his lap, you drag your finger out of his mouth. It’s what he wants; to make you break first, to make you lose at your own game. And where’s the fun in that?

“It is your birthday, so I’m going to cut you a little bit of slack, but if you can’t mind your manners and do as you’re fucking told, you’re gonna get a lot worse than a birthday spanking, pretty boy. Now, I told you: no dessert until you finish your dinner.” There’s precious little left on his plate; a few scraps of steak, a couple potatoes, one lone spear of asparagus. You stab this last with your fork and hold it out to him. “Last chance, baby. You open your mouth for me and be a good boy, and you can have me any way you want.”

Whiskey looks dazed; seething and starved and love-struck all at once. You don’t even need to look down to know he’s hard. But he hesitates just for a moment, whether it’s deliberate or accidental you’re not really sure - sometimes the man just really wants to be punished - but in that space you see his body jerk, hunching slightly as his abdominal muscles contract involuntarily. You follow the movement with your eyes and sure enough, there he is. Full mast and straining hard against thick denim.

Smiling sweetly, you wave the fork at him. “Your choice, Jack.”

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he says, and the roughshod timbre of his voice says it’d be a fine way to go.

Whiskey opens his mouth and takes what you give him.

You’re slow about it. Careful. Admonishing him when he tries to chew a little too quickly. Whiskey stares you down with eyes like coal seconds away from ignition. He holds your gaze while you slip another bite of food into his mouth, then lets his eyes slip down until they fix firmly on your half-exposed and already glistening cunt, and you know the moment you give him an inch he’s going to wreck the hell out of you for this.

When the last bite passes his lips he curls his hand around your ankle, squeezing. Always pushing his luck, this man of yours. You set his plate aside, glancing away like it’s no effort at all as he very methodically wipes his mouth with his napkin.

“Now can I have my dessert?” Impatience roughens the low gravel of his voice into something dangerously sharp.

You smile, leaning back on one hand. “There’s peach pie in the kitchen.”

He presses forward, left hand sliding big and warm up the inside of your thigh. The motion presses the leg you’ve used to pin him to his chair back until your knee is nearly flush with your chest, opening you up wider, the rush of air between your legs now shockingly cold against the wetness that had gathered there.

“Woman, the only pie I want a piece of is the one sitting right in front of me.”

The stretch along the back of your thigh burns, so you shift, hooking your leg over his shoulder instead. “I haven’t finished my dinner yet,” you protest cooly, reaching down to snag a strip of steak off your still half-full plate and popping it into your mouth.

Whiskey’s hands slip higher, and this time you don’t stop him, too busy sucking the buttery juices off your fingers. When the very very tips of his fingers brush the spread lace at the crux of your thighs he freezes, waiting for the rebuke, for fingers around his neck or your other heel to plant square in his chest. You consider it, sure; it’s certainly not a prospect without its merits. A man that enjoys being under your thumb is satisfying in a way that few things in life ever fully measure up to.

But honestly, you’ve worked hard enough tonight. Time to let him put in a little effort.

A tilt of your head and a curl of your foot against his shoulder is permission enough; slipping off the leash by way of a gesture, and the low smolder in his eyes blooms to a full burn. Whiskey stands to his full height, looming close enough for you to feel the heat bake off him as he shrugs off his jacket and unbuttons the cuffs on his dress shirt, rolling them up with a few quick turns of his wrists.

“Can’t let my girl go hungry now,” he hums in a voice like burnt molasses. “Lemme give you a hand there, honeybee.”

Smirking, Whiskey wraps an arm around you, brushing the tip of his nose against yours as you wriggle against solid heat of his body. His left hand wanders out of sight on the table as his lips meet yours, teasing your mouth open with the barest brush of his tongue, while his right hand trails warm and slow around your side and down and down to cup your mound.

It’s hard to believe you ever felt cold. You’re burning up now, skin flushed hot as his mouth grazes yours and breathes out: “Open up for me.”

And just like magic, you do. No input needed on your behalf; your mouth simply drops open and your legs shift wider in accommodation for him. There’s a clink of silverware and then he’s waving a fork at you, a strip of steak speared on the end. Whiskey’s eyes glitter as he pushes it into your waiting mouth. Each bite he feeds you is accompanied by a teasing dip of his fingers into your core, feeding you with his left hand while he touches you with his right. Your slickened folds part smooth and easy as he pushes his fingers inside you, a welcome but all too brief intrusion, before they trail up again to stroke at your clit. Again and again you rock your hips up, trying to encourage him to slip into you deeper, to give you a taste of the fullness and pressure of his cock, but every time his touch retreats.

You whine; a strange mix of frustration and pleasure. “Tease.”

“Takes one to know one,” he coos, the hand between your legs working faster. Heat builds quickly under his fingertips, a friction far more appetizing than anything else you’ve set on the table tonight. “You made the rules, honeybee. No dessert until after you finish supper. You do want your dessert, don’t you?”

He brings the next bite up, holds it tantalizingly close. You stretch out and he draws it back, and suddenly his fingers are rubbing a firm, determined circle on your clit. Your whole body jolts, gasping air with a pitiful little whine. There’s nothing but mischief on his face as he watches you, tongue sweeping against his bottom lip. He slows his fingers, brings the fork down again, closer this time. The food brushes your bottom lip before he pulls it away, fingers quickening again.

“Jesus,” you all but squeak. “Jack, don’t be mean.”

Whiskey gives you a considering hum, leaning forward to suck the sheen of butter off your bottom lip. “Oh darlin’ I would never,” he insists, punctuating the sentiment with a kiss that’s tender enough to be very nearly sincere if it weren’t for the fact that the motion of his hand never slows. A sweet, bright heat begins to build under his fingertips. “How could I be mean to my girl when she worked so hard for me, hm? I’m just paying that back in kind is all. You wanna come on my fingers, baby, you can do that all you like. I’ll make you come ‘til those pretty little legs can’t do much more than shimmy. You know I can. But you ain’t gettin’ nothin’ else until you clean your plate like a good girl.”

“H-ha-ah, fuck-how much more?”

He grins devilishly. “Just this last bite.”

“Oh you f-fucking jackass!”

Whiskey laughs. “Guilty as charged. Open up, baby, take what I got for you.”

He pushes the last bite past your lips and immediately delves his fingers into your warm and waiting cunt. The breath shudders out of you, fingers digging into the tablecloth as you try to hang onto enough composure to remember to chew and swallow. He’s slow for a moment, pumping and curling his fingers gently while he watches you eat. There’s a clink of silverware as he discards the fork and puts his arm around you, pressing his lips against your forehead.

“Good girl,” he murmurs sweetly.

Mouth empty now, you nudge your nose against his chin, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Jack-”

And then his grip becomes determined. The fingers inside you flex, the heel of his hand pressing hard against your clit and all you can do is cry out against the soft skin of his neck and hang on for dear life while he works you up and over the edge with shocking speed.

Trembling, you lock your legs around him as you come down, dragging his collar aside to bite lazily into the place where his neck and shoulder meet.

“Fuck,” he groans, hips rutting up against the back of his hand between your legs. “How do you want me, honeybee?”

That earns him a breathless laugh, goosebumps raising along his neck. “It’s your birthday, Jack. What do you want?”

Whiskey’s eyes drop to your mouth and he makes a considering sound, pulling back to suck you delicately off his fingers. “I think I want your mouth. And then I think I want to fuck you right here on this table until that divinely sweet little pussy wrings me fucking dry. Sound good to you, honeybee?”

“That can be arranged.” His eyelids flutter as you reach down to his zipper, not even bothering with his belt before you reach inside his jeans and the button fly of his boxers to tug his cock free, cupping your fingers to draw his balls out, too.

You move to stand and he shakes his head, caging you in. “No. Not on your knees, baby. On the table. I wanna see you all spread out for me. My pretty little present.”

He helps you. Sweeps your hair back as you lie flat on the dining table, scooting back to let your head hang just a bit. It’s not exactly comfortable. The edge of the table digs into your neck a bit, and the way the blood rushes to your head is not entirely pleasant either. But you watch Whiskey pace around you to take his place in front of your waiting mouth, cock bobbing and just barely beginning to leak for you, and you feel a gorgeous rush of heat at the sight.

Whiskey slides his palm up your stomach to cup one barely-covered breast. “Gorgeous,” he mutters, squeezing. “Absolutely beautiful.”

“Jack.”

“I know, darlin’, I know. But my God you’re a picture.” He cups your cheek, absently brushes the corner of your mouth with his thumb before sliding his hand back to give your head a little support. “Open up for me, angel.”

And once again, you open up for what he gives you. The angle makes it strange, the topography of Jack’s body less familiar as he slips into your mouth, your tongue dragging wet and slow over foreign terrain. The taste of him, hot skin and the tang of bitter salt, that you know well enough. You close your eyes at it, bring your hands up to his hips to tug him slowly forward and listen to the way he moans.

“That’s my girl,” he whispers, breathless and a little awe-struck. “Jesus fucking Christ. You spoil me, baby. Sweet as fucking honey, my god.”

A light touch against your breast makes you shiver, goosebumps raising as it draws lightly over your skin. A single fingertip, sliding the lace of the bodysuit aside to bare your breasts to the chill of the room and the warmth of Whiskey’s hands.

He mutters sweet things as he begins to move; sweet, tender, unconscionably filthy things. All the things you do to him. Do for him. The rocking of his hips is gentle at first, feeding you his cock inch by cautious inch. When he hits the back of your throat he pulls back on reflex, but the light scrape of your teeth and the sudden tightness of your grip on the plush meat of his ass sends him forward again. The angle eases the motion, and you relax into the pressure as he pushes in and in and...oh.

You feel the resistance at the back of your throat give gently; strange, but not uncomfortable. Above you, Whiskey lets out a pained groan.

“Shit. Oh shit yes, honeybee. Take it. Ohhh s-shit. Take all of it. Every goddamn inch. Fuck.”

And then his hips are flush with your mouth, the soft skin of his balls pressed up against your nose. Panting, he wraps a hand around the stretched column of your throat, swearing breathlessly. He moves, a small, careful thrust, and you can feel the tremor that ripples through him at the feeling.

“Just a little more baby,” he mumbles, pulling back until just the head of his cock rests within the warmth of your mouth. You suckle at it, working it eagerly with your lips and tongue while you breathe raggedly through your nose. Your hips jut up into thin air on their own accord, just as eager for him as your mouth is.

“I got you, honeybee.” The hand at your neck slips down, skimming over skin and lace until he finds your clit. The first touch jolts you, your cry stifled on his cock as you shudder up against him. “Good girl. I got you, baby. Jack’s got you. Keep going. Just a little more. Just a little more and then I’ll fill you right on up. Fuck my sweet girl’s brains right out of her head. Prettiest fuckin’ thing I ever fuckin seen, baby, holy fuck.”

You moan something against him - pleasure, acquiescence, god only knows - but the sound of it is lost as his cock slides steadily back into your mouth. The pressure in your head is distracting, tears prickling your eyes when he pushes in deep, but the stroking of his fingers and the feel of him in your mouth, sliding hard and slick and effortlessly down your throat is far more consuming than the discomfort.

He rocks into you. Fucks into you. Moans and gasping praises falling thick and fast from his lips as he moves. You don’t need to feel the way his balls draw up tight to know how close he is, how tight he’s riding the line between what he wants to do and what his body wants to do. You’re lost in it all the same; his pleasure and the fraying thread of his restraint. Your own pleasure, building quick and low and locking down the muscles in your thighs until they tremble. You float in it, overwhelmed and dizzy, until, very suddenly, you break.

Whiskey curses, pulling back to listen to you cry out, to let you curl up and clutch at him as he pants above you, muttering broken, desperate please of: “yes god yes honeybee all of it, gimme all of it, every last bit.”

You’re a wreck in the aftermath; pliant and limp, face teary and slick with spit and precome. He draws you up, wiping your face with a clean napkin before pulling you into a kiss that steals away whatever remained of your breath. He gathers you up, turns you until you can wrap your still-tingling limbs around him. Nudges his hips against yours, his wet cock dragging against slick skin and fragile lace.

“You okay, baby?” he asks, trailing soft kisses over your face.

You have to clear your throat before you can respond, the sound of it harsh and ragged like an engine turning over. “Y-yeah. Yeah I’m good. Dizzy, but good.”

“You ain’t the only one, honeybee. Almost didn’t make it in time. Wanted to fill up that pretty mouth so bad. You just about did me in.”

He laughs and you join him, breathing ragged joy into each other’s lungs.

“Still want me to fuck you?” The question should be coarse, but somehow isn’t. Not with his sweat-slick forehead pressed to yours and his lips ghosting kisses against your mouth with every breath.

“So sweet,” you mutter, combing your hands through his hair.

“LIke hell,” he scoffs, holding you tight to his chest. “I ain’t and you know it.”

“You are to me,” you insist, pressing a kiss against the tip of his nose. He smiles, softens everywhere but that place that throbs with impatient heat against you. “Now fuck me, pretty boy.”

A flash of a grin is the only warning you get before he’s hooking his arms under your knees and pulling you to the edge of the table. “Yes ma’am,” he says obligingly, planting a hand between your breasts to push you back against the table as he lines himself up, sliding into you with one smooth, achingly deep stroke.

You moan, knees drawing up as his hips meet yours and he fills the space inside you that’s been aching for him all day. Whiskey lets out a groaning sigh, leaning into you like he wants to bury himself whole inside you. He hoists one of your legs up against his chest, nuzzles the inside of your knee while he tries to find his breath again. The length of him inside you is rigid as steel and blindingly hot, still so close to his own end that he has to wait, worrying his teeth over your skin, until the urge to just rut against you like an animal until he comes finally passes.

And when it does, when he opens his eyes at last, he looks down at you with a dazed, hungry smile. He presses a kiss to the tip of his finger and brings it down to your lips.

“Love you, honeybee.”

Heavy-lidded and so wonderfully full, you kiss his finger and arch your back. “Love you, too, cowboy.”

And that’s the last intelligent thing you manage to say. Finally - finally! - Whiskey fucks you, each pounding swing of his hips making the china rattle like nervous teeth. Your arms strike out, curling and flailing, trying to find something to grab onto as he fucks you. The heel of your hand strikes one of the wine glasses and sends it tumbling to the floor where it shatters. The breath leaves your body in tiny bursts with each impact; little monosyllabic cries punctuating each one.

“Fuck, that’s my girl,” Whiskey murmurs. He cups your breasts, thumbing the pebbled sharpness of your nipples before his hands slide lower, finding the deep notch of the bodysuit between them. “Wrapped up so pretty for me.”

The lace tears away like it’s nothing, a clean rip down the center. Oh well. He’ll buy you another.

Whiskey folds over you, pulling you down closer so he can get an arm under your back, his hand grasping the back of your neck and pulling you up to meet his mouth. He’s still wearing his tie, the drape of fabric laying cool against your chest. Blessedly he’s not wearing his usual belt buckle. Foresight or oversight you’re not quite sure, but you’re grateful all the same as he grinds into you, a press of cold metal and leather against your belly.

He’s not going to last long, but it hardly matters. You’re too worked up, two orgasms down already, cunt so swollen and sensitive it’s hardly an effort to get you there again. But the feeling of him inside you turns that bright burn into something lower, deeper. Something that makes your muscles lock and tremble, straining up against him and gasping into his mouth.

“Jaaaack,” you whine, arms locked around his neck.

“Yes, baby,” he groans, voice quivering with every thrust. “Fuck yes I’m right there too, c’mon. Come with me, honeybee, come with me.”

His rhythm falters, grinding deeper and deeper, and all that strained tension in your body snaps like a rubberband. You sob, grabbing fistfuls of his dress shirt, twisting and jerking as you come apart under him.

All Whiskey can do is growl as you bear down on him, gritting a litany of “yes, yes, fuck yes, god yes, that’s my girl that’s my girl that’s my fucking girl.” And then he’s gone, too, driving into you with a sudden jolt and crying out against the side of your neck as he comes.

You’re holding him too tight, clutching him to you as you both lie there, panting and shuddering, a spreading stain of red wine pooling next to your head.

“Jesus,” he whispers, tries to shift up to find your mouth, but even that amount of drag on his oversensitive cock is enough to make him hiss and jerk. “Fuck.”

“Mm-hm,” you agreed dumbly.

Whiskey lets out a growling hum, smoothing your hair. “You good, honeybee?”

You trail kisses up to his ear, still breathless. “What do you think?”

He wheezes a laugh. “I think I gotta replace a lot more than your frillies this time.” The laugh turns giddy, and Whiskey presses his forehead against your temple. “And I think I’m hungry.”

“Pie in the kitchen,” you mumble, too drowsy to do much more than nuzzle into the damp tangle of Whiskey’s hair.

“What kind?”

“Peach.”

He hums, smiling drowsily. “My favorite.”

You give a slow nod. “I know. Happy birthday, Jack.”

He kisses you, slow and sweet. “Best I ever had,” he murmurs.

#Anonymous #agent whiskey #jack whiskey daniels #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fic #citrus variations

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saltyhyunjae · 3 years ago

Text

CHAPTER FOUR: YOU’RE NOT AN EASY MISSION

genre/warnings: angst, fluff, slow burn, enemies to lovers (?), kidnapping, criminal!tbz, mentions of guns & knives, suicide and depression mention, a bit of abuse, sangyeon is lowkey very mean in this chapter.

word count: 2.2k

summary: y/n really goes through it.

chapter three

“Finally.” You look behind Hyunjae to see Sangyeon, Juyeon, Changmin and Eric walking towards you, Sangyeon looking like he is about to kill you. You’re dead. He grabs your wrist and rips you out of Hyunjae’s grip. He drags you all the way to the house, never loosening his grip. When you guys step inside, the rest is already there waiting in the living room.

Sangyeon let’s go of you and you touch your wrist that has turned red. He turns around and before anyone even gets to speak, you feel the palm of his hand across your cheek. He hit you. You hear some of the boys gasp as you start tearing up, your cheek burning. You’re done for.

“HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND! WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT! WE SHOULD’VE KILLED YOU WHEN WE FIRST SAW YOU, BUT NO WE GAVE YOU A NICE ROOM AND WERE NOTHING BUT SWEET TO YOU. AND THIS YOUR REWARD?!” He yells as everyone just stares at the two of you.

“YOU WERE JUST GONNA REPORT US HUH? YOU WERE JUST PRETENDING TO CARE FOR US SO YOU COULD JUST BETRAY US WHEN WE LEAST EXPECTED IT, RIGHT?” His hand lifts up again and you flinch expecting another slap, but it never comes. You open your eyes to Hyunjae grabbing Sangyeon’s wrist, stopping him from slapping you. “Enough.”

Sangyeon takes a deep breath finally coming to his senses. He didn’t want to hit you, but as soon as they finally found you, he saw red. “Changmin, Eric, take her to the storage room.” He orders before walking away

When you enter the storage room, they close the door behind you. Jacob told you once before about how the storage room is the only room with a lock or cameras in the house. You sit down on the floor and finally breakdown, sobbing loudly.

When you’ve finally calmed down, you hear the lock and the door opens. It’s Jacob. He comes in with an emergency kit and gives you a faint smile. “I would ask if you’re okay but I already know the answer to that.” He tries to joke and you give him a small smile.

“Let’s see.” He gently grabs your jaw and starts cleaning up the wound on your cheek, the other one still red from the hit. You notice the bandage around his arm, around the place you stabbed him. “Sorry, I didn't know it was you.” You mutter looking down. “It’s okay, I understand.” He softly pats your shoulder.

When he’s done with your face he cleans up the wounds on your knee and elbows. You give him a barely audible ‘thank you’ and he leaves to get you blankets and a pillow. He tells you goodnight, once you two made up your ‘bed’ and as soon as he leaves you break down again, and so you cry yourself to sleep.

»»————-　➴　————-««

Weeks go by and you’re back in your room again, which now has locks on the window and a camera. Jacob brings you your meals and the only time you go outside your room is when you go to the bathroom or when they have to take you with them on their missions. During the missions you just quietly stay put.

Ever since the day you tried to escape you haven’t spoken or even looked at the boys, besides jacob. They, except for Sangyeon, tried to speak to you a few times, but you just ignored them and they eventually gave up. You’ve been crying yourself to sleep every night and besides eating all you do is sleep and shower, just waiting for your days to be over.

You’re awake but your eyes are closed trying to get more sleep. Winter is coming and it’s starting to get colder. You’ve been here for about two months now. You put your blanket over your head and sigh.

Hyunjae knocks on your door slowly opening it. You look up expecting Jacob. You two make eye contact for a second before you look down again. He gives you your breakfast and you nod at him.

You expect him to leave, but he doesn’t, instead he sits next to you on your bed. He inspects you as you eat. You look exhausted, eyes puffy from crying all night. He feels his heart breaking looking at your state. He feels so helpless, he wants to do something but he knows that he can’t. He knows how stubborn Sangyeon is, he’ll never let you go.

“I’m sorry.” He mutters, you look up at him confused. “I’m sorry I got you into this situation.” He feels like it’s all his fault, he was the one that pleaded Sangyeon, who wanted to kill you at the store after they took everything, to just keep you as a maid. Usually he would be the one to propose the idea of killing a witness, but as soon as he laid eyes on you in the store, he felt something he has never felt before, something he can't describe.

You don’t know why but you feel tears coming up. You try to turn away but Hyunjae grabs you and pulls you in a hug. You rest your head on his shoulder and start crying as he rubs your back.

Hyunjae holds you close, his heart racing faster than he thought was possible. After you have finally calmed down, Hyunjae tells you to rest up and you sleep till Jacob gives you your dinner, returning to your usual schedule.

A week later not much has changed besides the fact that now both Jacob and Hyunjae also give you your meals. They’re the only ones you interact with making small talks when they drop by.

“What does your room look like?” You ask Jacob, who places your food beside you. “Want me to show it to you?” You nod excitedly and he laughs. “Eat up then i’ll show you.”

After you’re done eating, Jacob brings you to his room. When you enter his room you’re hit with the scent of vanilla and rose. Around his wall he has posters of movies and his bed is neatly made up, just like the rest of his room. “Wow, it's pretty.” “Thank you.” He smiles looking down with his hands in his pockets.

Jacob doesn’t know why but every time he’s around he gets a bit nervous and his heart starts beating faster. He knows he shouldn’t be feeling like this since you're their captive, but he can’t help it.

You look around some more while Jacob sits on the bed. You turn your head to the right and look at the ground, spotting a gun in the corner of his room. You decide to not point it out and go on with your mini tour.

After you and Jacob talk about random things for like an hour, you go back to your room. “It was nice seeing you get out of your room again. My room is always open for you to hang out!.” Jacob smiles and you thank him before he closes the door behind him.

A few days later you have another big mental breakdown again, the fifth of the month. You want to leave. You need to leave. But you can’t. Out of frustration you grab your hair. You can’t take it anymore. You needed to find a way out. But how?

You already tried to escape once it’s impossible to do that now. You needed to end this. Suddenly Jacob’s gun comes to your mind. You needed to end them. You started laughing. You were just gonna do it, you were going to kill infamous criminals The Boyz.

You spent the next couple of days trying to come up with a plan when Jacob one day mentions they were going to have a movie night later that day, he asked if you wanted to join them but you declined. After he left you couldn’t help but smile. Tonight is the night.

»»————-　➴　————-««

“NO! No horror movies.” Eric tries to fight Changmin of him, earning a bite from the older one. Eric starts screaming and let’s go of the remote. Changmin grabs it and starts the movie. The tv is so loud they can’t hear any noises from outside the living room.

You walk into Jacob’s room about 20 minutes after the movie started, grabbing his gun. Thank god it’s loaded. You slowly walk downstairs and sneak into the kitchen, grabbing a big sharp knife. Before you enter the living room you take a deep breath preparing yourself. The boys are so into the movie they don’t notice you walking in, and thank god the lights are out too. You approach Sunwoo who is the closest to your reach. You point your knife at his neck and get ready to use it.

Sangyeon looks to his side and notices you behind Sunwoo, holding something in both of your hands. He gasps when he sees the knife and gun. “Sunwoo! Behind you!” The boys all jump up and the light goes on.

Changmin speeds to you and grabs you from behind. “Oh my God, Y/n, What the fuck.” Sunwoo breathes in shock. “Y/n! Put that down.” Hyunjae tries to stop you. You feel like you're going out of your mind. You start to laugh hysterically and then start to scream. “NO! let me go NOW!.” You laugh again. “Let me go or you guys are dying.”

“Y/n please.” Jacob tries. “I SAID LET ME GO!” You desperately try to wiggle out of Changmin's arms. You suddenly feel a tear running down your cheek. You didn’t even notice you were crying. “Y/n don’t be stupid put that dow-.” Sangyeon speaks up but you cut him off. “SHUT UP!” Anger starts racing in you, hearing his voice. “You’re the last one I wanna hear right now!” You start to see red as you break down in sobs.

“You guys are horrible. You guys are the reason I don't wanna live anymore. You guys ruined my life. YOU ALL RUINED ME. Either you guys are dying or it’s me!” “Y/n, nobody is dying tonight.” Hyunjae tries to slowly approach you.

“Oh no?” You give them a wicked smile. You notice Changmin’s grip on you loosened a bit giving you the opportunity to lift your hand that’s holding the gun. You point it up to your head. Changmin freezes up and Hyunjae’s eyes widen in fear. “Y/n!-”

Before you can pull the trigger, Juyeon knocks the gun out of your hand letting it fall onto the ground. You let out a loud scream before falling on your knees. You can’t stop your tears from falling and loud sobs from coming out of your mouth.

Both Jacob and Hyunjae run over to you and Hyunjae holds you close to his chest. “It’s okay, it’s okay.” He tries to shush you. You grasp onto his shirt and start to hyperventilate. Jacob kneels before you and runs his fingers through your hair trying to calm you down, while the rest of the boys just stand there in shock.

Hyunjae picks you up and carries you to your room. You finally calm down as he lays you down on the bed. You crawl between the sheets, your back facing him. Hyunjae stays quiet and strokes your hair as you fall asleep.

“I can’t believe she tried to kill me!” Sunwoo puts his hand in the air out of disbelief as Hyunjae walks into the room. “She tried to kill all of us, don’t feel special.” Kevin huffs earning a glare from Sunwoo. “But still!” “Shut up, she’s finally asleep.” Hyunjae sits on the couch.

“How could she be like this?” Eric sighs. Jacob takes a deep breath, he’s been trying to stay calm since the day you tried to run away, but right now the frustration is taking over him.

“Are we surprised she’s like this?!” His voice raises a bit, surprising the members. “Didn’t you guys hear her? We ruined her! She did nothing to this deserve this, yet we got her into this stupid situation!”

“You just had to slap her.” Younghoon turns to Sangyeon. “I don’t know, I didn't want to.” Hyunjae rolls his eyes. “Then apologize.” “Like apologizing is gonna do something.” Sangyeon huffs. “Right, I'm sure she hates us for life now.” Eric leans back in his seat.

“Can’t we just let her go.” Jacob groans. “No! That's out of the question. She’ll report us right away.” “But Sangye-.” “No.”

“And what if we convince her to not report us?” Haknyeon smirks. “You wanna torture her?” Changmin gives Haknyeon a confused look. “Listen, I have a plan.” Everyone groans and Chanhee rolls his eyes. “Not again.”

“No listen, this plan is better.” Everyone turns their attention to Haknyeon as he starts explaining his plan. “Okay so, We’ll just let her live with us as part of the group instead of her being a maid or prisoner or something like that.” Haknyeon smiles as if it’s the best idea in the world.

“We’re called the boyz, not the boyz plus one girl.” Eric snorts. “Okay, but she won’t report her friends, or herself, right?”

“I think it’s a good idea.” Juyeon agrees with Haknyeon. “Of Course you do.” Chanhee sighs. “Well the idea isn’t that bad.” Kevin speaks up. “We could use some help.” “Right, I agree too.” Hyunjae stands up, he doesn’t really like the idea, but everything is better than watching you suffer because of them. After a lot of thinking all of the boys finally agree and go to bed.

»»————-　➴　————-««

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hrina · 3 years ago

Text

Be Sweet, Pt. I

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: M (minors dni!) WORD COUNT: 6k

hey everyone! here's part one of my new enemies-to-lovers series :) this fic will be five parts in total, but i'm only posting the first part on tumblr. you'll be able to read the rest of it on patreon if you wanna sign up!

as always, reblogs and feedback are very much appreciated. i love hearing your thoughts! enjoy.

~*~

August 27th, 2021

“Who’s opening tomorrow?”

Ella scrubs a wet rag across the table closest to the door. You cast a furtive glance up at her, flipping absentmindedly through the jumble of papers on the counter in front of you. Nick’s messy scrawl catches your eye, and you pause, reading the haphazard comment written at the bottom of the page.

Customer requested a very specific shade of pink trim. See back for details.

You flip the order, scoffing at the Pantone strip taped to the other side. The square labelled Quartz Pink has been singled out, encircled in bright red. Jesus fucking Christ.

“Alice and Olly, I think,” you say, shoving the form to the bottom of the pile.

“That’s good,” Ella grunts, returning the napkin holder and the sugar dispenser back to their spots on the table. “And you’ll swing by sometime during the afternoon?”

“Yeah,” you say, drumming your fingers over the papers. “I’m gonna help Olly in the back. You know how much he hates dealing with fondant.”

“How could I forget?” Ella rolls her eyes, smiling to herself. You grimace when she tosses the damp cloth in your direction. It lands on the counter with a loud splat! You nudge it away with your elbow, shaking your head.

“Gross.”

“You’re gross,” Ella says.

“I’m lovely,” you reply. She grins.

“Where’s Alex taking you tonight?” you ask, changing the subject. Her eyes light up instantly, and she clasps her hands together against her chest.

“It’s a surprise,” she says, giggling girlishly.

You groan. “I hate surprises.”

“It’s a good thing he’s not your boyfriend, then, isn’t it?” she retorts. You snicker, and she continues: “He told me we should stop off at home to change, though, so I’m guessing that wherever it is, there’s a dress code.”

“Ooh, fancy.”

“Right?” She twists her wrist, peeking at her watch. “He should have been here by now. It’s already a quarter past seven.”

“The hospital is just down the street,” you remind her, organising the mountain of orders into a neat stack. “Give him another five minutes.”

She nods. You spin on your heel and push through the door leading to the backroom of the bakery. The large space is split into two sections: on your right, there’s a wall of ovens, and a cluster of metal racks filled with pale, unprocessed dough. On your left, tables and counters lined with all sorts of decorating necessities—piping bags, spatulas, scrapers, turntables. You make your way toward the small cabinet perched against the nearest wall and pull out the top drawer, sliding the orders inside. Olly should have no trouble locating them tomorrow morning.

When you return to the front of the shop, Ella is locked in a passionate embrace with a gangly, dark-haired man. You recognise him immediately.

“Doctor Dao,” you call out, resting your elbows on the counter. “Did you at least wash your hands before putting them all over my best friend?”

Alex and Ella break apart swiftly, but he keeps one arm wrapped around her waist. “Hey, cookie,” he says, flashing you an apologetic grin. “Didn’t see you there.”

You arch one brow, lips curling into an amused smirk. “I’ll say.”

Only then do you catch sight of the other man lingering by the door, and your smile quickly morphs into an irritated frown. Harry is watching you with twinkling eyes, like he knows the effect his presence has on you. How could he not? You don’t try to hide your disdain, especially when it comes to him.

“Harry,” you say curtly, lifting your chin in stubborn acknowledgement.

He brings two fingers to his temple—a mock-salute. “Sweetheart.”

You clench your jaw. God, he makes your blood boil. Rather than responding, you turn back to Alex, who is now smoothing his palms over Ella’s silky brown hair. “You’re late,” you tell him. “You were supposed to be here when we closed.”

“Sorry, cookie,” Alex says, and he sounds like he means it. “My last surgery of the day had a few…complications.”

You purse your lips as the annoyance melts away. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” He nods, blowing out a heavy breath. He looks tired. “We figured it out.”

“That’s good.”

Alex directs his attention back to Ella, leaning in and pressing a chaste kiss to the tip of her nose. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah,” she replies. “Just let me grab my bag.”

“Cool,” he says. “You don’t mind if we drop Harry off at his place, right? His car is fucked, apparently.”

Ella’s grey eyes widen. She peers over her boyfriend’s shoulder at Harry. “What happened?”

Harry waves away her concerns, chuckling quietly. He tugs on the collar of his blue scrubs, and you can’t stop your gaze from trailing across the plethora of tattoos inked into his arm. Your nose wrinkles at the sight. He looks ridiculous. What kind of doctor would agree to don such outrageous body art?

“He’s being dramatic,” Harry says, shooting Alex a pointed glare. “My car’s at the shop right now, but I’ll have it back by tomorrow evening at the latest.”

“Oh.” Ella relaxes. “Okay, that’s great. Babe—” She turns to Alex. “—when are our reservations?”

“Eight-thirty,” Alex says. “Plenty of time.”

“Awesome,” she chirps. She scurries around the counter and playfully bumps her hip against yours. “My purse is in the back. Give me one second.”

And then she’s gone.

You stare at Alex, fighting a clever smile. “Tonight’s the night, huh?” you murmur, quiet enough so that there’s no chance of Ella overhearing.

He beams, shouldering his knapsack and dragging his sweaty palms down the front of his shirt. His scrubs are a light purple, you note. The shade compliments his dark skin.

“Yeah,” he replies, gnawing anxiously on his bottom lip. “She’ll say yes, right?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes good-naturedly. “Of course she will.”

Just then, Ella bursts through the door, her leather purse swinging wildly against her waist. “Alright!” She claps once, striding over to you and planting a wet, sloppy kiss onto your cheek. “I’m off.”

“Bye,” you say, wiping her saliva from your face with the back of your hand. “Have fun.”

Alex waves at you as she tugs him out of the bakery. “See you later, cookie.”

You wink. “See you.”

Harry is the last one to leave. He glances at you momentarily, the corners of his lips quirking up into a smug smile. The look makes you bristle. He’s absolutely infuriating.

“Got any leftover almond croissants?” he asks. Silent laughter taints every word.

You point to the exit. “Get out.”

He bows his chin in farewell, approaching the door. “Sweetheart.”

“Asshole,” you reply flatly. Now that your friends are out of earshot, you’re under no obligation to tolerate him. Sometimes, you find yourself actually craving his company, just so you can drop the pretence and really give him a piece of your mind. You’re a mature adult, and you won’t ruin a social gathering because of one presumptuous dickhead, but everyone has their limits. You don’t owe him shit.

Harry chuckles to himself, and you clench your fists at your sides. He shoots you one last maddening smirk before disappearing out the door. You rush forward, latching it swiftly and ensuring that the sign against the glass reads ‘CLOSED’. Once you’ve successfully locked up, you march into the back of the shop, plucking your own purse off one of the metal counters and tugging it over your shoulder. You shut the light and return to the front, scanning the clean tables, the empty display cases, the shades drawn over the windows. Shards of the sunset stream through the cracks in the blinds, casting orange stripes along the floor.

All clear, a voice in your head whispers, and you sigh.

Finally—you can go home.

August 28th, 2021

Quick, frantic knocking rouses you from your sleep. Blearily, you sit up on the mattress, knuckling at your puffy eyes. The hardwood floor is cold against the soles of your feet when you climb out of bed. You shiver.

The insistent clamour continues as you pad down the hallway. You tug at the hem of your worn, baggy t-shirt, concealing your midriff. Ella wastes no time after you open the front door, surging past the threshold and vaulting herself into your arms.

“He proposed!” she squeals as the two of you stagger backward. You freeze, remembering Alex’s plans from the day before. His apprehension, too—the way he wiped his clammy palms against his scrubs and anxiously dug his teeth into his bottom lip. Shock ebbs and flows through your veins for a fraction of a second, but then you’re sweeping Ella into a tight hug, rocking your bodies from side to side.

“Oh my God,” you say. Excitement festers beneath the murky exhaustion clouding your mind. “He did it.”

Ella steps back, brows knitting together in bewilderment. “You knew?” When you nod, she scoffs, aiming a half-hearted swat at your bicep. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“Why the fuck would I tell you?” you retort, rolling your eyes at the demand. “Come on. Let’s see it.”

A bright grin stretches across her lips, and she holds up her left hand, wiggling her fingers keenly. You spy the ring resting on the fourth digit: a simple platinum band topped with a large, clear diamond. Grey morning light bounces off the gemstone, and it winks at you as if it knows something that you don’t.

“Gorgeous,” you breathe, gripping Ella’s wrist to bring her hand closer. You scrutinize the ring carefully, smiling to yourself. “He’s got good taste.”

“Doesn’t he?” she gushes, beaming like an idiot. You beckon her into the kitchen, and she collapses onto one of the tall stools positioned in front of the marble island. A quick glance at the digital clock on the stove reveals that it’s only eight in the morning. You groan, rubbing gentle circles against your temples.

“I was hoping I’d get to sleep in today,” you say, lips curling into a wry smirk.

Ella shoots you a sheepish, apologetic smile, sliding her purse off her shoulder and placing it on the counter. “I’m sorry, cookie. I couldn’t wait.”

“I’m just kidding,” you tell her, floating around the room to prepare a pot of coffee. “So…how did he do it?”

She launches into a frenzied retelling of the night before. Alex brought her to the same restaurant they’d visited four years ago on their first date. They ordered their food and made conversation. Things proceeded as usual until the end of the meal, at which point Alex set his napkin down on the table and excused himself to the restroom. Two minutes later, the waiter arrived with the bill. Ella accepted it graciously, scanning the thin paper and pausing at the question scrawled at the very bottom of the slip. When she snapped her head up, searching for her boyfriend in the crowded dining area, she found him kneeling a few feet away from her chair, a small velvet box nestled securely in his steady hands.

“I started crying immediately,” she tells you, groaning at the memory. “I couldn’t keep it together. It was so embarrassing.”

You toss your head back and laugh. Despite the crimson blush staining her cheeks, she joins in. The coffeemaker beeps, signalling that the pot is ready. You fetch two mugs from the cupboard and fill them with dark liquid. Ella accepts her drink eagerly, blowing cool air across its surface. You grimace as she takes a tentative sip—you’ve never understood her penchant for unsweetened black coffee. Sugar and cream are a must.

“I’m so happy for you, El,” you tell her, stirring a small spoon around your mug. “You’re going to be the most beautiful bride.��

Her eyes grow damp. You snicker quietly, reaching across the island and swiping your thumb beneath her bottom lashes. She catches your hand and kisses your knuckles softly, clearing her throat.

“Will you—?” She releases a shuddering breath. “Will you be my maid of honour?”

You stiffen at her request. Her gaze rakes over your face, like she’s searching for any clue as to how you might respond. At last, your shoulders sag in relief, and an ecstatic smile splits across your cheeks.

“Of course,” you say, voice thick. Tears gather in your own eyes, but you blink them back furiously. “I would love nothing more.”

She sets her coffee down and skirts around the counter, yanking you into another bone-crushing hug. You grin as she presses a handful of sloppy kisses to the side of your head. Her elbow knocks against your abandoned mug, and a few drops of coffee spill down the side of the cup. You laugh at her enthusiasm, pulling back and sweeping your hands over her silky hair.

“It’s probably way too soon, but have you guys started discussing anything?” you ask, arching one eyebrow.

Ella flushes pink, averting her gaze. “Um…when we got home, there wasn’t really much of a discussion going on.”

You cackle, poking at her ribs. “Oh, he gave it to you good, didn’t he? It’s a miracle that you’re not limping right now.”

“Be quiet,” she yelps, stamping her eyes shut.

You lift your hands and shoot her a teasing smirk. “I’m not judging, okay? If anything, I’m living vicariously through your various sexual conquests. It’s been months since I last got any action.”

“Maybe that should change,” Ella says, folding her arms over her chest. “You and Harry could probably fuck out your frustrations. His dick is huge, apparently.”

You balk. “Ella!”

She shrugs, grey eyes widening comically. “What? Alex told me!”

You snort, but say nothing. She watches you cautiously, examining your features for any signs of acquiescence. Any indication that you might actually be considering her lewd suggestion. You almost gag.

“Why do you hate him so much, anyway?” Ella asks, flicking an invisible speck of lint off her shoulder. “You’re not still hung up on that fiasco with the almond croissant, are you?”

“I’m not doing this with you again,” you say, and she sighs.

“Okay, I’m sorry. But can you at least try to be civil while we plan the wedding? For my sake.”

After mulling over her words, you slouch in defeat. “Fine. But only for you,” you say, throwing a stern finger in her face.

She beams. “Thank you.” Something dirty flashes behind her pale eyes. “And if you do end up sleeping with him, I want all the details.”

You shove her gently and scoff. She laughs.

“Honestly,” you start, shaking your head, “it doesn’t matter how huge his dick is. I’d rather walk across hot coals than let somebody like him climb into my bed.”

“What makes you think it wouldn’t be the other way around?” Ella snickers. You glare at her, but she just steps back, raising her hands in surrender. “Alright, alright, fine. Have it your way. But I’m expecting you to find someone in time for the big day. Don’t let your plus-one go to waste.”

You roll your eyes, thoroughly unconvinced. “Noted.”

September 2nd, 2021

“Olly!” you call, sticking your head into the backroom. “Ella and I are going on our lunch break, but Leyla will be here in, like, twenty minutes. You going to be okay by yourself until then?”

Olly doesn’t even bother looking over his shoulder, too busy piping little flowers along the sides of the rectangular cake laid out in front of him. He lifts one hand, waving away your concerns before running his palm over his short blue hair. He buzzed and dyed it just last week after claiming that he couldn’t stand how the long brown curls stuck to the nape of his neck. It took a few days to get used to the change, but now that the initial shock has faded, you have to admit that he looks great.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Olly says, putting the finishing touches on the cake. He sets his piping bag down and turns toward you, wiping his palms against his red apron. His left ear bears a swirl of shiny silver piercings. “I’ll be out in a second.”

“Thanks,” you say, flashing him a small smile. He returns it, and then you’re spinning on your heel and letting the door swing shut behind you.

You find Ella waiting outside the bakery. She urges you along, and you squawk at her impatience.

“What’s the rush?” you ask, falling into step with her as you both amble down the sidewalk. “We have forty-five minutes.”

“I don’t want Alex’s sandwich to get cold,” she explains, holding up the small paper bag clutched in her right hand. You snort.

The two of you make it to Ridgefield Hospital in record time, mostly because Ella grips your arm and gives it a forceful tug whenever you start lagging behind. You walk through the automatic doors, ignoring the row of ambulances parked outside. The secretaries sitting at the front desk shoot you a few distracted smiles—they’ve all grown accustomed to your frequent visits by now.

Ella babbles endlessly as you enter the elevator, pressing the button for the fifth floor and waiting as the metal doors slide shut.

“I want to ask Alice and Leyla to be part of the bridal party, but I’m scared the guys will feel bad if Alex doesn’t choose them as his groomsmen. Like, I think they’d understand, considering I work with the girls and we’re all pretty close, but I don’t know.” She nudges you with her elbow. “What do you think?”

“I think you should do whatever the fuck you want,” you tell her, shrugging. “It’s your wedding. And I don’t think Olly, Marcus, or Nick will mind if they’re not part of the bridal party. Olly doesn’t care about that stuff, and Marcus and Nick already have their hands full with their jobs at the bakery. Plus, they know Alex has his own friends—not just the ones he’s met through you.”

Ella nibbles on her bottom lip, her head bobbing in agreement. “Yeah, you’re right.”

You lay a placid hand on her shoulder. “You’re already overthinking this. You’ve only been engaged for a week. Enjoy it.”

She shoots you a grateful smile just as the elevator dings and the doors glide open, and the two of you step out onto the hospital’s paediatric floor. It’s a stark contrast to the other sections of the building. Instead of barren white walls, these ones are painted with all sorts of pretty, colourful decorations—flowers, rainbows, sunsets, animals. A massive sign in front of you denotes the different divisions on the floor and where to find them: the ICU, the operating rooms, the palliative unit, the psychiatry wing, and the oncology department. You and Ella turn right, making the familiar trek to Alex’s office.

“He should be on his lunch break, too,” she says. “Unless they paged him for another emergency surgery.”

You hum in response.

Sure enough, you find Alex at his desk, twirling a blue pen between his fingers as he pores over the stack of papers in front of him. Ella knocks gently against the open door, and his face lights up when he spies her standing in the threshold. He moves quickly, crossing the room in five long strides, and plants a searing kiss onto her lips. You look away, rocking awkwardly on the balls of your feet.

“Hey,” Alex murmurs after he and Ella break apart. That’s when he notices you behind her. “Hey, cookie.”

“Hey,” you reply. You toss your thumb over your shoulder. “I’m just going to—you know, the usual.”

He nods.

The last thing you see before you turn around is Ella holding up the brown paper bag, and Alex’s face splitting into a bright, easy smile.

You meander through the halls, trailing your fingers over the rich artwork covering the walls. The end of the corridor cleaves in two; you turn left and enter a large atrium. The ceiling is high and peppered with skylights. A small cafeteria sits off to the side, clusters of families chatting and laughing together as they eat. Children sprint around the space, their arms outstretched. Some of them are dressed in normal clothes—others don pale hospital gowns, their skinny legs bared for all to see. You wrench your attention away from them, fixing it instead on the far wall.

Slowly, you cross the room, surveying the vibrant handprints stamped against the plaster. There has to be hundreds of them, you think. They vary in size—some are so tiny you could cry. Colour becomes scarcer the higher you go—the youngest children are too short to reach those levels, obviously—but still. The sight takes your breath away. You visit this mural every time you find yourself at the hospital, and every time, you unearth a new detail that you hadn’t noticed before.

You walk along the length of the wall, dragging your fingertips across the dry, smooth paint. Purples and pinks and oranges and blues. Reds, greens, yellows, browns. Each handprint is a person—a pair of little feet that scuffled over this very floor, a blank story that had yet to unfold. Briefly, you wonder how many survived whatever illnesses plagued them, and how many succumbed to their conditions. The thought makes your throat grow tight with emotion, so you quickly shove it aside.

Ten minutes pass before you’re leaving the mural behind and heading back the way you came. You’ve just rounded the corner when a strong, solid body barrels into you. You grunt at the impact, smacking one palm against the wall to steady yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you start, lifting your head to meet the stranger’s gaze. “I wasn’t paying—oh.”

Harry smirks, his green eyes glittering with mirth once he recognises you. You purse your lips, wishing the ground would just open up and swallow you whole.

“Harry,” you say, nodding stiffly.

He folds his arms over his chest. “Sweetheart.”

His brown hair is tousled, and his biceps strain against the white button-up adorning his torso. Black slacks cover his legs, and he’s wearing a pair of pristine leather shoes, ones that look like they might’ve cost a month’s worth of rent. Your teeth grate together noisily. The sound echoes in your ears.

“What are you doing here?” Harry asks, as though the two of you are old friends. You want to scoff—you’d rather stick your hand in an oven than make idle conversation with him.

“Visiting Alex,” you say tightly, stepping back. “Ella brought him lunch.”

At that, Harry straightens. “Ella’s here?”

“Yes.”

“I wish I’d run into her,” he murmurs, pinching his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger.

You throw him a scowl. “Asshole.”

Harry cocks one eyebrow, tilting his chin haughtily. “Forgive me if I prefer her company to yours. At least she doesn’t treat me like I’m some insufferable bastard.”

“Maybe if you stopped being such an insufferable bastard, I wouldn’t treat you like one,” you shoot back, planting your hands on your hips. You tense as Harry’s gaze rakes down your body—head to toe, like he’s sizing up an opponent. His nose wrinkles in disdain, and you fight the urge to deliver a sharp, backhanded slap across that pretty, perfect face.

Harry opens his mouth, and you brace yourself for whatever retort he has prepared. What comes out is nothing overtly nasty, but it is enough to make you want to shrink away and curl into yourself until you wink out of existence.

“You smell like yeast,” he says, and tosses in a derisive sniff just for the added effect.

You recoil as the words slam into you, blinking in shock.

Asshole. Rude, arrogant, condescending asshole.

“I own a bakery,” you grit out. Harry shrugs, but says nothing else. Your lips flap wordlessly as he pushes past you, his shoulder bumping against yours. You watch him go, massaging the tender spot on your arm with shaky fingers. Your eyes fall to his ass for only a moment before skittering away, and a hollow laugh catches in your throat.

What a fucking prick.

September 17th, 2021

“Attention, everyone!” Ella stands at the head of the table, clinking her fork delicately against her glass. “I wanted to make a little toast.”

The conversation around you tapers off into silence. You sit back in your chair, focussing on your best friend. She looks splendid in her pretty blue dress, her dark hair twisted into an elaborate knot at the nape of her neck. She peers around the room, chewing nervously on the inside of her cheek. When her gaze locks with yours, you grant her a tiny, encouraging nod.

She beams, her next words imbued with renewed enthusiasm. “I wanted to thank all of you for coming here tonight to celebrate our engagement with us.” She holds out her hand, and Alex presses a gentle kiss to her knuckles. “We’re so grateful to be sharing this milestone with such a wonderful group of people.”

You inspect the other guests gathered around the table. To your right sit Alice and Leyla, the first employees you hired when you were trying to get your business up off the ground. It’s odd seeing them like this—poised and elegant, looking nothing at all like they do during the long, arduous shifts at the bakery. Alice’s blond hair has been fashioned into an intricate braid, and Leyla’s brown eyes are lined with dark kohl and smoky eyeshadow. They clean up nice, you must admit.

Next to Leyla: Ella’s older sister, Hillary. They have the same piercing grey eyes, though Hillary’s hair is a shade lighter. You didn’t miss the sour expression that trundled across her face when you waltzed into Alex and Ella’s condo. She’s jealous, you think. Jealous that Ella chose you as her maid of honour instead of her. You’ve been ignoring her resentful glares for the better half of the night, letting her bitterness pass over you like a cloud. Whatever her problem is, it’s clear that the issue lies between her and her sister. You’re not getting in the middle of that.

It doesn’t help that she’s been fawning over Harry all evening. Upon witnessing her coquettish behaviour, you glanced at Ella, brows raised, but your best friend just rolled her eyes and yielded a helpless shrug of her shoulders. At least the attraction didn’t appear to be one-sided—that would have been humiliating, you think—because Harry gave as good as he got, chuckling sincerely and flirting right back. You had to suppress the urge to retch, and sent out a quiet prayer of gratitude when Ella and Alex sat them as far away from each other as possible at the beginning of the meal.

On the opposite side of the table: Alex’s groomsmen—Milo, Sasha, and Connor. You’ve been in their company a few times, mainly on birthdays and other special occasions. According to Alex, they all met when Milo accidentally vomited during their very first anatomy lesson at medical school. Milo insists that the putrid smell of the cadavers was simply too awful to bear, but everyone else claims that he just couldn’t stand the idea of being so close to a dead body. No matter the truth, the story always makes you giggle. The four of them have been good friends ever since.

The five of them, you remind yourself as your gaze settles on Harry, who is lounging in the chair directly across from you.

Harry—Alex’s best friend. Harry—Alex’s best man.

You wanted to rip your hair from your scalp when Ella broke the news. Several images flashed through your head all at once. You and Harry inching rigidly down the aisle, arms linked. You and Harry donning the same colours, your gown complimenting the spry flower pinned to the lapel of his suit. You and Harry flanking Ella and Alex while they recite their vows, glaring daggers at each other behind your friends’ backs. Even now, the mere thought of it has you biting down on an exasperated groan.

You don’t realise that you’ve zoned out until the faint quirk of Harry’s mouth catches your eye. You blink once to yank yourself from your daze, and clench your jaw when you find him staring at you with an amused look on his face. He places his elbows against the arms of the chair and clasps his hands together. Unmistakable smugness emanates from him, as if he somehow managed to crawl inside your mind and saw exactly what you were envisioning. Your nostrils flare, and you fix your attention back on Ella, who has reached the end of her speech.

“Cheers,” she says, holding up her glass. The champagne inside sloshes and fizzles temptingly. Would she allow you to chug the entire bottle, if you asked?

Everyone around the table mirrors her movements, raising their own drinks and touching them together lightly. Quiet, delicate clanking fills the room, and the friendly chatter resumes. You nudge Ella with your elbow, shooting her a proud smile. “That was great, El.”

She beams. “Thanks, cookie.” She then picks up her fork and motions to the plate in front of her, piled high with seasoned chicken and steaming, roasted vegetables. “Let’s eat.”

~*~

“Are you sure you’ve got him?” Alex asks Sasha, gesturing to the very inebriated Connor wobbling at his side.

Sasha wraps one arm around their friend, letting Connor rest his full weight against him. He bares two rows of perfect ivory teeth, flashing a wicked grin. “Yeah. Besides, I’ve been meaning to pay him back for the shit he pulled at the barbecue last month. There’s a Sharpie in my car.”

“You’re going to draw a dick on his face, aren’t you?” Alex muses.

“Obviously.”

With that, Alex bids them both farewell, shutting the door and heaving a dramatic sigh. Ella approaches him after a moment, hooking her chin over his shoulder and murmuring something indiscernible into his ear. He chuckles softly.

“Didn’t peg you as the voyeur type, sweetheart,” a low voice says from behind you.

You jump, whirling around and coming face-to-face with Harry. He’s got a green washcloth slung over his left shoulder—the shade brings out his eyes, a traitorous voice in your head whispers—and his arms are folded neatly across his chest. Your gaze falls to the collar of his black button-up, where he’s undone the first two discs, leaving his sternum exposed. Tendrils of ink peek out from beneath the dark material.

You frown and take a step back, putting distance between your bodies. “You’re such an asshole.”

“So I’ve heard.” His lips twitch, and he rolls up his sleeves. “Now, if you’re done ogling them like a lovestruck puppy, I could use some help in the kitchen.”

You grit your teeth, but follow him into the other room. Harry grabs the rag hanging over his shoulder and holds it out for you. You snatch it from his fingers without a word, and the two of you take up residence in front of the sink. Harry plunges his hands into the soapy water, rinsing the dishes thoroughly before passing them to you. You stand as far away from him as possible while you dry each plate, your movements stiff and choppy. This is not how you wanted to finish off the night, but Alex and Ella spent the entire day preparing the food, and it was delicious. The least you can do is spare them the hassle of tidying up.

The tense silence eats at you, until you feel like you might explode. Unable to bear it any longer, you hastily blurt, “Saw you getting pretty cozy with Hillary before dinner.”

Immediately, you want to kick yourself. Where the fuck did that come from?

Harry snorts, shrugging coolly. “We’ve hooked up a few times, but it’s nothing serious.” He shoots you a mischievous grin. “You jealous?”

“Of Hillary?” you scoff, rolling your eyes. “Please. The woman’s standards are practically underground. Why else would she be interested in someone like you?”

Harry scowls, and hot satisfaction surges through your veins. Yes, the taunt was mean, but no, you don’t care. “You’re a real bitch sometimes, you know that?” he says.

You flash him a petty, insincere smile. “Only to you.”

He squeezes the yellow sponge nestled in his right hand, scrubbing it forcefully across a dirty plate. “Maybe you should find someone to hook up with. It might help get that stick out of your ass.”

“I have better things to do,” you sneer, narrowing your eyes.

“Better than sex?” He chokes on a derisive laugh.

“Yes.”

“Like what?”

“Like…things!” you snap, fingers curling into tight fists. “I run my own business, for God’s sake. And I’m going to make Ella’s wedding cake.” You announce the last part proudly, hauling your chin into the air.

Harry, however, looks unimpressed. He shakes his head, blowing out a heavy sigh. “Uh-oh.”

You pause. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs again, but you detect a hint of malice behind the action. “It’s just…I’ve seen the way you decorate cakes. Ella might be better off going elsewhere—you know, to an actual professional.”

Son of a—

“That’s rich, coming from you,” you say, motioning to the mismatched tattoos littered across his arm. “What would you know about professionalism? It looks like you let a preschooler doodle all over you.”

Harry bares his teeth in a feral grin. “Deflection. I’m not surprised.”

You bristle at his words. “Asshole.”

“You’ll need to get a bit more creative with the insults, sweetheart. I’m growing bored.”

“Is that so?” you say. “I think ‘asshole’ suits you just fine. Maybe you should have become a proctologist instead of a paediatrician.”

“At least I pursued something I was good at. I’m not sure if you can say the same.”

“You fucking—”

“Everything okay in here?” Ella asks, floating into the kitchen. You spin around to conceal your anger, placing your hands against the counter and inhaling deeply. You roll your shoulders back and slap an artificial smile onto your face before turning once more.

“Everything’s fine,” you say, and fake a yawn, covering your mouth with your palm. “I think I’m going to call it a night. I’m exhausted.”

Ella’s bottom lip juts out into a pout. Her red lipstick has faded, leaving only a stain of scarlet in its wake. On cue, Alex walks into the kitchen behind her, setting a steady hand on her hip and cocking his head to the side. “Hey. Everything okay in here?”

You nearly snort. Fucking soulmates.

“All good,” you tell him, nodding brusquely. “I’m just going to finish up with the dishes and head home.”

“Okay.” Alex presses a soft kiss to Ella’s temple, murmuring something about needing to get out of his stuffy clothes. You whirl, drying the last of the plates with frantic, shaky fingers. In your peripheral vision, you spy Harry watching you, but the stupid bastard must possess some scrap of self-preservation, because he keeps his mouth shut. You say nothing else as you whack the rag down onto the counter and stride out of the room.

You don’t miss Alex and Ella’s hushed whispers at the other end of the hall, but a little voice in your head tells you not to interrupt them. You halt at the front door, snatching your purse off one of the metal hooks mounted on the wall. You’re in the middle of putting on your shoes when you hear it:

“I was hoping we could arrange a truce, you know.”

You twist around, palm flying to your chest. Harry is standing a few feet away, his hands still wet with the water from the sink. He clasps them together and ducks his head, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d almost think he was ashamed.

Something vile bubbles in the pit of your stomach. You gnaw on the flesh of your cheek, trying to reel your emotions back in. You refuse to give him the satisfaction of witnessing another outburst.

“Keep your fucking truce,” you spit, and wrench open the door. You shoot him one last withering look before stepping out of the condo and slamming it shut.

#be sweet #harry writing #lmao you can tell i've given up on posting my writing on tumblr cus i don't even tag it with the typical fic tags anymore 😭

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 4 years ago

Text

top shelf, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: Sometimes you just want to be pinned down and fucked like a whore, you know? Should you ask the strange woman wearing the leather bondage collar to do it? Probably not. But she’s going to ask for a shot of Don Julio and Jeon Jungkook’s going to ask to get fucked.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; smut (fem reader, sex on top of a bar, the wrong use of tequila including [but not limited to] sucking a shot off JK’s balls, handjob, m-receiving oral, cowgirl); non-idol!BTS; black-haired, ponytail, bartender, sub!Jungkook x pansexual, dom!reader; Jungkook’s POV, ft bartender!Taehyung

did i maybe question if i should put this on the internet? eh, it’s here now

"Shot of Don Julio, please."

He poured it out. Placed in front of her. She smacked the payment down on the bar. She didn't have to tell him to keep the change. He already knew. His eyes trailed from her smirk to her neck.

"Let me wear it tonight."

Kim Taehyung, his co-worker and fellow bartender for the night, spoke up.

"You're a fucking psychopath, Jungkook."

She raised the shot glass and grinned. Downed it with one gulp. Tipped her head back to do it, so the white leather collar covered with clear Swarovski crystals glittered menacingly, the large silver ring on the center thudding against her collarbones. There was a chain attached to the ring, the end looped around and hooked to a white leather band her left wrist.

She lowered the glass, placing it on the napkin upside down. Unfazed, acting as if she had just taken a sip of water. That wide grin still playing on those dark red lips, teeth white and brighter than most people’s futures. She reached up behind her head.

The buckle unclicked with finality.

The club was insanely busy, but it was like time stopped. Nothing but those dangerous eyes, red lipstick and the scent of her perfume, clinging on to the white leather as it neared, closer. Closer. It disappeared from his vision, brushing against his neck. He could smell her perfume on the leather now.

Sweet chestnut. Spiced pepper. Hint of musky, burnt wood.

Intense.

"Here you go, Jeon Jungkook," she purred, fitting the bondage collar into place and pulling it taut. He gasped. She loosened it a hair. He could breathe just fine, but it was molded to his neck now, the metal ring hitting his tie and shirt collar.

"You know he has a whole damn shift, don't you?" Taehyung muttered, in the middle of making a cocktail.

She chuckled.

"Of course."

She backed up, and Jungkook almost whimpered, but he controlled himself. She unhooked the chain from the ring, still grinning. Dangerous. So dangerous.

"Now you can work."

Jungkook couldn't take his eyes off her.

"You know how this goes, pet. You've watched me all this time, haven't you?"

She laughed, almost maniacally, and disappeared into the crowd.

"You. Are. Crazy," Taehyung hissed. "You're lucky the manager isn't here tonight and I'm in charge."

Jungkook turned to face his friend. Curly dark hair, honey tan skin, handsome strong features, and a scowl on his normally boxy smile. The metal ring knocked into Jungkook's chest, heavy and foreboding. The Swarovski crystals glittered points of light all over his chin and vest, scattered by the flashing club lights.

Jungkook’s lips curved into a wicked smirk. Taehyung rolled his eyes, already knowing his reply.

"That's why I asked."

"Shot of Don Julio, please."

Jungkook did not know it then, but this request would become familiar to him.

"Hey, hey, been a while. How's it going?"

Jungkook was in the middle was chatting pleasantly with three girls when she slid up to the counter. He was making the girls' cocktails, but they all froze when they saw her. The entire length of the bar seemed to still at her appearance. Guys, girls, everyone in between and on the fringe, sneaking glances or just full-on gawking. It was hard not to stare.

The woman was wearing a white bondage collar covered with Swarovski crystals.

The metal ring that laid against her collarbones had a silver chain that connected to a matching leather band on her left wrist, the excess wrapping around several times. It clinked against the wood top of the bar as she elegantly laid her hands on the edge. She was wearing a long, slinky, forest green satin dress with high slits in the front, hair slicked back into a ponytail, ears dotted with dangling green gems and silver studs. Dangerous eyes framed with black, dark red lipstick.

She acknowledged no one but Taehyung and yet her presence silenced them all. Only Taehyung was completely unfazed, pouring out the shot cleanly, with extended reach and his typical showiness.

"Ah, business trip and all that nonsense. I did end up going to Vegas, which was fun, but you know me, I'm not a gambler," she sighed dismissively.

Taehyung chuckled. "You bring the collar?" He spoke to her with his usual smooth baritone voice.

She snickered. "Maybe." The faintest hint of a smirk on her lips, making one question if it was there or not. Taehyung’s brows raised, his attention on her and her alone.

"Bad girl."

It was hard to tell if Taehyung was flirting or not. But that was the point. His brown eyes sparkled with amusement. Newcomers would swoon over that look. Regulars cooed over that look. Her? She merely traced a finger over the lip of the glass and ticked an eyebrow, full smirk on display now.

Then she picked up the glass and downed it with one gulp.

Jungkook's eyes widened. He expected her to choke or at least make a face, but she placed the glass upside-down on the bar calmly. Not even a shake of her head. So quick, so efficient, leaving nothing behind. She placed the bills on the counter. Taehyung grinned.

"Keep the change, Taehyung."

She was about to leave the bar, but Taehyung called her name in a low purr. Jungkook jerked his head to him, confused. Taehyung only used that tone when he was trying to entice someone. It always worked. She turned her head, ponytail swishing, eyebrow arching elegantly.

Taehyung quirked his head to Jungkook beside him.

"New guy. Jeon Jungkook. Say hello."

Her gaze shifted to him. He got a good look into those dangerous eyes now. The tip of her tongue flitted out and licked her lips. Jungkook felt his chest constrict.

Smirk.

"Hey, Jungkook."

A cold shiver slid down his spine.

She turned around, disappearing into the crowd.

"What's her deal?"

"You'll see," was Taehyung's answer.

Later that night, Jungkook saw her again in the chaos. Except she wasn’t at the bar. She was standing off to the side, the chain wrapped around her left hand.

Her neck was bare.

The leather bondage collar was on a woman who was nervously ordering a martini from Jungkook, eyes flitting about, her already blushed cheeks three shades redder.

Jungkook was used to the patrons being nervous around him. He had a work persona – suave, personable, charming. But it was clear she was apprehensive for a different reason. The crystals on the white collar glittered on her neck, scattering light across her chin and the top of her gold minidress. Even Jungkook couldn’t keep up his work persona seeing this obvious display of power. He just made the drink mechanically and slid it over to her with a napkin.

He saw the woman reach down to her purse, but then an elegant, chain-covered hand slid down her shoulder, resting just above the collar of the square-necked dress. The young woman gulped leaning back against her. Dangerous eyes. Dark red lipstick.

“Don’t you remember, pet? Drinks on me.”

She placed the crisp bills on the counter. Her fingertips brushed against the top of the woman’s breast and she squeaked, pressing back into that green dress. Those dangerous eyes found Jungkook’s shocked ones. Her lips parted, tracing her teeth. She leaned in, lips brushing against the woman’s ear, right in front of him.

“What do you say to the sweet man who made you your drink?”

Pink tongue sliding out, tracing the woman’s earlobe. If possible, the woman turned redder, backing into that green dress and those graceful arms, as if she could hide while wearing a crystal-studded bondage collar.

“T-Thank you.”

“His name is Jungkook, pet.”

Jungkook’s eyes widened.

The woman’s eyes glazed over a bit with the soft, teasing licking to her ears.

“T-Thank you, J-Jungkook…”

Now Jungkook’s dick was impatiently punching the inside of his pants, fighting to get out.

“N… no problem…”

That chain covered hand reached out and curled around the martini, pulling it towards the two women. Those dangerous eyes lingered on him before they returned to the woman in the gold dress.

“Let’s find a quiet corner, you and I,” she purred darkly.

And then she disappeared into the crowd, leading the woman by the chain leash.

“Holy shit.”

“Yup,” was Taehyung’s calm reply.

She would always come in with the same leather collar and leave with someone else wearing it.

Leading them with the silver chain wrapped around her left wrist.

Men.

Women.

Those in-between.

Those on the fringe.

All of them different in their own ways. All of them willingly led around for a few hours with a crystal-covered white leather bondage collar before leaving for what Jungkook could only assume to be a very good night. When they looked nervous, her arm would be around them, cooing in their ears, offering sweet praises or stern reprimands. They must have discussed beforehand, because Jungkook could tell they were into it, hanging on her every word, eagerly letting themselves to be seduced by a stranger. Some she would kiss freely, the other embarrassed and aroused. Some she would barely touch, the other pining quietly, desire building with every look. Probably at their own request.

One commonality.

In the collar, they were all her pets.

“You should thank Taehyung, pet.”

“Don’t be rude to Jungkook, pet, or you’ll be punished.”

“You talk back one more time and I will pour this glass onto the bar and make you lick it up like the pet you are.”

Jungkook was glad he worked behind the counter. No one could see his reactions to her words. Well, except…

“Bro.” A flick to the back of his head. “Pay attention to the customers.”

Jungkook jumped at the baritone voice. Taehyung raised an eyebrow at him. Then he smirked, glancing his eyes down for half a second. Jungkook jerked his hips away, scowling, turning to a waiting patron, who was also staring at this woman curling her fingers around the silver collar ring, yanking the man in a suit forward to whisper in his ear, turning his face red and his knuckles on the counter white. Jungkook only heard a little bit.

“…if I make you cum right here? Let you explode in your underwear right now and make you walk around with your own cum soaking through your pants and the collar around your neck like the dirty pet you are?”

Even Jungkook’s ears heated.

“… M-Master, please…” the man whispered, nearly a moan.

Something was happening on the other side of the bar.

Jungkook could not let himself hear anymore, otherwise he was going to explode in his pants.

She seemed to have different styles that she rotated between, reflected by her clothes. Slinky dresses, tailored suits, casual streetwear, cute minidresses, but always with the white bondage collar and chain. Her different outfits reflected what she was looking for that night. Someone feistier usually went for the more covered-up, elegant ensembles. The timid ones went for the sexy, confident style. It was fascinating and intimidating to watch. Taehyung seemed to be amused whenever she appeared, verbally pointing out prospective targets to Jungkook, casually betting on who would be tempted next.

Time passed.

Weeks.

Months.

Play it cool, Jungkook.

“Shot of Don Julio, please.”

He poured the shot. Slid it over on a napkin, smooth.

Those dangerous eyes raked over him. He was in his uniform – black vest, white dress shirt, neat tie, black apron, crisp black slacks, although she couldn’t see his lower half. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing his tattooed right arm. His black hair was getting long, so he tied the back of it up, leaving a small ponytail and exposing his undercut. His bangs framed his face, brushing against his brows and temples.

The women loved his ponytail.

She inspected his face, the hint of a smirk on those lips. Pulled the glass to her, licking her lips. Today she was in all white. White mesh shirt with a white bra underneath, baggy high-waisted white cargo pants, and white sneakers. Hair slicked back into a high ponytail. Dark eyes, scarlet red lips. As usual, the Swarovski crystal-studded white bondage collar around her neck, chain wrapped around her left wrist.

Fucking hot as hell.

She rose the glass, cocked a brow at him.

“I like hair long enough to pull.”

She downed the glass, lowered it, turning it upside-down and sliding it back to him. Full-on smirk now as his ears heated. He was about to make small conversation, but she raised her right hand, placing her index finger on her lips. The left suddenly produced the bills, setting them on the counter.

“Keep the change, Jungkook.”

Purred his name like a lover. Chuckled and turned away, disappearing into the crowd.

“Your mouth forgot how to work?” Taehyung mused beside him.

Jungkook clicked his tongue. “Shut up.”

Taehyung chuckled.

“You ever ask to wear it?”

Taehyung snorted, in the middle of cleaning the glasses after closing. “Hell no. I heard once she got a guy to jack off on the hood of his own car in the parking lot. I’ll keep my dick to myself, thanks.”

Jungkook was wiping down the counter. “Mmm, you sure collect a lot of numbers for a guy who keeps his dick to himself.”

Taehyung snickered. “That’s part of the job. I’m not actually going to call them. That’d be crazy.” He pointed his towel at Jungkook, dropping his voice to a whisper. “Don’t tell me you’re considering it. During work? Are you insane?”

Jungkook shrugged.

Taehyung shot him an exasperated look. “If the manager finds out–”

“What if he doesn’t?”

“What if she’s a serial killer?”

“I didn’t say I was going to take her home or let her take me to her home.”

Taehyung jabbed the bar counter. “What the fuck are you going to do? Let her fuck you right here?”

Jungkook didn’t say anything.

Taehyung threw up his hands. “No!”

“Maybe.” The mischief was sneaking into Jungkook’s tone now, unable to hide it any longer.

Taehyung looked like he was having an aneurysm. “What, are you into that shit or something? Actually no, don’t answer that. I already knew the answer,” he winced, slapping the towel on his shoulder. “You can’t be serious. She’s a regular! Everyone is going to know why you’re wearing it.”

Oh, Jungkook knew that. His dick knew that too. Fuck. It was making him hard just thinking about it.

“Okay… Okay…” Taehyung seemed to be steeling himself even though he wasn’t the one that was going to be doing it. “I don’t actually think she’s a psychopath. She’s come here for a long time. I think you’re a psychopath for wanting to wear it during work. All night, dude.”

Jungkook’s cock twitched, soaking his underwear.

Fuck yes.

“All fucking night. Jeez.”

"Shot of Don Julio, please."

This was it. This was the night. Black leather two-piece set of bra and miniskirt, matching thigh-high boots, black bomber jacket with a white dragon on the back. Glittering crystal-studded white leather bondage collar, silver chain from the collar ring to her left wrist. Black liner framing dangerous eyes, dark red lips.

“Let me wear it tonight.”

Jungkook had agonized on how to ask millions of times, chewing on his lip as he stared into the bathroom mirror at home. He thought about how it would make him feel. Edged himself to it. Didn’t let himself finish. He didn’t want to finish with imagination.

He wanted to finish to the real thing.

Sweet chestnut. Spiced pepper. Hint of musky, burnt wood, mixing with the scent of leather. Smelled so fucking good, intoxicating him, making his cock throb. The heavy weight was on his neck now. Jungkook didn’t have the chain. He wanted it, but he couldn’t work like that. She seemed to know in advance, taking it off without asking, and letting him be. All the eyes on him, knowing. He acted as if it wasn’t there, charming and suave as usual, nerves jumping and jittering under his skin.

Guys. Girls. Everyone in-between and on the fringe. Looking at him with envy, with pity, with lust, sometimes all three. Jungkook made drinks all night, the heavy silver ring banging against his tie, sending shocks of anticipation through his torso and down to his core. Taehyung was beside him, mumbling under his breath every time he saw it.

“You’re crazy, my dude, actually insane…”

Jungkook thought he would be nervous, but he actually felt calm. Relieved. She had handed it over with a gleam in her eye, not hiding how pleased she was.

“It looks pretty on you, pet.”

All the way at the far end of the bar. Jungkook turned to face her, seeing her chin perched on the back of her hand, staring at him with a hungry expression. Shivers danced up and down his spine, breath catching his throat. He tilted his head.

“Shot of Don Julio?”

She smirked. “Oh, I’ll take more shots. But later, my pet.”

Oh, fuck. The way she drawled out her words, red lips forming them neatly and sensually. Thank God he was behind the counter.

“I can’t wait to ravish you.”

She turned and re-disappeared into the crowd. The pre-cum in his underwear was making life unbearable, the tip of his cock sliding against it and stimulating himself just the slightest amount, but not enough to be satisfied. Jungkook wanted to run to the back and get off right then and there, but he couldn’t.

He couldn’t and that made it better.

"Don't forget to lock up."

Taehyung was about to turn around, but spun back, jabbing Jungkook in the chest with his finger.

"And clean up after yourself, you animal."

Taehyung pointed to the end of the bar. A single bottle of Don Julio Blanco with the pour spout in it. One shot glass.

"She paid for the whole damn bottle," he muttered. "I really don't wanna know what you two are going to do with that."

She swung the chain round and round.

The anticipation in his chest was threatening to explode.

Smirk on those red lips. Dangerous eyes.

"You want to tell me what you like? Or you want me to take you on a ride?"

The chain wasn't attached yet. She was standing maybe a meter away from him, swinging it in the air from her left wrist. He was standing in front of the bar, hands in his pockets, apron removed, black oxfords together. Still wearing the bondage collar. He didn't take it off all night. A few people asked about it. Some teased.

"Felt like being decorated tonight. You like it?"

"Heh, maybe you'll let me wear it," one woman flirted.

"Oh, it's not mine. It's hers."

"Hey, darling."

Her chain clinking against the bar as she smiled at the startled woman.

"My pet providing excellent service to you? Or do I have to reprimand him later?" she purred.

"O-oh... I didn't know he was taken. I'm sorry!"

And the woman had scooted away quickly, not even collecting the drink she paid for.

Jungkook liked that. The idea of being taken. Forcefully, with very little discussion. He smiled at her now, listening to the chain swish through the air. In general, he was careful with his sexual partners and his heart. That was the safe thing to do.

But sometimes he just wanted to be pinned down and fucked like a whore.

He locked his gaze with hers. Those dangerous eyes. Slow hungry smirk on those dark red lips. He hadn’t had a chance until now. Waited a fucking long time for the stars to align. Now the chance was right in front of him.

"Take me on a ride," Jungkook breathed.

The chain jerked and wound around her forearm rapidly, snapping into the sleeve of her satin bomber jacket. The sound of metal on metal was loud in the empty club.

"Did Taehyung tell you that you're crazy?" she chuckled, taking a step towards him. Her black leather thigh-high boots made a loud thud when the heel hit the floor.

"Yeah."

She advanced on him slowly. "Are you?"

"Little bit."

Stopped right in front of him. She dropped her arm and the chain tumbled down, landing in her right hand. She took the end, held it up next to her head, clicking the carabiner. To be honest, it wasn't a very thick or strong chain. Definitely only for decoration and symbolism.

"You can call me Master or by name. Nothing else."

Jungkook smirked.

"Yes, Master."

She hooked the chain onto the metal ring on bondage collar.

"Polite. I like that."

Those dangerous eyes flashed.

"Get on the bar.”

Sweet chestnut.

Spiced pepper.

Hint of burnt wood, like a smoking fireplace.

Standing over him.

She climbed onto the bar top, her sleek ponytail swaying. She had removed her jacket, standing over him in that bra, miniskirt, and thigh-high boots combination, all black leather. Legs, waist, tits, all looking so fucking good standing on the very bar he worked at less than an hour ago. The two of them were connected by the chain from her left wrist and the ring of the bondage collar around his neck.

"What gave you the idea to do something so crazy, pet?"

Heart beating fast, trying to take it all in, that dark alluring voice and those delicious red lips forming each syllable neatly and sensually. She tugged sharply at the chain and he squeaked, rising to his elbows.

"Answer."

Jungkook swallowed, almost moaning at the tightness of the crystal collar, the prefect unyielding pressure surrounding his throat. "I... watch you whenever you come in. Listen to all those things you say to them." Arousal stirring, flaring up inside him, remembering all those dirty words, all those people with those dark lips against their ears. Wanting it to be him. Wanting to wear that heavy prize on his neck. "They always look so... satisfied being held by you."

She smirked. Crouched down, getting onto her hands and knees, crawling between his legs. A cat-like prowl, eyes dazzling. Was it due to the crystals on his neck or the predatory glint in those approaching orbs?

"You want to be satisfied too, pet?"

"Y-Yes."

"Used or denied?"

"U... used."

The scent of sweet chestnut, spiced pepper, burned wood, stronger and stronger as she neared, now in between his thighs. He could see down her cleavage, the prefect swells of her breasts, and, behind her head, the black leather stretched taut over her ass.

"Kisses?"

"N... need them."

So close he could feel her heat. She lifted her hands, placing them on either side of him. Breasts almost touching his chest. He was breathing hard and every inhale very nearly brushed against the black leather.

“Abuse?”

He opened his mouth, but she snapped forward suddenly, leaving him breathless.

“Ah, sorry, Jungkook.” Lashes lowering, making those dark eyes even more dangerous. “That was rhetorical.”

There was no way to describe her kiss except intoxication. Soft, demanding, intense, smearing lipstick onto his skin, tongue tracing the inner rim of his lips, making him beg for more. She flicked her tongue onto his teeth and he gasped, trying to open his mouth more, hoping she would do more, but that slippery tongue escaped him every time. He tried to lean in and yelped as her hand darted up and fastened around his ponytail, sudden pain shooting from his scalp, yanking back roughly and breaking the kiss.

“N-no!” he whined. “P-Please… want more, please…”

Jungkook could see her lipstick was smeared onto her chin a little. He probably looked worse. She flicked her wrist and he moaned, pain snaking through his head.

“Down.”

He slid his elbows down, head now against the counter. She towered over him, face hovering millimeters from his. Snickered against his lips before kissing him again, putting her full weight on his chest. He moaned into her mouth, leather, skin, sweet chestnut and spiced pepper all over him now, crushing him with softness, grinding against his entire torso as she made out with his face, tongue thrusting brutally into his mouth, fast, hard, rough, leaving him gasping and shuddering for breath. He tried to touch her waist, but she grabbed his wrist and slammed it down onto the wood. Jungkook whimpered and his other hand was pinned down too, growl in her chest.

Her body slid from side to side like a snake. Jungkook groaned into her mouth, body suddenly on fire as her leather-covered one pressed all over him, onto his thighs, his crotch, his stomach, his pecs, chain between them clattering on the bar. He couldn’t focus on one sensation, all his senses crowded and overwhelmed, nails curling into the wood, lips swelling from the force of her kisses, cock twitching in his already ruined underwear, his muscles flexing at the flashes of pressure invading his whole body, the wood counter uncomfortable and hard against his back.

Neck gripped by the bondage collar, preventing him from taking large breaths, reducing them to shallow, needy pants.

She ripped her head from him and he whined, palms smacking the bar. She chuckled, lifting her right hand, his left. Turned it around. His sleeves were still rolled up. Through hazy eyes, Jungkook could see her lipstick was everywhere. She pressed her lips into his wrist and he shuddered, feeling her kiss all over his forearm, wiping her lipstick onto his skin, using him like a fucking napkin. He shivered as she bit down near his wrist, sucking hard, his pulse stuttering against her lower lip.

“S-so… much…”

So much sensation that he felt lightheaded, pricks of pain as she nibbled on his wrist, leaving a large, visible hickey on his skin. Jungkook’s brain couldn’t even comprehend that he would probably have to hide that tomorrow. He just wanted more, eyes rolling back as she licked up his arm, all the way to his elbow.

She lifted her body off his suddenly. He found himself rising, trying to chase the escaping warmth.

“Sit up for me, pet. Knees over the edge.”

He scrambled to comply, but it was apparently too slow, because she grabbed him by the black tie and yanked him up, unfurling it in the process. She slid off the bar, boots thumping loudly against the floor. His tie was slipping off, wrapped around her fingers. The chain connecting them jangled, reminding Jungkook of his position. He sat up, turning so he was sitting on the edge of the counter.

She undid his tie expertly, tossing it aside carelessly.

“Unbutton your vest and shirt.”

He undid them, not really watching because she was moving away from him. It took him a second to realize she was going for the bottle of Don Julio. Poured herself a shot, smaller than how much he usually gave her. Threw it back and put the glass on the counter.

Upside-down.

Came back to him, dragging the bottle along the bar top.

Jungkook sucked in a breath, chest now exposed, shirt still half-tucked in. He wasn’t sweaty from work, but he wasn’t exactly clean either.

“Lean back.”

He gasped as the alcohol splashed against his chest, a foreign coldness that was quickly replaced by her lapping tongue, sending shocks and shivers all over his skin and tearing moans from his throat. She put the bottle down and ripped his shirt out of his pants, pushing it down his shoulders, tongue running all over his chest, wet and dripping, the scents of sharp tequila and sweet chestnut mixing together.

“Mmm, yes, I prefer this to the glass,” she murmured against his skin, curling her tongue around one of his nipples and flicking it hard. His body squirmed from the strong burst of pleasure. She fitted her left arm under the small of his back, chain digging into his skin, and pressed him down on it, forcing him to arch his back awkwardly. Licked up and down his abs, pouring a little more tequila onto his stomach and slurping it up. Jungkook hissed, biting his lip hard as he watched her red-stained lips suck and lap at his hot skin, leaving red scrapes from her teeth.

“Ah, I apologize,” she breathed. Dangerous eyes flicked up to him. “I can mark you, can’t I?”

“Fuck yes, you can,” Jungkook blurted out, panting hard. “Whatever you want, Master.”

She chuckled, abruptly dropping her left arm. He almost fell but she clamped her hand around the chain and pulled it taut, yanking him forward. The force wrapped around his neck and placed the pressure at the base, straightening him immediately. His shirt and vest hung by his upper arms, torso naked and trembling.

Jungkook reeked of expensive liquor and her perfume.

His eyes shifted to the bottle of Don Julio beside him. “You like top shelf.”

She ticked her eyebrows and grinned. “That’s why you’re on top of the bar, pet.”

His heart stopped. If possible, the praise made him more breathless than the kissing and the licking.

She placed her elbow against his thigh, using her other hand to tap his belt buckle. His breathing hitched as her palm planted down, rubbing his semi-hard length through his slacks.

“You like watching me, Jungkook?” she drawled. “I know Taehyung does.”

He exhaled hard, hips quivering with every roll of her wrist, cock jerking happily from the much-needed stimulation. “Yes and no.”

She quirked her head, ponytail swishing. “Oh? Elaborate.”

Jungkook winced as her fingertips began to focus on the head, a little too forceful for the sensitive skin, but he liked it. Craved it. “B-Because… I wanted it to be m-me…” His words extended out to a moan, now rutting his hips into her hand, chasing the pleasure.

“Oh, I know.”

She increased the pace as she spoke. He inhaled a little too fast, squeaking out a surprised noise.

“I see you trying to eavesdrop every time I approach the bar. Naughty little pet. You shouldn’t be so nosy.”

“T-They want it… They w-want someone to hear…” he gasped, rocking his erection into her fingers, the intense pleasure and borderline pain crawling into his core, pooling into every crack of his sanity. Too good. It felt too good. He could barely think. “They want someone to k-know…”

“Takes one to know one,” she purred.

Close. So fucking close.

“D-don’t… finish me…” he breathed.

“Okay.”

She removed her hand.

He whined at the loss even though he was the one who asked for it. She clicked her tongue, highly amused. Her left wrist flipped and the chain smacked him in the chest, the cold metal making him jump and hiss. Her hand shot out and slid the tequila bottle further away from his body.

“You knock that over and I’m going to make you lick it off this dirty floor,” she barked. “Too expensive for you to be wasting.”

She was very clearly wasting it before by pouring it all over him, but Jungkook suspected that he shouldn’t mention it. “Y-Yes, Master.”

She tapped his erection. His cock throbbed, begging for release.

“Get these clothes out of the way.”

Jungkook hastily reached down and fumbled with his pants, unbuckling his belt, pushing them down, grimacing as his bare ass touched the bar. It was clean, he had cleaned it after all, but it still felt fucking wrong to be sitting on it mostly naked, pushing his pants to his knees. He pulled his hands out of his shirt and vest, dumping them on the counter. His stiff cock stuck straight up, the veins straining against the length, head red and aching, pooling pre-cum at the tip.

His hot balls were touching the cold bar.

That was wrong.

Fuck.

His cock twitched as the thought crossed his mind.

“Move it out of the way.”

She waved a hand at his cock. He whimpered, using his right hand to hold it back, shuddering as the tip touched his lower belly, smearing himself on his skin. It pulsated against his fingertips, pleading for release. She grinned. Jungkook gulped. Those eyes were dangerous. So dangerous.

She cupped her hands under his balls and scooped them up.

He squealed at the sudden kneading of the sensitive hot-cold of his skin. It didn’t hurt yet, but it was teetering on the line of strangely pleasant and slight agony. Hold on a second, Jungkook thought – he didn’t want to get his nuts destroyed before he came at least once.

“A-ah, w-wait, don’t hu–”

“Silence.”

Jungkook shut his mouth at her harsh tone. Maybe she was a serial killer.

She cocked a brow, seeming to notice his unease. She pulled at them. He gulped. Looked down. Her fingertips were holding the edges taut, his actual testicles dropping down as she stretched the skin of his scrotum.

Wait.

“Pour me a shot.”

What?

“S… sorry?”

She ticked her chin to the bottle. “Shot of Don Julio, please.”

Oh my God.

She wanted him to pour the expensive tequila on his fucking nuts.

His balls were barely going to hold a sip. She stared at him intently, brow still raised, waiting. His cock swelled even more. This didn’t exactly hurt, but the heat of embarrassment was creeping up Jungkook’s neck, to his ears, all over his cheeks. His free hand crawled across the bar top, feeling for the bottle, not taking his eyes away from that dangerous gaze. Her red-stained lips curved into a wicked smirk. His hand was shaking, the Don Julio splashing in the clear glass. He tipped the bottle slowly.

Jungkook poured a little on his balls.

“F-Fuck!”

It was cold. He nearly dropped the liquor because she instantly swept down, slurping it off his scorching skin. He quickly put the glass bottle on the bar and pushed it away lightly, moaning as she sucked one of his balls into her warm mouth, squeezing his eyes shut as her tongue assaulted him, swirling around his now tequila-covered balls, replacing the alcohol with saliva, her groans of satisfaction vibrating his skin, sending tremors of pleasure up his spine.

“Oh, s-shit…” Jungkook wheezed, feeling her pop off and switch sides, just as intense, only now realizing that both alcohol and her spit was dripping onto the countertop, collecting under his ass, but he couldn’t even think about how uncomfortable that was, because there was too much pleasure in the warmth of her suffocating mouth, he could think of nothing else, hands splayed out, gasping for air, chest heaving with effort.

She brushed his hand away from his cock and began pumping him as she sucked his balls, adding to the overwhelming ecstasy, his erection finally getting some fucking attention, and it was all happening too fast, too much sensation at once, leaving him hopelessly panting out her name. The pressure in his core torrented, threatening violently, but he didn’t want to cum, not yet, wanting to last as long as possible in this crushing mouth sucking on his balls and this relentless jerking of his dick, her fingers pinching the base of the head, the slickness of his own pre-cum adding the right amount of lubrication so it didn’t exactly hurt.

It just almost did.

And that felt amazing.

“I-I’m gonna cum, fuck, is that o-okay…? Fuck, please, Master, is it okay?”

She didn’t actually speak, only dialed up the ferocity and speed of her stroking and the suction on his balls and Jungkook tipped over the edge, immediately in free-fall, throwing his head back and wailing as he came fiercely, shooting strings of cum all over her right shoulder and onto the leather bra, splattering it with white. He choked, panicking slightly when he realized his mess, but he didn’t have long to consider it because she detached from his balls and wrapped her lips around the head of his cock, sliding all the way to the base, the sensitive tip hitting the back of her throat.

“Oh, fuck me!”

Jungkook saw flashes of light, pleasure turning white-hot, racking his entire frame. The grip on the chain tightened and she pulled hard, his head arching even further back so his long hair brushed against his shoulder blades for a split second, the sides of his neck pinched because of the bondage collar being tugged down by the metal ring. He became lightheaded, her mouth moving up and down, the warm, wet vise taking over, claiming his senses, moans ripped from his throat as his length was compelled to hardness once more, the head rubbing harshly because of how deep she was going, so fucking tight that it didn’t seem real or possible. Her nails dug into his thighs, keeping them spread wide.

“So f-fast, ah, too fast, p-please, oh fuuuuuuuk…”

Jungkook had no idea what the fuck he was saying or if he sounded sexy or not, because he was too desperate to cum again, watching his previous orgasm trickling down her shoulder and breast due to how fast and wild she was going, the sloppy squelching mixing with her grating, feral noises of lust, pushing him to the edge once more, no, basically throwing him off the cliff, his orgasm slamming into him violently.

“Fuck!”

He could do nothing but scream at the top of his lungs, erupting in her tight throat, euphoria soaring through his nerves, half-strangling himself with the leather collar, the low oxygen intensifying everything, soaring him to a new peak of pleasure. She gulped him down, throttling his cock a little with her swallows. He moaned deeply, head falling to his chest, oxygen rushing back, gratification ricocheting in waves up his torso and flooding his mind.

Everything smelled like expensive tequila, cum, and her sweet-peppery perfume.

Holy fucking shit.

He was vaguely registering that she was still licking him, slower, softer this time. Continuously. Jungkook was going to work behind this bar tomorrow. Maybe this was a bad idea. How was he not supposed to think about this the whole fucking time he was working? How was he supposed to look at Don Julio tequila and not think about pouring it on his balls and her sucking it off?

Taehyung was right.

He was a fucking psychopath.

Still gently, carefully licking him. His cock twitched, swelling once more. There was no way. He couldn’t believe it. The chain clinked and she tapped it against his pecs steadily, the cold metal hitting his sweaty, heated, shaking chest. He shivered. Her tongue pressed against the base of the head, teasing the thin skin there.

“A-ah… Master…?”

“Hmm?”

That was the closest thing to a verbal response Jungkook had received in the last ten minutes.

“It’s… s-sensitive…”

“Mhm.”

Well, Jungkook might think he couldn’t get out another, but his dick certainly had other plans. The consistent softness of her tongue was building his arousal once again, borderline painful. He whimpered her name. A mistake.

Those dangerous eyes opened and locked with his.

Hungry. Predatory. Daring him to tell her to stop.

Jungkook sucked in a tight breath, cock now fully at attention. She smirked, sliding her mouth off, slow. So slow. The thin moan escaped from his lips, drifting down his chin. Ghosting her tongue over him, barely enough friction, somehow always knowing the thin tightrope. She straightened, letting out a measured breath. He noticed the heaviness of her exhale despite her smug expression. She was affected.

Good.

She reached over and plucked the pour sprout from the tequila. Tossed it, letting it roll across the bar. It fell over the edge, clattering onto metal. Jungkook’s eyes widened. It had fallen into the sink. A simple, almost lazy action that reflected much more. She knew exactly where the sink was. Highly observant and well-calculated.

She clutched the neck of the bottle and brought it to her lips, taking a sip.

Acted like it was fucking water and not burning death.

“Having fun, pet?” she drawled, the lush scent of Don Julio smacking him in the face as she spoke. He nodded quickly. She wound the chain around her left hand, shortening it. Put the bottle down and reached over to her jacket, flipping it open. There were pockets on the inside. Was it reversible? He didn’t have time to ponder as she pulled out a foil packet. Brought it over with one swift sweep of her arm, tapping him in the nose with it.

“Put this on for me.”

Jungkook took the condom with a shaking hand. “Should I–”

“Put it on? Yes.”

He was going to ask if he should change positions, but he cut himself off and hurriedly ripped open the condom, sliding it on. He hissed; the head of his cock was so sensitive it was dark purple. How was he going to last any amount of ti–

“Lift me.”

Jungkook bit his lip and placed his hands on her waist, picking her up. She helped him, springing onto the bar easily. He only had to give her a small boost and then she was in position, knees on either side of his thighs.

“What–?”

Jungkook didn’t know why he was asking questions anymore because she didn’t bother answering. Her reply was yanking up her miniskirt, revealing her thin panties sucked into her pussy due to the wetness between her legs. The peppery warm chestnut of her perfume mixed with the scent of pure sex, her core dripping a honey-like sweetness. He choked a little on his words, breathless as she moved her panties aside with a deft hook of her fingers.

He had maybe one second of appreciating the prettiest pussy he had ever seen before it nearly made him black out by sinking onto his overstimulated cock.

“Oh my fucking fuck,” Jungkook moaned, not making any sense, but it didn’t matter because she purred in satisfaction, squeezing his length deliciously and making him harder. Tight, but soft, almost too hot, but also perfect, planting down onto his balls, smearing them with her juices. Had his balls ever gotten such attention before? No. Had there ever been so many fluids on his balls before?

Also, no, because no sane person pours tequila on their nuts.

“Mmm, feels nice, Jungkook,” she breathed deeply, rocking her hips. He planted his hands on the bar, groaning as she began to ride him, the black leather of her boots and skirt squeaking as she moved. “Gonna use this dick to cum.”

“Y-Yes, please…” he shuddered.

She slapped their hips together, leaning forward so she wouldn’t fall. The heady scent of her perfume invaded his nose, smokey and distinct. He heard the sound of glass scraping on wood, and then a slosh of alcohol. The bright, rich scent of Don Julio beside his head.

She was drinking from the fucking bottle while riding his cock.

Jungkook didn’t know if that was disrespectful or attractive, but she was increasing the speed and force of her movements, snarling low in her throat. He lifted his hips slightly and gasped as he hit deeper, her walls closing in on the head.

“Ah, fuck, yes, Jungkook,” she moaned, raspy and animalistic. The tequila was dampening her inhibitions and she kept fucking him harder and harder, body line waving and smacking her ass down onto his thighs. The liquor sloshed in the bottle; two-thirds gone. “That’s it, you perfect little pet, fuck, how dare you hide all this behind the counter?” Dangerous eyes flashing, pressing her forehead into his, her chain-covered hand tangling into his ponytail and tugging on it roughly. He whimpered into her lips, gasping her name, and she grinned like the devil. His hips were matching her pace, rising as she came down, increasing the force, amplifying the overbearing ecstasy, every thrust threatening to drag him over the edge, but he refused, he absolutely refused, gritting his teeth and fucking her back, now growling too, an animal on the chain leash, wearing her crystal-studded collar, sweat dripping down his back.

“Cum, Master,” Jungkook snarled. “Want you to cum and murder my dick, choke the fucking orgasm out of him.”

She chuckled, and now both arms were on his shoulders, one hand pulling on his hair, the other still holding the bottle of Don Julio, riding him so hard and rough that some of the liquor splashed down his back, soaking into his skin, mixing with sweat, a whole damn mess all over the bar. He didn’t care, staring into those dangerous eyes, seeing those pupils dilate, ravenous and drunk, not with alcohol, but power, the power of aggressively fucking the damn bartender at the very spot she had ordered her first shot of the night.

She threw her head back, an elated gasp of erotic validation as his name seeped out from those red-stained lips.

“Oh, fuuuck, Jungkook!”

All the way to the top.

Top shelf, even.

And the plummeting fall, his orgasm smashing into him with the harsh clench of her pussy, her juices gushing all over his length and sliding down his balls, adding to the large puddle underneath him. Her walls clamped around his jolting cock, strangling the head, and he saw fucking stars, gasping out her name as he shot aggressively into the condom, probably not that much, but it still felt like the life was being sucked out of him, dirty ecstasy burning through his veins, the leather bondage collar pressing against the sides of his neck and shooting a firecracker rush of sinful pleasure straight up into his head, flaring all over his stinging scalp.

So.

Fucking.

Good.

Easily the hardest he had ever cum in his entire life. All three times this night.

Holy fuck.

He felt the grip on his hair loosen. She was panting into his chin, eyes closed. Brought her right hand around, barely any left inside that glass bottle. Most of it was splattered onto the bar top, dripping down his body, or underneath his ass.

She drank the last of the liquor, chuckling.

“What a great use of Don Julio.”

“Do I even wanna know?”

“No.”

Taehyung looked at the bar, wincing at the scent of industrial strength cleaner still clinging to the counter even though Jungkook had sprayed it down with water about three times. Jungkook’s dress shirt sleeves were not rolled up today.

“You’re lucky it’s Monday,” Taehyung muttered.

“Mhm, and tomorrow is my day off.”

Taehyung raised a hand. “Do not tell me. I do not want to know.”

Jungkook grinned.

Are you doing anything tomorrow night?

She had handed him the end of the chain when he inquired.

Where will my collar be tomorrow night? She had asked with a dangerous gleam in her eye.

The crystal-studded, white leather bondage collar and silver chain were sitting on his bed, waiting for the night to arrive.

masterpost

#jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #bts smut #jungkook fanfic #jungkook scenarios #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you #jeon jungkook smut

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seijohsbabe · 4 years ago

Note

So here’s a thot with Makki not having a job he makes you get a job and spends all your cash on weed so inorder to pay rent and food he invites his friends over to pay him that way they can pound you makki even films it and sells it

A/n: I’m so sorry that it took so long but I’ve got sick and now my math teacher came up with a math exam ._. I’m a little bit overwhelmed with my school stuff but I can manage it. Support me with a reblog, like or comment ^^<3

W/c: 3,8k

Pairing: Iwaizumi x Matsukawa x You x Oikawa x Hanamaki

Tw: Fivesome, noncon, overstimulation, petnames, (getting filmed while getting railed?)

"Go and find yourself a job Makki it's annoying." You´ve told him that the hundred time this week, but he still laid on the couch and played some videogames with his friends. He was nice but extremely lazy. You searched for an apartment to live in, and you found Makki. He also searched for a roommate, the rent was cheap so you immediately said yes. But after a month he lost his job since then he didn´t found a new one. You thought that maybe he had just bad luck, but after another month, then you saw it, that he's just lazy.

You couldn´t move out, you wouldn´t find a new apartment or roommate, but now it's the third month in a row that you had to pay the rent. He even lent money from you but not for food or essential things, no he bought weed, his whole room smelled like it when you confronted him about it again.

"You bought weed? Makki! The money should be for food and important stuff and not weed, damn." you just couldn´t believe it, while you worked your ass up, he sat there and smoked weed which he bought with your money.

"Aw come on, it's good, try it." He said lazily while he was on his phone, tapping something on it. You were angry, and showed it to him. You stepped over to him, grabbed the joint which he lazily held between his fingers, and threw it on the ground and stomped on it. Now he stood up, right in front of you, he built himself up. Now you noticed that he's taller than you, way taller. He looked at you, while you couldn´t move an inch. His voice was quiet but you could still hear him. "You want me to get some money? Fine, I´m gonna pay the next rent and even a dinner for us." His little grin made you uncomfortable but it sounded good that he finally would bring in some money.

One week later, the doorbell rang. It wasn´t uncommon that Makki or you would bring friends over, but you two always said eachother if somebody would come over. So when you heard the doorbell, you eyed the door curiously, while Makki slowly walked to it. So he knew that someone would come over? Not one person, no there were three men who walked in, immediately bringing their eyes on you. Your eyebrow raised higher, while the three men sat on the couch. Makki was in the kitchen to come with five beer back. "Come on y/n, sit with us, I think my friends want to get to know you.

Your little feet padded over the cold floor, to sit right before the four men on the armchair, one leg over another, while your arms were crossed over your chest. Now you could take a closer look at the three new men. The one beside Makki was definitely tall, had dark brown hair, and looked bored, but something in his eyes told you that he wasn't anything but bored. The one in the middle had a big grin on his face, chocolate brown hair, and leaned on the back of the couch with his arms stretched on the top behind the two guys beside him. The one at the end of the couch had his elbow on the couch while his hand held his chin. He watched you with eagle eyes. His hair was kinda spikey and dark brown. all in all, they seemed quite interesting, but what did they want from you?

The one in the middle spoke up first. "So you are y/n hmm?", his eyebrow went up while his eyes focused on you. You were confused, whatever Makki was up to, your feelings told you that this wouldn´t be something good.

Your eyes wandered over to Makki, who wore a smirk on his face.

"Makki, I don´t know what this whole thing has to do with me but make it fast, I don´t have forever" Your voice sent confidence, but Makki still wore his shitty grin, and it made your blood boiled even more.

"You said to me I should bring in money, so here I am." he spread his arms as if he was presenting a big show at the circus.

"I´m sorry but I don´t have a clue what your friends should do here if you want to bring in money?" Your eyes narrowed, your gut told you to get away from here. "Oh that's easy y/n, they are here to fuck you. That's Matssun, Oikawa, and Iwaizumi," he said like it was the most normal thing in the world, but your eyes widened now and wandered over the three other faces again to get the confirmation that it wasn't another stupid joke from Makki. But they all just had a slight grin, but still looked like it's the truth. "Uhm- What? I- Makki that's not the way I´ve meant." your words stumbled over your lips, still in shock.

"You didn´t say anything about how I could make money, and now it's a little bit too late to tell me." You didn´t like his cooky tone, how he smiled so comfortably.

"Well, I��m out of this thing which you planned. It was nice to meet you guys but-" you couldn´t bring the sentence to an end, because a hand grabbed your wrist as you wanted to walk past the four. It was the one with the spiky hair, Iwaizumi right..? Your eyes went to his hand that had a tight grip on your wrist. The grip wasn´t actually tight, but when you tried to get rid of it, you failed. "How can you just go now, when we're actually so excited to fuck you?" the dark voice went through your whole body up into your ears. Your gaze wandered over to his eyes which stared at you. These eyes literally radiated dominance, even if you were staring down at him at the moment. You couldn't think of a word to answer, but the strength you put into pulling your arm away from the strange man disappeared. You just paused while he stared up into your eyes. You heard a little giggle, probably Makki. However, this made you wake up again and now pull you away completely to gather distance.

"I don´t know what you were thinking Makki, but I´m definitely not in this shit, you guys can fuck each other and sell it or something like that, but I´m definitely not joining." The four were unimpressed with your little speech and so the first one walked to you. It was the chocolate brown hair man with the shitty grin. He's tall that's for sure. His long slender fingers creeped up your face to let it rest on your cheek, where his thumb made little circles on it. It was calming, and you wanted to lean more into the warm palm, but you remembered yourself who he was, a stranger who came here to fuck you. "Come on." His voice was softer than from the one before, like honey, but still demanding. His hand was gone from your cheek while you got pulled with him on the sofa. All of them were now around you're laying figure on the couch. Their eyes looked hungry as if they didn´t get anything to eat the last weeks.

There were hands, grabbing for you. All of your clothes were gone in one eye-blink. Too many hands grabbed at your flesh, your thighs, your breast.

Now one of the four faces was right before you, you could see the eyes, their eyes glowed with desire, and it made your legs tremble. The stare was intense. Your heartbeat increased, your felt like you couldn´t breathe. The one from before had a huge grin on his face, it was the grinning cat. His hand was now on your face and began stroking your cheek. His long slender fingers were a little bit cold, but you felt every move on your exposed skin. They came closer to your cunt, grazed over your lips, and parted them, to let his middle finger sink in. Your legs kicked up, tried to close your core, but they were firmly attached to the sofa through the legs of the person opposite from you. His eyes studied your face, while he sunk a second finger into you, which made you whimper. You didn´t want to give them the satisfaction to hear you moan, but the brown-haired man noticed how you held back your moans, his slender fingers dragged along your walls and hit a point that made your eyes roll back. "Come on, let us hear your beautiful moans" His teasing voice rang through your ears. Another pair of hands grabbed one of your tits to knead them, while one of the fingers grazed over your nipple. You tried your best to hold back but with two stimulations it was all too much, so a little whine fell from your lips. The two digits which pumped in and out of you got faster and faster, your hands clamped on the bicep of the chocolate brown-haired man, and with another pump, the wave of euphoria washed over you, the pace of the digits inside your cunt getting bit for bit slower until they slipped out of you. Your eyes traveled up to the face of the man who just fingered the soul out of you. He lead his fingers to his face and licked them clean. His mouth around his fingers, he just hummed and closed his eyes. "Now you had your turn, get off her Shittykawa" a voice came from behind you. The weight above you disappeared, and two hands pulled you up, so you stumbled into the strong chest of Iwaizumi if your memory was right. His strong hands wrapped around your flesh of your thighs to lift you up. Your legs wrapped automatically around his strong torso, while your arms slid around his neck to get a steady grip. His smiling face was now directly before you while he walked you two to your bedroom, the other three men followed in one straight line.

Without noticing you arrived at your bed, and with that Iwaizumi let you go and you fell with your back into your soft mattress. It was warm and comfy but not with the four men around you, staring at you like a piece of meat.

Iwaizumi was right in front of you looking down at you. His hands wandered down to the hem of his T-shirt to let it roll over his head. His bare chest was now in your sight and you had to admit, he was a good built. His slow steps to you let wince, but faster than you thought he was above you and pressed a kiss against your lips. The kiss ended fast and pulled away from you to look you in the eyes only to attack your lips again. This time he was fast, demanding, and let you gasp for air. His tongue just pushed in and roamed your mouth. While one hand held himself above you, his other hand wandered over your whole body until it was at your center. The sudden touch let you moan into the kiss. His lips moved from your lips down to your neck, while he left a trail of saliva behind. Then again he released himself from your skin, his hot breath fanned against your lips. Your eyes couldn´t solve them from his until another voice came in. The tallest of the four, and he was butt naked now, his hard cock with a little bit pre-cum on the tip.

"Iwaizumi I think we should fill her real good, shouldn´t we?" The addressed one looked back at the looming figure behind him, only to nod and slowly crawl from you. The eyes of the other man ranked over your body only to comment a little "On all four bunny." You behaved and crawled on your weak limps. Your butt was now in his direction, and you immediately recognized his big warm hand on your hip. "Be careful with her Matssun" Iwaizumi said, now before you, his cock right in front of your nose. But your head turned around to look what would happen next, you were nervous, you had to say they weren´t small. "Eyes to me Princess." the voice before you mumbled while his hand grabbed your chin to pull it in his direction.

His warm eyes calmed you down a bit, but your eyes cramped together violently when you noticed that the man behind you now pushed his head in. Your hands clamped on your bedsheets, but Iwaizumi shushed you, while his hand stroked your head calmly. "Fuck, she's so tight-" Matssun now hissed. "Or you're just too big man." a voice rang trough the room, probably Makki.

But the words didn´t help because he sank into you more while his hands grabbed your hips. There would be red marks tomorrow but you didn´t care less at the moment. Your happy that he at least gave you time to get used to his size. And after a little moment, you felt him bottom out. You two groaned at the same time. His length touched all points you could only dream about touching with your little fingers, but the stretch was tough to handle. And when he dragged his length out of you only to push it right back in, it was too much for you, your moan was loud, animalistic and hungry. "Got that on camera guys" Makkis voice rang in your ears. But when you understood those words your eyes widened while you tried to raise your voice. "Makki n-no, AH- filming please." Your voice was quiet but he understood you, he was right in front of you, filming your face, while his hand drove through your hair. "Oh but y/n you said I need to make money and thats my way." His voice sounded nice but he fucking filmed you, if some of your friends would see this, they would hate you.

The sharp thrusts from Matssun hit your g point, and let you see stars every damn time, you couldn´t even bring a correct sentence out of your mouth. Iwaizumi took advantage of it to sink his cock into your warm mouth. The slurp noises plus the skin slapping filled the room, mixed with groans. There was a stinging pain because of the size of the man behind you. His length hit so deep inside of you, it was unbelievable. Iwaizumi on the other hand held your head up with his hand in your hair while his hip snapped recently into your mouth against your throat. Your saliva ran out of your mouth and rolled over your chin while you struggled to breathe. You've wanted to concentrate, trying to breathe through your nose but the sharp thrusts into your cunt made you moan and destroyed your try. Your knot in your abdomen needed just a little bit more to snap, and it did after another sharp thrust from Matssun. You're moans vibrated through your mound and because of that, Iwaizumi groaned too. His dark growl echoed in the room while you just saw stars. A sudden slap on your ass let your eyes shot open. The hand traveled up and sneaked around your upper body to grasp a breast, the man behind you leaned over you, his breath fanned against your neck. "You're perfect little girl, so perfect. Makki should be happy that you're his roommate." The dark voice rang in your ear while his pace increased, the overstimulation made your arms tremble. Your strength left your body, and only Iwaizumis hand in your hair and the strong hands from the man who pounded into you. A light made you look up, it was Makki again filming your ass while Matssun drilled into you, they both slapped your ass while they laughed about something, but you couldn´t care less, you were overwhelmed with everything. Even when Iwaizumi came right in your throat, you just swallowed it with a little cough and licked him clean. He patted your head, while praising you. The overstimulation was something new for you, but it didn´t felt that good as you thought it would. When Matssun tightens his grip on your skin, you felt his semen spilling into you, deep down. After some lazy strokes, he pulled out of you with a hiss. The sudden emptiness made you wince, but you got pulled against a bare chest in no time. Your back pressed against the strong torso, a hot breath fanned against your neck. "It's my turn I think", the warm voice made your hair on your neck stand up, it was kinda intense.

One hand stroked over your stomach and went higher to end up on one boob. The thumb stroked over you're nipple while his other arm held you up because you were still a little bit weak on your feet. Your head leaned on the shoulder of the man while you just enjoyed the nice feeling on your breast. It was relaxing after the torture you've been through. A little chuckle let the body under you vibrate, and it let you made your eyes open to look up at these brown eyes which stared down at you. His brown eyes shined, while he pulled you with him on the bed, you were on top now. His hands followed your curves up to your breasts where he went down again to rest his long fingers on your ass. Your hands in contrast were placed on his upper body to hold yourself up. Your limps felt tired, but you felt his erection on your cunt, ready to start. So when he raised you by your butt, you took all your strength again and lowered yourself onto his member. His sigh came out trembling, while you just closed your eyes and pulled your hands together on his chest. Without noticing he bottomed out and lift you up again only to let you fall in one fluid motion. Your moan filled the whole room, your walls clamped around Oikawa's cock, too deep in your pleasure, you didn´t notice the looming presence behind you until something tapped at your back entrance. Your head turned to the back to see Makki grinning at you. But your head got turned around fast again with a hand on your chin. The grip was tight, it made your head turn around and look down at Oikawa's lust-filled face. "Look at me when I fuck you senseless", his voice sounded so collected, in contrast to his facial expression. But you nodded at him and tried to have a better grip so you clamped your hands in his brown locks which let him groan. The cock at your back entrance entered now and went deeper and deeper. It was a little bit painful, but it was an insane feeling to be filled on both entrances. A long fuck escaped your mouth while Oikawa still moved into you.

You didn´t think that your room would be ever used for something like a fivesome, but here you are, sitting on a random man who's fucking you, and your roommate inside of you. Both of them drilled into you with such a force that made you see stars again. Your body fell onto the man under you, too weak to hold yourself up. But you got held up again from a strong hand on your throat. Oikawa has his hand on your throat putting a little bit of pressure on it to cut your air supply. "Come on, you should put in a little effort too little cutie." His smile let it looks like a simple statement but the dark undertone gave you an idea that it wasn't a plea. So you tried your best to hold yourself upon his chest, and also to get more oxygen into your lungs again. His hand wandered down to your breast to knead it. But you couldn´t breathe a sigh of release, because another hand grabbed your hair to pull your head to the back. Your neck bent back while your scalp burned like hell. The hot breath of the one behind you, the one you trusted. His trusts didn´t lose strength while he attached his lips to your neck to suck. Your eyes rolled back, the pain on your scalp still burned but the pleasure overwhelmed you like a big wave. "Looks like my lil roommate loves our cocks huh?" Makkis voice behind you let your eyes focus on the face under you again, your moans rolled over your lips, again and again, the hand on your hair loosened to grab your hip.

Makki slammed his hips one final time to load himself into you. His moans filled your ears, as you felt his semen ran out of you. One final pat on your ass and he let himself glide out of you, while the other one hit your spongy point on and on. His hands roamed your body, over your curves, to your ass where they went up again to slide along your shoulders to your head, where they pulled your head down to let your head rest right next to his. Your hands automatically found his hair to pull on it, it felt so soft between your fingers. It made him wince but he picked up his pace. You felt it, you had to cum the next moment but there is a tiny bit that was missing, so you tried to lean up a little bit and grab his soft hand. You pulled it to where you two were connected, but he just smiled at you, and let his hand grab yours. "If you want something princess, use your words"

"P-please help me- fuck-" his sharp thrusts never ended, but he smiled satisfied and let his hand glide to your clitoris to rub fast circles on it. That was the missing piece and with one final snap your knot explodes and the wave of euphoria came over you. You didn´t even notice the warm spurts of semen that got shot right into you. You only felt the long arms which pulled you up to let you rest on your warm bed, the voices echoed through your head but you didn't notice much because you fell asleep quickly, too exhausted to care what the four would do now with the video material or with you.

#tw.noncon #tw.fivesome #haikyuu #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #oikawa smut #dark haikyuu #iwaizumi smut #matsukawa issei #oikawa tooru #oikawa x reader #hanamaki smut #matsukawa smut #hq smut #matsukawa x reader

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blogevaawrites · 4 years ago

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BIG DEAL

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Warnings: smut, cheating, angst

Summary: After being away of you boyfriend for three weeks, you come to Chris´s house after he had thrown a party where you met a girl you haven’t see ever. The beginning of the relationship was unconventional so you couldn’t do anything else but suspect.

Part 1

He was getting closer to my neck, his lips kissing my neck from behind and his cold hands went to hold my hips strongly. I missed him so much.

I turned around to embrace his neck and finally get to kiss those lips I been craving so much for. His breath stank of alcohol, shitty beer, and tequila shots but that didn't matter because it was just the result of a good night of friends, football and fun.

“What did Ashley tell you?” it wasn’t a complete innocent question, I just wanted to know about that because she was talking to him without almost any distance between them. That wasn’t usually normal. But to be fair, when he gets drunk, he tends to be more affectionate.

“She wanted to stay in tonight. I guess she didn’t know you were coming” he said calmly as he kept working on my neck and his hands holding my butt strongly.

“And what did you tell her?” I kept asking, caressing his arms and back.

“I said yes, but then she changed her mind” he answered quickly “why she didn’t want to stay?”

I asked again “I don’t know” he wishpered

“And that was everything what she said?” I was about to caress his hair but he took my hands between us, stopping all his movements.

“What do you want to know, doll?” he was tired of my questions but he kept calm.

“Nothing, it´s just...she was weirdly close to you” that wasn’t all I was thinking about.

“Are you jealous? That´s why you are being so annoying?” he smiled, and he started to kiss me again.

“No! It´s not that! Stop! I’m just asking because you both looked too much friendly for being just friends” he started to look mad then.

We have had this conversation before, not about Ashley but his attitude around girls. He was very flirty and sometimes it seems that I came just in time to keep him out of trouble.

“What? Honey, come on! She just wanted to know if she could stay in tonight too” As soon as he said that he shut up.

“Was she here last night?” I asked him losing my shit.

“Yes.. she... just called me, we went to get a few drinks and she couldn’t drive back to his house, so she stayed in” that sounded so unlike him. He doesn’t make friends quickly because he doesn’t trust people easily.

“You went out with her, a girl you just met, and you took her to your house because she got drunk” I tried to make him see that from my point of view.

“Yes, what´s wrong with that?” he asked, normally it wouldn’t be a problem, that was what I would do too, but he doesn’t do that with anyone but his friends, he doesn’t like to have people knowing where he lives.

“Where did you both meet?” I kept asking, because anyone of his friends did know her, he didn’t answer “You bring to this house someone you don’t even know well.” I said.

"So, what's? It's not a big deal" he hadn’t lied to me once, but something inside was yelling at me not to believe him.

He was about to move closer to me, but I was angry, and he knew it. He stopped his attempt and let me leave the room.

Quickly I got a shower and put on my pajama. It was quite cold in Boston but the fireplace kept the room warm so I could just put my black silk chamise on and headed to bed.

I could hear him moving around the house, I guess he started to clean out the mess that he and his friends made earlier. I knew he was just avoiding me.

About an hour later, I heard his footsteps getting closer to his bedroom´s door, he stopped for a while in the doorframe, I could feel his glance at me, he stepped in the room and start to undress himself. He sat on his side of the bed and he stood there quiet, for a few minutes. He got under the mattress lightly touching my calf. God, I missed him so much.

“Come on, hon! I don´t want to be like this, we haven´t seen each other in three weeks” he said pecking me around my upper back, getting his whole body closer to mine “and I missed you” he whispered in my ear “every part of me have missed you very, very much” he kept whispering and rubbing his male member against my butt.

I didn´t stop him, I let myself go to his will, he turned me over my back, facing him, a drunk smirk appeared on his lips. He kept kissing my collarbones, my breast while his hands were flying to my thighs, holding them forcefully. He stopped realizing my lack of movement, then he lifted his body to free mine and asked, “Do you want this?” he looked confused. I have missed him so much; I have missed being touched by him.

“Yes” I answered him, bringing my arms to the back of his neck and push him closer to me. He started to move again over me. I was mad but needed for him.

His hands started to roll down my panties while his mouth assaulted mine. He lifted his hips to let go my panties off of me and positioned himself again between my legs.

His lips were sucking my right nipple and his left hand massage rudely my left boob.

When he was drunk sex was just hotter, shameless, and quite nasty. He was normally a little bit hotly rude during sex, but when alcohol took over his body, it was mind-blowing.

Thankfully, he got into bed just in his underwear so it was easy to slide my hand to get rid of his boxers.

He stopped his movements and brought both of my hands up, holding them just with one and the other one came down to rub my clit, he knew my body so well that it took less than two minutes to have me shaking and singing his name, in his bed, in his house.

No matter what, he always could make me believe that we were the only humans alive, he could take me to moon and back just holding me in his arms.

He chucked and took his fingers in his mouth, sucking my wetness. He kissed me, letting me taste myself of his fingers, he let go my arms, rolling over and taking me with him, over him.

My breast was fully exposed, all for him. I straddled him, holding myself up by arms extended against the headboard. His hands were cupping my ass up while mine was taking his hard dick to push it inside of me.

I just could moan for the relieve the tension that my body was feeling. I started to move slowly, riding him while my walls were stretching to take him completely. His hands were on my hips, his fingers marking my skin while he waited for me to be totally warmed up. When he could feel himself completely inside, his hands pushed my hips up and down harder, controlling the pace, knowing what I need to cum.

His eyes were shut trying not to cum before me. I lost the stability falling against his chest, his lips went to suck my neck and his arms up to hold me from my upper back, when I couldn´t move his hips collapse against mine until I couldn´t take it anymore. My inner walls clenched around him trying to push his dick out of me, and I came hard.

He holds tightly and rolled over again, leaving me under him. He took my still shaking legs over his shoulders and pressed his dick in me hard to get his own relief. He fucked me deliciously slow until he come inside of me.

“I’m glad you could make it here” he said with his now soft cock still inside me, and his hands caressing my tights. “Me too” it was all I could say, I was very happy to finally could see him, but the early event was stuck in my head.

He rolled to his side of the bed and I ran to the bathroom. Instead of clean myself up with a cloth I got another shower. When I was back to bed, he was already sleeping peacefully.

I knew something was wrong, for some reason I just couldn´t believe him so I took his pants from the floor lookingfor his phone in the pockets, I wasn´t proud of what I was about to do but the voice inside my head didn´t let me sleep. Instead of his phone I found a black lace tong and obviously it was not mine.

It was too late to go to a hotel, and even if it wasn’t I didn´t knew one nearby and I was too tired and a little bit drunk to drive back to New York.

I left the room and went to the living room.

In the morning I still was in the couch watching another episode of Crime Files. I didn’t hear him entering the living room until he spoke.

“What are you doing? Searching for new ways to get away with my murder?” He joked but for a few seconds I thought he knew about my discovery in his pants. I looked at him completely blank.

“Have you cheated on me? I asked abruptly

“What? No! What are you talking about?” he looked confused “Is this about Ashley? You don´t believe me!” suddenly he was mad at me.

“I am just asking. Just answer the question. Have you cheated on me?” my voice was calm. Coversely, his voice was louder.

“Are you fucking serious? Have I ever done anything like that to you before?” he looked so heartbroken that for a second I wanted to hold him.

“You are not telling all about Ashley, so I don’t know” his folded arms fell to each side of his body. Then his expression changed, he looked sad “No, I have not cheated on you.” he said that and leave the room.

I truly thought I hurt him. But he had a tong in his pocket.

I followed him back to the room and threw the evidence at him.

“So, you collect panties now?” I said “New Hobby? Because it is a fucking weird one” I got bitter. He looked upset but he kept quiet.

“Did something happed the night she stayed here?” I was afraid to hear the answer, but I needed to know it.

“No” He responded quickly.

“Why do you have her underwear?” I felt I was begging him for information, and I didn’t like to have to do this.

“She gave it to me” he answered unconsciously, he wasn’t going to say anything else until he had to do it.

“Have you fuck her?”

“When?” probably he still was drunk when he said that because he muttered a curse word.

“So that’s where you know her from, right? She is one of your “friends. I thought you haven’t talk to them since we were together” in the beginning of our relationship I knew he had this kind of agreements. It wasn’t until we were officially a couple that he stopped seeing them, at least that’s what he told me.

#chris evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans fanfiction #big deal #fanfic #chris evans x you #smut #angst #chris evans smut #chris evans fluff #chris evans and reader #chris evans angst #chris evans fic #fiction #WW

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ssa-thotchnerr · 4 years ago

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A Certain Hopelessness

Aaron Hotchner x Daughter!reader

Warnings: angst, kidnapping, violence, swearing, sad!hotch

a/n: some sad Hotch stuff for your angst needs!! Also, there is a creepy unsub here, just a warning. This is set in around s7 and the reader is 15-16

word count: 2.1k

—

There was a feeling of hopelessness that had settled within the BAU over the past 2 days. A feeling of helplessness that was most felt by Aaron Hotchner, who'd been listening to his daughter screaming in pain, begging for him to come and save her. The whole team had the same thought in their head;

They couldn't come and save you because you'd been hidden so well.

But that didn't mean that they weren't going to try, they would try their hardest to find and save the little girl they'd watch grow up for years. But they also know that they couldn't save every single person, they just hoped that you wouldn't be that next person that they couldn't save. No one had even tried to get Hotch to move from his position at the round table, he'd told them that he wouldn't leave you, even though you had no way of knowing that he was there.

He would always be with you.

—

You'd pulled your knees up to your chest to try and obtain some body heat, since sitting on a cold, concrete floor of a basement where it was always constantly breezy didn't give you much of a high temperature. You wished that you hadn't left school early, maybe then you wouldn't be in your current situation.

"Good morning," You looked up at the door at the top of the stairs in fear, seeing the shadow of your kidnapper standing in the door. You winced as you pushed yourself into a corner, trying to make yourself as small as possible. He laughed as he stepped down the creaky stairs, and you saw the silver glint of a knife in his hands. "I hope you slept well, you got a long day ahead of ya'."

"Pl-please don-don't hurt me, I-I won't try to run again! I-I promise," You stuttered, fear filled eyes looking up at him. Through the little light in the basement, you could see the malicious grin on his face. "I'll-I'll do whatever you want, just-just please don't ki-kill me." You begged.

"Oh honey, I don't know if you got this, but I'm not gonna kill you, mainly because I wanna hurt your daddy," He said. "Make him feel like the awful person he is."

"This is about my dad?" You asked him, letting yourself relax a tiny bit. He nodded and crouched down in front of you, pulling you forward by the collar of your no bloodied hoodie.

"Damn right this is about your dad," He snarled, pushing you back into the corner roughly. "Don't you feel awful when he leaves you and that little brother of yours own your own? But then again, he worries about what you'll do to the only child he cares about, he couldn't give a shit about you." You blinked and couldn't help but furrow your eyebrows, feeling your heart sink. You shook your head as you looked up at him.

"Wh-what?" You asked quietly. He chuckled at your confusion and obvious hurt, his plan coming together. He was reversing everything you'd ever known, he knew that your dad loved you and Jack equally, but he could easily make you believe that your dad hated you with every single fibre of his being. He knew you were easily manipulated, and he knew exactly what to say to get you upset.

"Don't act like you don't know, darling. Your dad despises you, he hasn't even got that team looking after you," He said. Your eyes filled with tears as you thought about being left with this man a minute longer, but it hurt even more to think about that your dad didn't care about you enough to look for you. "They left on a case this morning, he told them you didn't matter."

"You-you're lying," You didn't know if you were telling him that he was, or you were trying to convince yourself that he was. "My-my dad wouldn't leave anyone." You said. He chuckled and came closer to you.

"Well, maybe you aren't anyone, you've never appeared to be to your dad," Tears leaked from your eyes as he'd finally, truly broken you down. "Why are you crying? I haven't even started hurting you yet."

—

Hotch couldn't bare to watch this man hurl abuse and untrue thoughts at you much longer, he couldn't watch you be broken down anymore. He shut his eyes as he heard you start screaming, presumably in pain. There was a knock on the door, Hotch spun around on the chair he was sitting on to see who was there.

"Sir, we think we've found a possible suspect on who has Y/N," Garcia told him. "Based on what he'd said in the video earlier, we found that he believes your a bad father to her and Jack, and that she'd be better off with him," She said. It didn't take a criminal profiler to see the hurt flash on the normally stoic Aaron Hotchner's face. "So, taking information with males that had lost a child, we found Craig Brock, he lost his daughter Leona in a car crash last year, And she shares a very, very striking resemblance to your daughter,” Garcia watched as Hotch took in what she was saying. “And with that, Reid determined tha5 he wants you to feel the same helplessness that he had felt when he lost his daughter.” She finished, sliding a picture of the girl across the table to her boss. Hotch took the picture and saw the resemblance, he sighed. He didn't want you to share the same fate as this girl, he didn't want to lose you.

"Do you have an address yet?" He asked.

"I'm working on it sir, but you should have her back by the end of the day," Garcia said, smiling at Hotch, who gave her a small sliver of a smile in return. "You should probably turn that off, or at least go home and see Jack, if anything happens with Y/N or our Unsub, you'll be the first to know." Hotch sighed as he turned the TV off, turning the volume down and standing up.

“I never thought the day I’d be taking orders from you would come, Garcia,”

—

You grunted as you finally built up enough strength to rip the sleeve off of your hoodie so you could wrap it around your waist where you had been slashed. His words had echoed in your head since he’d even muttered them, did your dad even care about you? Were the team even looking for you? Hell, were they even in the country? You broke down into tears again, your blood coated hands coming up to cover your mouth. They fell back down to your sides when the door was yanked open, almost coming off of its hinges.

“Get up!” He snarled, huffing out in anger when you pushed yourself further into the corner, making yourself as small as possible. “I said, get up.” He practically growled. You sat still, crying out in fear when he grabbed the collar of your hoodie and pulled you up onto your feet roughly.

“Okay! Okay! I-I’m sorry,” You whimpered, holding your hands out in fear. He dragged you up the stairs, you crying all the way up as the pain from your wounds shot up.

“Looks like I was wrong about your dad not caring for you, he and his team are on their way here,” He said in your ear, his arm snaking around your neck and then his free hand holding a gun to your temple. You were shaking, your entire body trembling with fear. “He’s not gonna know what to do when he comes through that door, you’re cut up like a piece of paper.”

“He’ll probably fucking kill you,” You snarled. He was taken back by your sudden change in attitude, and righted his arm around your neck and pushed the barrel of the gun closer to your head.

“Anymore of that, and I’ll put a bullet through your skull,” He said in your ear.

That shut you up quickly.

It felt like hours before the door creaked open, and from the back room, you could see that Emily, Morgan and Reid were entering the house.

“Help! Help!” You screamed, only for a hand to be clamped over your mouth and to be thrown to the floor. His foot was on your neck, a gun pointed between your eyes. Emily, Morgan and Reid all cornered him, their eyes watching as you struggled to breathe, coughing and gasping as you tried to bring air into your lungs. You were beaten black and blue, and covered in blood, they almost didn’t recognise you.

“Craig Brock, let Y/N go,” Emily said calmly. “We know what happened to Leona, and we know that there was nothing you could do to help your daughter. Do you really wanna put another father through the pain of losing their child?” She asked him. In a moment of hesitancy, he removed his foot from your neck, allowing you to cough and then slide away from him. In what seemed as though a move of panic, he shot down at the floor, narrowly missing your head, but just clipping the side of your ear. A ringing noise deafened you, and you screamed.

—

Hotch felt his heart drop as he heard a gunshot and then a scream. Emily had ordered him to stay outside, she didn’t want him doing something that he would end up regretting. Minutes later, the front door opened again, only this time you were there, Spencer’s arm around your waist to support you and your arm around his shoulder. Walking out of there, you looked so small and scared. There was no way that Hotch couldn’t run towards you, gently taking you from Spencer.

“Da-daddy?” There was a small smile on your face as you saw the blurry figure of your dad. Hotch smiled in relief and nodded, arms going around you gently so’s not to disturb anymore of your cuts or slashes. “You-you came.” You stuttered.

“Of course I came, I wasn’t gonna leave you, honey,” He assured you. You couldn’t properly hear what your dad was saying, but you could make it out. “Alright, let’s get you to the hospital.”

“Can you carry me?” You asked, holding your arms out to him. Hotch nodded and lifted you gently, holding you close like if he let you go, he’d lose you once again.

“Can I see Y/N yet?” Jack asked his dad. Hotch smiled as he nodded at his youngest child, who was clearly eager to have his older sister back. Hotch was getting Jack from school while you were asleep at home, with every door and window locked to improve your safety.

“Yeah, she got home this morning after I dropped you off at school, she’s been missing you too,” Hotch told Jack. When they got home, Jack practically shot upstairs. “Jack, do not go into Y/N’s room.” Hotch called up to him. Jack sighed as he waited for his dad to come up the stairs.

“Can I go in yet?” Hotch laughed as he nodded, opening the door to your room and sighing at you when he saw you were now awake, Greys Anatomy playing on your TV. “Y/N!”

“Hey bubs!” You cheered, smiling at your brother as you pulled your brother up onto your bed. Hotch sat down on the end of your bed and took the TV remote turning it off. “Dad.” You whined.

“You’re supposed to be asleep, Y/N,” He reminded you. You sighed as you flopped back onto your bed.

“Can I stay here?” Jack asked, looking at your dad. Hotch shook his head.

“No, Jack, Y/N has to try and get some sleep,” He said. You pulled Jack to sit beside you and you both pouted up at your dad, who sighed as he shook his head. “Fine, fine.”

“We love you, dad.”

—

#angst #criminal minds #hotch x daughter!reader #hotch x reader #hotchner!reader #agent hotchner #criminal minds fanfiction #jack hotchner #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #Aaron Hotchner x daughter!reader

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dovechim · 4 years ago

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blessed be the fruit 01 (m)

➾ 3.6k, taehyung x reader, future OT7

➾ loosely based off The Handmaid’s Tale. In the New World Order that is Gilead, your life depends on your ability to bring a new one into existence.

➾ warnings: unprotected sex, mentions of infertility, pregnancy, mentions of dubcon

➾ a/n: I had serious hesitation and doubts about this. but after a three month break and looking at it from a distance, I still want to go ahead with this AU because I want to draw attention to the themes of reclaiming agency & identity whilst under oppression. So I hope that you could get the message I’m trying to convey rather than focus on the noncon indubitably present in this AU.

I'm saying this to clearly outline my intentions, for I do not condone rape or non-consensual sex whatsoever.

that being said, I have plans to turn this into an ot7 series fic, but here is a little starter just to kind of test the waters a little :-) if you’re here, I've already warned you about what you’re signing up for, so please skip this if uncomfortable and refrain from sharing any malicious thoughts with me.

Crimson is the colour that denotes life. But these days, only the rare few have the privilege to don that colour; the deep red hue of the cloak that is meant to simultaneously draw attention to, and also hide your figure.

Handmaids are to be seen and not heard. They are to speak only when spoken to. The white wings that adorn either side of your head keep your gaze lowered reverently at all times. Meek and subdued, but always watching, waiting.

The supermarket is quiet and orderly as you stroll through the aisles with your partner close by your side. You have never seen more than a glimpse of her face, neither have you heard more than a few words of her voice other than the greetings you exchange when you meet every morning.

Even the task of grocery shopping, which you used to enjoy before the rise of Gilead, has become nothing but a sham. There is no decision to be made. Your purchases are entirely dependent on the coupons given to you by the Wife of your Household. Today, it’s the usual rice and vegetables, with one or two oranges thrown in as a request from the Cook.

“Under His Eye,” you murmur as you pass the other Handmaids and their partners, all doing their shopping with their partners.

You can’t see it with your head lowered, but there are armed guards stationed throughout the grocery store with guns cocked and menacing stares. The Eyes are always watching and listening, and you begin to feel suffocated.

“I believe I have everything I need,” you speak in a lowered voice, turning slightly to your partner, thinking of how to best hurry her along without making it too obvious. “Is there anything else you lack?”

“I too, am done, OfJeon,” your partner replies back, and you have to physically stop yourself from flinching.

Even though it is the proper way to address another Handmaid, you avoid using the names bestowed upon you by their Household’s Commanders. You try your best to not associate yourself with that name, for fear that you might come to forget your own in due time, but it gets more and more difficult as the days go by.

‘Of’ denoting possession, and ‘Jeon’ for your Commander’s last name. Put together, they form your identity, the identity that Gilead has carved out for you as an object.

The moment you forget your real name is the moment you lose yourself.

“Let us depart, OfPark,” you say with tightly clenched lips, grateful for the white wings that hide your bitter expression as you turn toward the exit of the grocery store.

Your basket is heavy with groceries, and the wind whips up your red cloak the moment you step outside. You glance up for a moment to see the gray skies, feel the wind on your cheeks before you dip your head down again, cautious of exposing your face for more than a second.

Here, to blend in is to survive.

“Have you made all the necessary preparation, OfJeon?” Your partner asks as she links her arm through yours, and you begin the slow march home.

You drag your feet slightly, hoping to prolong the walk. Aside from the brief half hour of grocery shopping every day, you hardly get a chance to be outside. To remember what the real world feels like, even though it is changing so quickly every day. You’re too busy trying to memorise the way the wind feels against your cloak that you are caught slightly offguard by OfPark’s question.

“Preparation?” Your voice comes out slightly unsure.

“For the Ceremony, of course,” comes her reply, and you can’t stop yourself from inhaling sharply.

Is it already that time of the month? How could you have lost track?

A lump forms in your throat as you attempt to calm yourself. “Yes, OfPark. Everything is ready.”

You are lying through your teeth, but the thing is, interactions are kept to such a bare minimum that no one knows you well enough to know that you are lying. If today is the day of the Ceremony, it means a visit to the doctor’s this afternoon. Your breath speeds up at the thought of it, palms becoming sweaty.

OfPark comes to a stop outside of your house, and unlinks her arm from yours.

“Blessed be the fruit,” she says by way of farewell.

“May the Lord open,” the automatic response falls from your lips without much thinking.

Then the gates open, and you enter the house quietly, setting your basket on the kitchen counter. You can hear footsteps coming from the main hallway as soon as you take your white bonnet off.

“You’re back, I was just about to send a guard to fetch you.” In her royal blue dress that tapers at her waist and falls nearly to her ankles, the Wife of the Household is always neatly pressed and well put together. Kim Yeri fixes you with an annoyed glare as she brushes her silky blonde hair behind her ear. You haven’t known her by that name in a long while, because like any other woman, she is only to be addressed by her title in society.

“Did you forget your appointment?” She demands, crossing her arms. She has never been outrightly mean to you, yet her manner is far from friendly. But its totally understandable, of course. Which woman would be content knowing her husband was required by law to fuck a baby into someone else?

“No, Madam. The line at the supermarket was-“

“Get in the car. We’re already late.” Yeri is not interested in your excuse as she cuts you off, turning to grab her purse, and her dress flows gracefully behind her slim figure as she walks to the door.

You barely have time to put your bonnet back on, fixing it so that it is presentable once more before following her outside. Yeri is already in the back seat of the black SUV car, and you climb in beside her. You catch a glimpse of Driver Jung’s eyes in the mirror, but quickly glance away before Yeri can catch you.

Drivers aren’t allowed to have Handmaids of their own. Instead, they live to serve the Household of their Commanders. As the car pulls smoothly out of the front gate, you begin to wonder who Driver Jung was before Gilead. If he had loved ones that he lost. If he too, was slowly starting to forget the person he was back then.

The blacked-out windows of the car don’t allow you to see anything outside. It is a tense journey made in complete silence as you can feel Yeri’s annoyance slowly mounting into a barely withheld fury. It is the same every month. You try to sympathise with her, to put yourself in her shoes as someone who has to accompany the woman her beloved husband is to have sex with to a fertility check-up.

When the car stops, Driver Jung rushes out of his seat to open the door for Yeri first, then he crosses to your side and opens your door. You thank him with a shy nod, careful to keep your eyes fixed on the ground as you follow Yeri into the clinic.

The waiting room has about one or two other Wife-Handmaid pairs. As you walk in, you catch the eye of one of the Handmaids who is heavily pregnant. Her swollen belly protrudes from her red cloak, and her hands look so small in comparison as she strokes her bump reverently. The Wife sits beside her, a look of pride on her face as if she were the one pregnant.

It is such a rare sight to see a pregnant Handmaid these days. Even though the Handmaids were specially selected because of their fertility, your lack of a baby bump is bearing down on you. Each Handmaid is given three chances at each assignment. Three chances to conceive before they are moved to the next Commander. Three assignments in total before she is sent to the Wastelands.

Lining the walls are portraits of Commanders dressed in black, and their Wives dressed in blue, holding little bundles wrapped in white. The couples are all smiling with joy and pride in their eyes.

The Handmaids are nowhere to be seen in the happy families of three.

You don’t know if you should envy or pity the heavily pregnant Handmaid.

Thankfully, due to Yeri’s- or should you say your Commander’s- high status, you are bumped to the front of the line. The receptionist tells you to enter the doctor’s room, but Yeri waves you on with disinterest.

“I can wait outside here, can’t I? She won’t dare try anything,” she says this last part with cold frown, settling herself down on one of the waiting chairs.

“Of course, Mrs Jeon,” the receptionist says with a pleasant smile, then turns to show you into the doctor’s office.

You read the name on the door before you are shuffled into the white, sterile room.

Dr Kim Taehyung.

Two female assistants help you to take off your red cloak and dress you in the standard white gown. You sit on the chair, legs spread wide into the stirrups. The assistants lower a privacy curtain that conceals your face, leaving your lower half anonymous as you hear the door open, then the doctor’s footsteps.

You don’t even get to see his face before you feel his touch on your knees. Dr Kim Taehyung clears his throat before he moves to the side, dipping his gloved hands into a small dish of what you can only assume to be lubrication. The white privacy curtain is nothing but a thin sheet, so you can still make out his figure as he bustles about. You can even see the slope of his nose as he turns his side profile to you for a second.

It’s not until he speaks that you are jolted out of your thoughts by how deep his voice is. “How are you today?”

“I’m good,” you answer hesitantly, unconsciously crinkling your medical gown in your fist. No one has ever asked how you’re doing.

“That’s great, now let’s have a look, shall we?” You can hear the smile in his voice, and you feel your body relax a little.

He seems to be kind enough, this Dr Kim Taehyung. Much different from the doctor you had on your first visit. Dr Kim Taehyung has his bedside manner down pat, and even though you can’t see his face, he makes you feel a little bit less tense. His voice soothes you as he talks, saying random things about the weather as he spreads your legs.

Dr Kim Taehyung positions himself in between your thighs, and you feel his gloved hands dangerously close to the apex of them. “So, it says here on your chart that tonight is Ceremony night for you.”

“Yes,” you swallow hard at the reminder. “It is.”

“And how are the Jeons treating you? Everything okay at home?” You can feel him spread your lips with his fingers, starting to poke and prod around as you close your eyes.

“Yes. They treat me very well,” you answer.

He must have caught the monotony of your voice, because his fingers pause.

“You know, you can talk to me. If there’s anything you need.” His concerned voice is like a beacon of light, but your eyes dart around the room cautiously.

You think about the millions of things that you could tell him. How unfair it is to be reduced to a walking womb, and yet, how desperate you are, knowing that this is your third month at the Jeon’s household, and if it doesn’t work…

You swallow all of these thoughts with your fists clenched. You can never let your guard down. He might be one of the Eyes, pretending to be kind so that you might let slip a blasphemous comment about your Commander. There’s no way you’ll incriminate yourself like that, so you just keep your mouth shut. After a while, he goes back to examining you.

“… Alright then,” Dr Kim Taehyung says in a resigned tone. “Let me just check you over and make sure everything is good for tonight. This might feel a little uncomfortable, but just relax for me alright?”

You can’t help but tense up, ironically, at his instruction. But then you feel the warmth of one of his ungloved hands on your thigh, and as he bids you to relax again, he slides his fingers into you, and you can feel his fingers, thick and solid. Your thighs twitch, coming into contact with his hips that are in between them, and he lets out a gentle laugh.

“It’s okay… just a little more.”

Then, he withdraws his fingers slowly, and you let out a breath of relief. It didn’t feel bad, definitely not like the first visit where you felt violated. Dr Kim Taehyung’s gentle and respectful manner is… almost pleasant. You’ve long forgotten what it’s like to be treated like a human being, and not just an object.

“Looks like everything’s in shape, you’re due to ovulate these few days,” he declares, taking off his rubber gloves and tossing them in the bin. “Not that it matters, anyway. Jeon’s probably sterile. Hell, all of the Commanders are sterile.”

You freeze at the sound of that blasphemous curse word. But more importantly, you have to make sure you heard correctly.

“Wh-what do you mean?” You watch his shadow behind the sheet as he ticks a few things on your chart.

In this society, ‘sterile’ is a forbidden word. There is no such thing as a sterile man. There are only women who are fruitful, and women who are barren. But you know better than to subscribe to such damning ideology.

“Darling. I’ve seen so many top Commanders’ Handmaids in this room. In and out, month after month they come back and their Wives ask me why they aren’t pregnant yet.” He places a hand on your knee again, and that human contact makes you realise how much you crave the warmth of another person.

At the same time, his words awaken the hollow desperation in your chest. If… if Jeon is really sterile, that means no matter how many times you try, you won’t get pregnant. If all the Commanders are really sterile, then no matter how many assignments you get…

“It’s your third month here, isn’t it?” His kind voice accompanies the gentle stroke of his thumb on your knee.

Before you can answer, he steps away from you, walking to the door and double checking that it’s locked. Then, he’s between your legs again, and this time, his ungloved hands are caressing the top of your thighs. You can feel his hips pressing against you insistently.

“I can help you,” he says in a low whisper. “It’s your last chance.”

Your mind is in a fog. It’s hard to think clearly when you are craving his touch on your body, and the way in which he wraps your legs around his waist so delicately has you wanting to give in. Let this be a form of rebellion. An act of reclaiming your body and your agency, giving it to a man who treats you like a human being, and more importantly, deciding who you give it to. So that when Jeon performs the Ceremony with you tonight, no one but you will have the secret pleasure of knowing that someone else was here before him.

And if you do get pregnant, you will have the last laugh as you watch Jeon raise a baby that isn’t even his to begin with.

How’s that for rebelling? It’s no longer just about getting pregnant.

“I’ve helped many other Handmaids before,” Dr Kim Taehyung continues furtively. “They were all on their third Assignments. I saved them from the Wastelands.”

You don’t need any more convincing. You reach out and pull the thin privacy sheet aside, finally revealing Dr Kim Taehyung’s face. He looks taken aback at your bold actions.

“Do it, Doctor,” you fix your eyes on him with determination. “Get me pregnant.”

Dr Kim Taehyung looks as if he wasn’t expecting you to say yes to him, and delight slowly spreads across his face. But he can’t help himself from bringing one of his hands to your face, brushing your cheek and admiring your silent, resilient beauty.

“U-um, okay. He-here goes,” he fumbles with his dress pants, and the confidence from minutes ago is nowhere to be found. It occurs to you that he might have been fibbing about helping the other Handmaids before you, but it doesn’t matter. It’s no longer just about getting pregnant, anyway.

Thanks to the lubrication, he slides in easily. You catch a glimpse of him before he does, and a second later you feel his girth acutely. During the Ceremony, the lights are always turned off, so you never have a chance to see what Jeon’s dick looks like. If you were to compare, it feels around the same as Dr Kim’s. Except this time, you are doing this of your own accord.

The squeaking of the chair against the floor is deafeningly loud as he begins to thrust earnestly, and the thrill that you could be caught at any moment makes you feel more alive than you’ve ever been since the rise of Gilead. You can feel him at your cervix as he grips your thighs, and you make sure to wrap them around him tightly.

In an unprecedented move, Dr Kim reaches down to brush his thumb against your clit, and your walls clench around him in response. He swears under his breath as he shifts his position to rest his elbows on either side of you so that he can increase the strength behind his thrusts.

“Sh-shit, you feel so good,” he groans as he sneaks his hand in between your bodies once more to pinch your clit. No one has cared about your pleasure like this in a long while, and you feel your body responding to his ministrations, your orgasm rapidly approaching.

“Ha-harder, Doctor,” you feel his cheek press against your breast. “Cum inside me.”

You swear you can feel him twitch inside you, as he bites his lip hard. You have a hard time holding back your derisive laughter as Dr Kim Taehyung gets more turned on than ever. So this is his kink? This is the perfect job for him. Seeing Handmaids who are more often than not desperate to get pregnant, no matter by whom.

You feel a modicum of power back in the palm of your hand, which is more than you’ve felt in ages. The feeling of having power over someone else as you watch the pleasure take over Dr Kim Taehyung’s expression is addictive. The man is losing himself in between your legs, his fingers digging into the flesh of your thigh. Meanwhile you are the one watching him rut pathetically, straining to reach his end.

“Cum inside me, Doctor,” you say again, squeezing your walls around him and relishing his groan. “I’ll make you cum inside me.”

“Pl-please, call me Taehyung,” he pleads, raising himself up on his elbows to beg for a kiss.

You oblige, watching his desperation slowly take over his entire being. His lips are soft as he kisses you like a man starved, and you wonder who was the last person he kissed like this. Does he kiss all of the Handmaids he impregnates?

The next words you say are perfectly calculated. “Taehyung, I want your baby.”

There’s no reaction other than his hands clenching into tight fists, and his breathing getting harsher and harsher as his cock slams deep into you, and you clench around him one more time, only to feel him fill you up with his cum. The seed that you need to get pregnant and save your own life.

He doesn’t stop thrusting. His cock is still twitching inside you, and you can still feel the cum threaten to leak out. Dr Kim Taehyung lets out a long sigh of contentment as he expertly tilts the chair so that your hips are slightly raised.

When he’s satisfied, he slowly pulls out, eyes glued to the mess in between your legs. Only a little bit of cum is dripping out, and he reaches for a tissue to clean it up. The way he’s looking at you, a little bit too fondly, makes you realise that this is getting a bit too personal for your liking.

“Blessed be the fruit,” you remind him, and the phrase is like magic. You are all reminded of your roles in this society, and the forbidden act which you have both committed.

Dr Kim Taehyung seems to sober up when he hears this, as he tucks himself back into his pants and attempts to straighten his doctor’s coat.

“May the Lord open. You should… um. Stay here for the next ten to fifteen minutes. The nurses will be in to help you get dressed shortly,” he clears his throat as he lets the privacy curtain fall back into place. “And um… good luck.”

He leaves the room hurriedly, and you close your eyes, squeezing your thighs together and feeling the warmth that his cum leaves behind, feeling like your body is finally yours again.

You don’t know how much time has passed before the nurses come in and help you get dressed, and when you walk out of the room, Yeri makes a pointed remark about how long she had to wait. You follow her without a word to the car, waiting as Driver Jung opens the door for her, then you.

All the while, a secret smile upon your lips as you feel the cum from earlier drip down your inner thigh.

#bts #bts smut #future ot7 #bts kim taehyung #bts kim taehyung smut

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criticallyacclaimedstranger · 3 years ago

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Fic: Pepsi Raspberry

Fandom: Triple Frontier

Ship: Francisco “Catfish” Morales x Reader/you

Warnings: There's a fight and Reader's ex left her with some issues, but nothing super traumatic. Frankie is super cute (and a little needy). I just threw this together on a slow day at work, apologies in advance for errors.

Summary: You fight with Frankie. That's it that's the plot.

A/N: This was honestly supposed to be a piece about feminism and female independence in a relationship but I can't be trusted around Frankie, he totally bippity-boppity-booped me into forgivance. Dickhead. Also I struggled for two and a half hours with the title and that's why it's shit. I hate titles.

Words: 2,416

A loud noise wakes you up, your heart missing a beat. For a moment, you're completely still in bed, scared out of your mind. That was definitely the sound of the front door opening and closing, and someone crashing into a chair. You're as stiff as a board, your first thought being that this is it, this is how you'll die, by the hand of a home invader who's probably going to assault you first and then kill you, or maybe kidnap you and do god knows what to you…

You hear cursing and as you recognize the voice you also realize that if someone wanted to break in, they'd probably at least try to be stealthy about it.

"Frankie?" You mean for it to be a call but it's just a breathless whimper. You wet your lips, finding your mouth too dry.

Heavy, staggering footsteps bring the unknown visitor to the bedroom door and you reach out to turn on your bedside lamp. Blinking blearily towards the soft light is indeed Frankie, a sheepish smile on his face.

"The hell are you doing?" Your fright-induced stiffness leaving your body, you sit up in bed and glare at your boyfriend who was supposed to sleep at his own place tonight after his night out with the boys. His eyes are unfocused and his face shiny, and it's clearly been a good night. You glance at the nightstand, where the red light diodes of the clock tell you that the time is barely three am.

“Sorry, baby. Did I wake ya? There was… there was a chair in the entry. Did you move a chair? There never was a chair there before. Stubbed my toe.”

He limps over to the bed, trying to look as sober as possible while unbuttoning his shirt – “trying” being the operative word, as he’s clearly lost control of his fine motoric skills. He ends up pulling the flannel over his head, but it gets stuck, and he topples over his side of the bed. You draw back a little, wrinkling your nose. He smells of stale beer and cigarettes and moreover: he was supposed to go home. You had both agreed that you'd spend Saturday night apart for once, him catching up with his friends, you with yours, and he'd go home where he could spend Sunday nursing his hangover while you got some cleaning done in your apartment.

“What you are doing here?” you demand again, anger replacing fear. “Can I send you to the shower or will you drown?”

“I’m not a good swimmer,” Frankie acknowledges ruefully as he clumsily rolls over in bed and attempts the next step of getting undressed: undoing his fly and getting his tight jeans off. “Here, baby, gimme a hand, you’re so good at this…” “You deal with it yourself,” you say sternly, in no mood to help. The whole idea of spending one night apart was to get a good night’s sleep – something you rarely get in the same bed as Frankie as both of you are usually too voracious for each other to think about sleep – and for you not to have to worry about a hung-over boyfriend the following morning. On top of that, you’re furious with him for scaring the shit out of you by stumbling in at three in the morning. You almost regret giving him a key but then again: if he didn’t have one it could have been even worse, he could have gone full on Stanley Kowalski outside your window.

“Ah, baby, c’mon… Don’t be like that. Help an old man out.”

Frankie tilts his head up and looks at you with imploring eyes, upside down from you. Half of him is hanging outside the bed and the rest is slipping off, and he looks like he might fall asleep any second. You might as well help him before he goes limp and ends up on the floor.

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter and crawl over to his side of the bed before climbing out. As you bend over to pick up his legs and lift them onto the mattress, Frankie manages to slap your ass.

“Baby. Hey, baby. Let’s have sex.”

“Not gonna happen.”

You unzip his jeans and yank them down carelessly, pulling Frankie down the bed in the process.

“Whoa, wild thing,” he murmurs thickly, his eyes falling shut. “Careful of the joystick, you don’ wanna damage that or you won’ be able to fly anymore…”

You don’t bother with an answer, he’s not going to remember it anyway. You help him off with the t-shirt as well and when you’re about to tuck him in, he grabs you by your wrist with a move much quicker than you had thought him capable of in his state. He pulls you down over him, the other hand squeezing your ass.

“Sex,” he mumbles. “Love you, baby, and I wanna be in you fo’eva.”

You try to avoid the smelly, wet kisses that he keeps pressing to your neck and shoulder. While you can appreciate him being horny for you in any situation, you’re still mad about him being here at all.

“You need sleep and I want it,” you tell him as you squirm out of his hold. Returning to your side of bed, you ignore the puppy eyes look he gives you as you turn off the lights.

“Not sleepy,” Frankie protests weakly before he’s out cold. He starts to snore loudly and you sigh in exasperation.

You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.

You barely sleep for the remainder of the night and when you finally give up and get out of bed, you're in a pissy mood. Not even two cups of coffee and the fancy bread rolls you bought at the bakery yesterday to treat yourself this Sunday morning make you feel better. You down a painkiller to combat the beginnings of the headache you feel creeping up on you before starting on your chore list. The clearing of the closets in the hall is the first task and you get to it, trying to find some satisfaction in the fact that you're getting your things in order.

As the hours pass by, you do your best to work around the tasks on your list that would generate noise, such as vacuuming. You may be pissed at Frankie but you're decent enough to let him sleep for a little while longer. However, you finally face the fact that if you're to get everything done in time for you to actually enjoy the rest of your day off and open that novel you've been dying to read, you're going to have to start the vacuum cleaer. If Frankie wanted to sleep until three pm he should have gone home.

When you turn off the vacuum cleaner, you hear Frankie groan in the bedroom.

“Babe?”

You're not really in the mood to talk to him but you go check on him, just in case he needs help to get to the bathroom. Nursing his hangover is the last thing you want to do today but you also don't want to clean up vomit.

He looks like a wreck with his hair standing out in every direction where it's not plastered to his skull, puffy eyes, and pale face.

“Morning.” Your tone is short but he doesn't seem to notice. He grunts and rubs his forehead with one hand, the other reaching out of bed towards you.

“C'mere. I wanna cuddle.”

“You smell,” you shake your head. “Get up already, I want to change the sheets.”

He groans again and retracts his arm, draping it over his forehead.

“One more minute. Or hour. It's so early and my head is killing me.”

“Not my problem, Frankie.”

Frowning, he looks at you, clearly bothered by the sunlight washing the room in light. You don't offer any explanations.

“Is there coffee?” he asks eventually.

“No.”

“Can you make some?”

“Make it yourself.”

He blinks at you, surprised.

“What's wrong, baby?”

You go to the other side of the bed, grab the pillow and start to take off the pillowcase.

“Just get out of bed. I have shit to do.”

Frankie sits up slowly, his head clearly bothering him when he moves from a horizontal recline to a vertical seat. He takes a moment, eyes closed and hand on his bare, soft stomach, before looking up at you.

“What's up with you?”

There's a hint of accusation in his voice and that does it for you. You slam down the pillow onto the bed and cross your arms in front of your chest as you glare at him.

“You scared the shit out of me last night, Frankie! I thought I was being burglared!”

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you,” he mumbles, his apology meaning nothing to you because you can clearly see that he doesn't understand the terror you felt last night.

“We agreed that we'd spend the night apart, what the hell did you come here for and ruin my sleep and my morning?” you demand, raising your voice a little despite yourself. Frankie hates yelling. “Did you think I'd take care of you, tip-toe around you all day, serve you coffee in bed and junk food on the couch while you get to feel sorry for drinking too much?”

“What, no, what are you – “ Frankie seems utterly confused, the state of him most likely partly to blame. “Can you please keep your voice down?”

You pull at the duvet, stuck partly underneath him. “Move.”

“Jesus...” he mutters as he slowly gets out of bed. He stands still for a moment as if to recalibrate as he adjusts his boxers, before sluggishly dragging himself to the bathroom. You strip the bed and as soon as Frankie's out of the bathroom and heading into the kitchen, you take the sheets to the washing-machine and start it. And just because you're feeling like a bitch, you throw Frankie's clothes out of the bedroom, letting them land on the floor, before vacuuming.

When you're stowing away the vacuum cleaner into the cleaning closet, Frankie confronts you. He's now dressed but that doesn't help his half-dead appearance.

“Why are you being like this?” He's still struggling to understand you. It's typical Frankie: he always tries to talk about things, bring clarity into every issue.

“Like what? What am I like?"” You're being a brat, you know, but you have no desire to be an adult right now. Frankie really doesn't seem to understand: the frown seems permanently etched into his face and he looks so different from his usual soft, easy-going self.

“Mean. You're being mean!” The last word comes out harshly and you can tell Frankie's losing his customary cool.

“So when I have plans to spend a day apart from you and be my own person, I'm being mean?” you spit. He looks at you like you're suddenly speaking in a foreign language.

“What are you even talking about?” The exasperation is plain to see, and it somehow makes you even angrier.

“This isn't your mama's bed and breakfast that you can just check into whenever you feel like it, Frankie!”

“Fuck,” he mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I can't deal with this right now.” He pulls out his phone. “I'm getting an Uber.”

“Good!” you quip. “Fuck off home, like you should've done at three in the fucking morning!”

Without waiting for a reply, you stomp into the bedroom and slam the door. A few seconds later, you hear the front door slam as well.

[+++]

Sorry I showed up unannounced in the middle of the night. I just missed you. Didn’t want to go home and sleep without you. Call me, okay? I Love you.

You stare at the text message and feel bad, no, not bad: really fucking awful. It took you a few hours to calm down; hours that you spent playing angry music while finishing your list of chores. Afterwards, you didn’t feel that satisfying sense of accomplishment you usually experience after a good cleaning. Your head still hurt, so you went to your newly made bed which smelled fresh and nice even with the spread on top. You slept until late afternoon and woke up by the beep signaling the text.

You’re conflicted. The fact that he missed you is so sweet but there’s something about the statement that annoys you. He’s a grown-ass man, for chrissakes, and he should be able to be without his girlfriend for one single fucking night. And then guilting you into calling him with I-love-you’s and his fragile feelings? Fuck that noise.

And still. You know what Frankie’s like: physical, devoted, kind. He’s not like anyone you’ve ever been with. Not like your last boyfriend, who would pull shit like this all the time: show up at your place at all hours of the day (or night) whenever he wanted something from you. Sex. Comfort. Sympathy. Who would text and call you all the time when you were out with friends because he couldn’t find his way to the fridge without your help.

Reluctantly, you hit the speed dial button to Frankie, and he picks up almost immediately, saying your name with barely contained urgency.

“Hi,” you say quietly.

“Hi. You okay?” Such a Frankie thing to do, make sure you’re okay after a fight where, technically, he’s the injured party.

“Not really. You?”

“I’ve had worse.”

“You mean the hangover or this morning?”

You hear the smile in his voice. “Both, but I meant the hangover.”

You exhale in an amused little sniff.

“I’m sorry, Frankie. Do you… wanna come over?”

“I’d love to. Have you eaten?”

“No.”

“Neither have I. I’ll pick something up. Burgers from that place you like?”

Your stomach rumbles at the mention of burgers but you’re more concerned with the sudden tears that rise in your eyes. Oh, Frankie.

“That would be great,” you manage, wiping at your eyes. Get a fucking grip!

“Parmesan fries?” he queries, but all he gets from you is a sob. “Baby?”

“I love you,” you sniffle. “You’re the best.”

“Aww, babe. I love you, too.”

You draw a deep breath to calm down, a little embarrassed at your emotional outburst. It’s not like you, but it’s been a weird day.

“You still there?” he asks.

“Sure.”

“Pepsi Raspberry for you?”

You start crying.

#my fic #francisco catfish morales #francisco frankie morales #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader

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gukyi · 5 years ago

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if i told you | jjk

summary: in order to pay for university, jeon jungkook decides to market his most valuable asset to the wealthy socialites of campus: himself. donning a suit and tie, tousled hair, and glasses (to look smarter), he becomes every rich daughter’s dream: the perfect boyfriend to bring to balls, dinners, and business gatherings. all while you watch from the sidelines, only able to dream of having that much money to buy yourself what you really want: him.

{friends to lovers!au, college!au}

pairing: jeon jungkook x female reader genre: fluff, comedy, angst, we’ve got it all folks word count: 22k warnings: slightly underage alcohol consumption, mention of words that could be spoken on an crime documentary series but nothing graphic, ravioli-stealing, idiots to lovers, as per usual a/n: finally! here is the long awaited jungkook fic that i have literally been slaving over since the beginning of january. was this fic supposed to be 10k? yes. did i somehow end up writing 22k anyway? of course! in any case, please enjoy my absolute baby who i love and cherish!

check out the post-script drabble here!

Jeon Jungkook loses his job at the university call center on the seventeenth day of the fall semester of his sophomore year.

You know this because on the seventeenth day of the fall semester of your sophomore year, he comes banging on the door of your apartment shared with three other girls at 2:07PM, seven minutes after he normally starts his job at the university call center.

He’s lucky that you’re the only one who doesn’t have class in the 2PM hour.

“Y/N!” He shouts through the thin wooden door, his voice probably echoing down the thin hallway of your apartment complex.

You open it before the second knock—you only rush to the door to get him to shut the fuck up, and not because you’re excited to see him, you swear—to see him standing on the other side, XXL university hoodie draped over his figure, down to his mid-thigh, baggy hood pulled over his head like a sad college-aged Star Wars character. He looks exactly like a jaded sophomore year college student would. He is beautiful.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at the call center right now?” You ask in lieu of a normal “hello” or even a “what the fuck are you doing here, it’s 2PM”. Jungkook does not wait for you to invite him inside your apartment, immediately kicks off his shoes by the entrance and tugs on your apartment slippers that are a size-and-a-half too small for his feet, and marches over to your shared fridge to fish through the tupperware containers with your name written on Post-it notes for a mid-afternoon snack.

Jungkook waits until he’s got an entire piece of frozen supersized ravioli shoved into his mouth before he responds. “I was fired,” he says over a mouthful of pasta and cheese.

“What?” You ask, eyes widening as Jungkook shuffles through your kitchen drawers for a fork, which means that the first piece of ravioli that he ate he did so with his bare ass hands. Like a heathen. Like a ravioli-craving twenty-year-old heathen.

“I was fired,” Jungkook repeats. He stares at the microwave resting on your kitchen counter for a good ten seconds before he continues to eat the cold, unheated pasta. Every time he’s in your apartment (which is frequently), he tells you how it’s a fire, water, and explosive hazard to have your microwave on the counter like that. As if there is any other place in your apartment for it to go. Maybe out on the tiny balcony you have that overlooks the busiest street on campus.

“Care to offer an explanation as to why?” You ask, coming up next to him. Jungkook is nearly finished with your tupperware of ravioli, and normally you’d shout at him for it, but seeing as he was just fired from his only source of income as a money-starved college student, you’ll cut him some slack. Just a little.

“You remember that old, angry alumnus that told me that asking for donations in order to benefit low-income-slash-first generation students was selfish and rude of me, and that I wouldn’t be in college if it weren’t for what his generation accomplished?” Jungkook asks.

You remember that vividly. Jungkook spent an approximate two hours and thirty-seven minutes on FaceTime with you ranting about this one “old man bitch” who he had to speak to during his day at work, all while you did your economics problem set to the sweet, mellifluous sound of Jungkook’s shrill shrieks.

“The one you lost your temper at and shouted at for being ungrateful and elitist?” You ask pointedly. You have a feeling you already know where this conversation is going.

“Yeah,” Jungkook says with a roll of his eyes. He finishes the ravioli (goddamnit, now you’re going to have to find something else to eat for dinner at 11PM tonight) and turns around to place it in the sink. For once, it is not piled high with dishes from up to a week ago, so Jungkook even squirts a bit of Dawn onto a sponge and washes the plastic container for you. “Well, as it turns out, telling an old racist elitist that he’s old, racist, and elitist does not go down well with my boss.”

“Why does that not surprise me,” you muse. Jungkook sighs, walking over to where you’re taking it easy on the couch. “Oh no,” you say, eyes widening as he grins, plotting something. “Do not, Jungkook. Jungkook, do not!”

He jumps, catapulting himself onto the couch and landing on top of you with a thud. You let out a groan as the weight of his body hits you, foreheads nearly knocking into each other. Jungkook is a good foot-and-a-half too long for this dinky leather couch that’s always sort of smelled, feet and ankles hanging off the opposing arm rest just so he can nuzzle his face into the crook of your shoulder like he always does. You hate when he does this. Hate when he jumps onto the couch while you’re casually reclining just so he can collapse on top of you. Hate the feeling of his body resting against yours, soft breathes against the skin of your neck. Hate how it always makes you want more, how it will never be enough.

“Have you been working out?” You mumble against the fabric of his t-shirt. “You’re more muscle-y than usual.”

“I added weights to my routine,” Jungkook tells you mindlessly. If your roommates walked into your apartment right now and saw the both of you on the couch, you’d never hear the end of it. “Taehyung said it would make me more swole.”

“As if you need to be any more buff,” you say with a roll of your eyes. Jungkook’s the most athletic person you’ve ever met in your entire life. He could probably pick up your dinky couch with you sitting on it without batting an eyelash. Even Superman would tremble at the sight of him. “You’re perfect the way you are.”

“Thanks, Y/N,” Jungkook mutters into your skin. “God, what the fuck am I gonna do now? I need money to pay for everything in my life and my one source of income is now totally invalid because an old guy got what he deserved.”

“Are there any work-study positions still available?” You ask, hand reaching up to stroke at his hair, smoothing it down. Jungkook’s preferred cuddling position is big spoon, but he still demands that he be coddled as though he were the little spoon.

“No,” Jungkook says with a huff, “they’ve all been snagged by try-hard freshmen who need money like me.”

“I distinctly recall you being a try-hard freshman who also needed money,” you tell him. “That’s why you applied to work at the call center, isn’t it?”

Jungkook sits up, the weight of his figure crushing your legs as he rests on top of them. If you stayed like this forever, you’d probably lose feeling in your lower body, but you’d also get to stay with Jungkook forever, which is a trade-off you would genuinely consider. “Yeah, but the call center hires everybody. You just need to be like… decent at communication. And I’m pretty decent at communication.”

“You never text me back,” you tell him pointedly.

“That’s because I prefer showing up unannounced at your apartment or other places you frequent,” Jungkook reminds you excitedly. He’ll never let you forget about the time you were wrapping up a small seminar with your history professor and Jungkook burst through the doors with a whole thing of carrots and hummus because you had texted him that you were hungry. You could not look your history professor in the eye for the rest of the semester. “I’d say that’s pretty decent communication.”

“Well, you’re going to have to figure out another way to market your decent communication skills to get another job,” you tell him. “Have you considered the boba place on Oak? You could get me employee discounts.”

Jungkook leans over just to pinch at your cheek, fingers gripping onto your face and pulling like a grandmother. “You just want me for my money.”

“You’re my best friend, Jeon Jungkook,” you tell him. “Of course I do.”

This is what Jeon Jungkook’s obligatory university Facebook group introduction post read:

Hi, I’m Jungkook and I’m thinking of majoring in visual studies or computer science (really different lol I know)! I played soccer in high school but don’t think I’ll be continuing in college because I was pretty bad at it. I’m looking for a roommate and I’d really like to live in New East House, but anything works for me as long as it has a bed. Hit me up if you think we’d made a good match, but I like talking with everyone lol.

I’m really into music and can play the guitar, drums, and piano. I like listening to all types of music (yes, even country which slaps kinda hard sometimes) but my favorites are The 1975, Frank Ocean, Troye Sivan, and Khalid. Will bop to Justin Bieber on occasion as well.

I play Ultimate and am really interested in joining the club team here so hit me up and we can practice sometime because my skills are a little rusty. I also do a little skateboarding but I am definitely not a skater.

Hit me up if you think we can be friends lol I’m excited to meet you all!

It was accompanied by several pictures, a couple of which are selfies at that anime girl angle, one of him with his friends at prom all doing that Frat Boy pose, and a couple of him with his family. To an outsider doing a very quick glance, it pretty much reads the same as a rather extensive dating profile.

The truth of it all is, as you were scrolling through the hundreds of obligatory university Facebook group introduction posts in search of a freshman year roommate, you stumbled upon Jungkook’s intro post and you thought this: No. Way.

The moment you laid eyes on his first above-the-head angle selfie, you knew that it would be unlikely that you and Jeon Jungkook’s paths would ever cross. He played guitar and did Ultimate Frisbee, and you wanted to audition for your university’s symphony orchestra. He was beautiful but in that sort of college frat boy who can crush you at beer pong kind of way. Craziest of all, he was a computer science major, and you were walking in as an undecided humanities concentration.

Impossible. There was no way the two of you would ever meet, and you accepted that right off that bat. At a school your size, you would go through these four years not knowing a majority of your class. Jeon Jungkook was just one of the casualties.

On the very first day of orientation, Jeon Jungkook comes up to you on the sidewalk, wearing a white t-shirt, a backwards baseball cap, and shorts, and asks you if you’re here for orientation as well? He’s lost.

Jeon Jungkook is the type of guy you imagine getting eaten up by any girl who meets him almost immediately. He’s charming and endearing the same way a baby deer is, but has no problem wearing clothes that remind you of how fit he is. He is, for lack of a better term, extremely good looking.

“Yeah,” you had said on the sidewalk, squinting to look up at him since the sun was in your eyes. “I’m heading to the auditorium right now. Wanna walk with me?”

“Okay, sure,” Jungkook had replied, smiling with all of his teeth. Even in the sweaty summer heat, he looked even nicer in person. “Thanks, by the way. I’m Jungkook. What’s your name?”

You knew that already. How could you have forgotten?

You had grinned up at him. The universe has always worked in mysterious ways. “I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you.”

When Jungkook doesn’t know what to do, he stress eats. Most often, you are the single witness to this action, which has literally no effect on his body mass whatsoever since he immediately burns off every calorie (and then some) at his next gym session.

That is precisely why you are sitting in the second-best dining hall on campus eating a pretty measly salad and french fries, while Jungkook returns from the serve-yourself cafeteria with his sixth plate of food. Next to you is your mutual friend Chaewon, a filthy rich international student from Korea who is probably the nicest person you’ve ever met.

“I think I’ve called every cafe, bubble tea shop, clothing store, and paid internship within a five-mile radius of this place and nothing,” Jungkook says with a sigh, keeping Chaewon updated with his job-search antics. It’s been several days since he was fired, and while being keenly cognizant of your bank account isn’t necessarily a bad thing, when it means that Jungkook refuses to leave campus because he is in hyper-saving mode, it sort of rustles your jimmies.

“Have you tried babysitting?” Chaewon supplies helpfully.

You laugh aloud at the mere thought of Jungkook stuck in some middle-aged parent’s house with their toddler for hours on a night where he could be living it up on campus. Jeon Jungkook? A babysitter?

“Wow, what the heck is wrong with me being a babysitter?” Jungkook questions, offended.

“First of all, you don’t even let me beat you in Mario Kart on your Switch and I am your best friend. If you ended up gaming with a four-year-old boy, your over-competitiveness would take over you and you’d crush the poor kid and his spirit,” you remind him pointedly. Not to mention the fact that the man cannot cook to save his life, and you can’t even entrust him with microwave dinners because of his irrational fear of modern oven technology.

Jungkook pouts. He knows you’re right.

“It’s not like you were going to look into babysitting, anyway,” you say with a shove, nudging his shoulder with your own.

Jungkook sighs, and despite all of the shit you give him on a daily basis (part of the responsibility of being his best friend), you do genuinely feel bad for him. Even if his job at the call center wasn’t the most intellectually stimulating nor morally rewarding, he didn’t absolutely hate it and he made a pretty decent earning off of it. He unzips his backpack and fumbles for his laptop, opening it up to reveal a Google Chrome window with approximately thirty-seven tabs open of places to work on and around campus. Meanwhile, Chaewon’s phone buzzes on the table, and she heaves out a great, exasperated exhale before picking up and immediately launching off into incredibly speedy Korean.

“If only the bubble tea place was hiring,” you lament, kissing goodbye all of the free bubble tea you had been dreaming about if Jungkook got hired.

“I’m glad I don’t work at the bubble tea place,” Jungkook tells you with his eyebrows raised, “otherwise I’d have to see you every day!”

“You already see me every day!” You should back, but it’s not like Jungkook doesn’t know that already. He’s the one always barging into your apartment or sitting down next to you in the library when you’re trying to study.

“But maybe you should try drinking less bubble tea, otherwise you’re gonna blow up like a tapioca pearl like that one girl from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory,” Jungkook warns, pinching your cheek as if to make your face round like a tapioca bubble.

“I can think of nothing I’d want more than to be a tapioca pearl for the rest of my life,” you state simply. It would be much less stressful than to be a college student.

“If you were a tapioca pearl, I’d eat you!” Jungkook says, and you, out of the security of both your head and your heart, choose not to think too much into it.

As Jungkook teases you about your slight obsession with bubble tea, Chaewon finally puts the phone down after what very well was several minutes of angry Korean. She lets out this deep, long sigh, like all of the pent-up rage within her is exiting through her exhale.

“You good, Chae?” You ask her, a little concerned. Even after knowing her since the beginning of your freshman year, you’ve never once seen her get mad, though she looks pretty close to it now.

“Yeah,” she says, exasperated. “My mom is having this stupid company ball here and she really, really wants me to attend.” It is obvious that Chaewon does not, in fact, want to attend. You’ve seen Chaewon nearly every day for over a year, and you’ve never even seen her wear a pantsuit. You couldn’t imagine her joy at having to dress up in a ballgown.

“But fancy free food,” you point out. Even if she does have to be trapped in a penthouse ballroom with her parents’ stuffy business friends, the catering company will probably be god-tier.

Chaewon pretty much bangs her head on the dining hall table.

“Wow, I didn’t know someone could hate catered food so much,” you say, a little alarmed.

“It’s not that,” Chaewon says, rubbing her forehead. The pasta on the plate in front of her has remained untouched for nearly ten minutes now. You wonder if she’s even hungry anymore. “My mom wants me to bring a plus-one.”

Your eyes widen. An excuse to dress nice and eat good food? Hell yeah.

“And it can’t be you, Y/N, it has to be a date,” Chaewon says. It’s pretty obvious she’s not interested in dating whatsoever, no matter the gender of the object of her affection. You pout. Damn. “My mom said, ‘he can be whoever you want!’ but that means that he has to be an attractive Korean guy who’s got a future job in finance.”

“I’ll go with you,” Jungkook says over a mouthful of broccoli.

“You will?” Chaewon asks. Jungkook just single-handedly saved Chaewon from a night of unbearable business talk with a boy she doesn’t know and cannot relate to.

You scoff. “You’re just a regular Korean dude, Jungkook,” you tell him.

Jungkook pouts, bottom lip turned out. “You don’t think I’m attractive?”

You refuse to answer that question. You’re afraid of what you might say if you open your mouth.

“Seriously, you’d do that for me?” Chaewon turns to Jungkook with platonic stars in her eyes.

Jungkook shrugs. “Sure. I’ve got a suit. I’ll ask my friend Jimin for a crash course in finance before the thing. When is it?”

And just like that, you and Jungkook’s weekly Friday Mario Kart night gets a rain check.

Jeon Jungkook is the sole best decision of your life.

And it’s funny and twisted and wonderful, because he is the one thing you had failed to account for in your life. He stands there on the sidewalk in the blazing sun, black baseball cap nestled safely onto his dark brown hair, and in the split second it takes for him to open his mouth and say hello, everything changes.

But no longer is the image you conjure in your mind when you think of him a picture of him on that very first day of orientation, lost and excited all at once. It is of him barging into your apartment and eating all of your leftover ravioli. It’s him laying on your dinky couch like it belongs to him, surfing through all of the Netflix shows available and eventually just settling on old Gilmore Girls episodes like he always does. It’s him standing in your closet to judge your latest clothing purchases and take back any items that you’ve stolen from him over the years.

It’s imagining him not as a guest but as a permanent fixture in your home, in the place that makes you feel safest. Because that’s who Jungkook is, now. He is that place. He stands in your apartment rattling off a list of why microwaves are a severely underestimated killer, and it takes every inch of your being not to ask him to stay. To spend night after night cuddling on the couch, or make a home-cooked meal together on a Sunday evening, or get lost underneath the sheets on your bed.

Jungkook stands in your apartment like he belongs there. And only in your wildest dreams could you ever imagine that coming true.

Such is the case of that Friday night, when he’s supposed to accompany Chaewon to her terrible, awful, brain-melting parents’ business gala. You haven’t seen him all day, too busy with your club meetings to make time for him after your classes are finished for the week. College is never-ending in that horrible, unstoppable way.

It’s nearing two in the morning when you hear the knock on your door. Two of your roommates are at a rush event for their sorority, and the other sleeps through your smoke alarm on a regular basis, so you are tasked with the job of opening the door.

On the other side is Jungkook, as he frequently is.

Your heart practically freezes in place, like his eyes have shot right through it. Instead of his usual baggy outfit and a bucket hat, he’s standing outside of your apartment in a crisp navy suit (complete with a pocket square), rings lining his fingers and hair tousled in that effortlessly-styled kind of way. He looks like a goddamn celebrity, like a young, successful CEO. Like the love of your whole fucking life.

Coughing to distract from the fact that you’re practically drooling, you say, “Wow, you clean up nicely.”

Jungkook looks down at himself, almost as if he had forgotten he’s wearing a full suit entirely. “The pocket square is Jimin’s,” he explains, “but yeah. I didn’t want to let Chaewon down by not dressing up to code.”

He’s got remnants of makeup left on his face, having faded and smudged throughout the night. There’s a bit of black underneath his eyes from the liner, a smoldering effect that makes the dark brown of his irises even deeper. “You look tired,” you comment. “Why are you here, why don’t you go home, Jungkook? Get some sleep.”

Jungkook shrugs, looking over your shoulder to see if his arrival has woken up any of your roommates. “Your place was closer,” he says like it’s nothing.

Like it doesn’t make your breath catch in your throat, stop in its tracks. He spends an evening dressed up in a stuffy suit and tie surrounded by old businessmen and their preppy daughters with whom he has nothing in common, and when it’s nearly two in the morning and he can finally relax, he drives to your place instead of his own. Like it means nothing. As if it means anything at all.

Jungkook runs a hand through his perfectly styled hair, and even knotted and messy it still looks flawless. “If I’m bothering you, just let me know. I know it’s late.”

It’s so hard to say no to him.

“Just come inside already before you wake up the neighbors,” you tell him, sighing to pretend like it’s a minor inconvenience. And even running on barely any sleep with makeup smudged underneath his eyes, Jungkook grins as you let him inside your apartment, caving in, just like you always do.

The first thing he does when he’s inside is take off his fancy loafers and peel off his suit jacket, resting it against the back of the couch. You fumble around in the kitchen for the kettle, instinctively starting to make two cups of tea. Routine.

Looking up, you watch as Jungkook loosens his tie and takes it off, unbuttoning the first two buttons of his white dress shirt. By the counter, you turn your back to him so he doesn’t see you mentally combust. It’s impossible that he doesn’t already know what he does to you.

The kettle finishes boiling the moment Jungkook settles onto your couch. He keeps the television off so he doesn’t wake your roommates, and scrolls on his phone with his knees tucked underneath his chin. Thirty seconds later, you’re joining him, handing him the cup of tea before sitting down next to him, severely underdressed in comparison.

“Did you at least have fun tonight?” You ask.

“The food totally slapped,” Jungkook tells you. “Chaewon’s parents really pulled out all the stops.”

“So I’ve heard,” you muse.

“We spent most of the time lounging by the catering table and distracting each other by making up stories about all of the rich people there.” Jungkook laughs.

“Please tell me you didn’t embarrass yourself, though,” you say. Perhaps Jungkook could withstand a few blows to his ego, but Chaewon’s future pretty much depends on her impressing her parents and their comrades.

“No!” Jungkook tells you defensively. “Jimin told me everything I needed to know, but all of Chaewon’s friends and their filthy rich CEO parents thought I was so handsome that I didn’t even need to speak.”

You roll your eyes. Of course Jungkook wouldn’t give up the chance to remind you of his hellishly good looks.

“You just stood there, looking pretty?” You ask. Not as if he doesn’t do that already.

“You think I’m pretty?” Jungkook teases, a greasy smile sent your way, like he doesn’t know the answer anyway.

You huff. “Dressed up like this? Anyone would.”

“Chaewon said I was like her fake trophy husband,” Jungkook jokes. “She did all of the schmoozing. It’s not like I could have contributed anything anyway. Unless everyone wants to hear about C++.”

“Ooh, I love it when you talk all tech to me,” you tease, nudging him with your arm. “So sexy, keep talking.”

He laughs. “If we keep talking about Python I might get a little too excited.” He wiggles his eyebrows just for good measure and you giggle, holding onto this moment for dear life as you let it etch itself into your brain permanently. Times like these, you know you can’t forget, saving them for a rainy day thirty years down the line when you’re in love with someone that’s not Jungkook. When you look out the window and think about what might have been, if only things back in college had been a little bit different.

Jungkook’s phone buzzes on the table. He’s got two notifications, one from Instagram of Chaewon tagging him in a post, and another from Venmo.

“Fuckin’ damnit,” Jungkook swears, letting his phone drop on the couch cushion.

“What?” You ask, turning to look at him.

“Chaewon just Venmo’ed me a hundred dollars,” Jungkook says with a sigh. And it’s not one of those times when you see your bank account balance go up and get happy because yay, money!, it’s when your friend pays you anything over what they actually owe you out of the goodness of your heart, and you refuse to accept it.

“She did?” You ask, eyes widening. A hundred dollars? That’s more than Jungkook would make in three shifts at the call center.

“‘Thanks for bailing me out tonight. You definitely deserve more than 100 but then you’d be mad at me. But please don’t be mad at me!’” Jungkook reads off his phone. “I just stood there looking like eye candy. I didn’t do a thing to help her, what the heck?”

You pull out your own phone to check Chaewon’s latest post.

It’s a picture of them together in the skyscraper penthouse the gala was held in, Jungkook looking dapper in his suit with a glass of champagne in his hand, and Chaewon in a dress worth more than a semester’s tuition throwing up a peace sign like the trendy Asian she is. They look like a K-drama couple. Like two celebrities basking in their fame and wealth.

Shoutout to my one and only Jeon Jungkook for being my fake date tonight! Thanks to your good looks and charming personality for impressing all of my parents’ rich friends and their daughters. Love you 3000 💕

“Wow, whoever took this picture of the both of you knows their shit,” you say, impressed. You had always thought it impossible for Jungkook to look better in pictures than in real life, but this photo is coming rather close. If you were any more shameless, you’d ask Chaewon if she has any more photos of him. Just him, preferably.

It’s not as if she doesn’t know about your gargantuan crush on him anyway.

“I don’t think I’ve ever looked that good in a photo in my life,” Jungkook says with a laugh. Impossible. He yawns, placing his empty mug on the little end table next to the couch.

“You should set it as your profile picture,” you suggest, leaning your head on him and pretending like this is normal. He yawns again, stretching out as he rests his body against yours. “Hey, we should go to sleep. Unless you want to go home?”

Jungkook groans, snuggling in closer. “No, your bed is big enough for the two of us.”

And who are you to resist?

You wake up to the sound of a phone buzzing furiously on your bedside table. You crack open one eye just a sliver to see who the culprit is and immediately eradicate it, when the sun filtering through your Venetian blinds hits your cornea. You groan, shutting your eyes once more as you smack your hand around to get it to shut off.

The movement, however, causes the bedsheets to shift beside you, and when you turn, you find Jungkook nestled up tightly beneath your duvet, an arm stretched over your side as he hums in his sleep.

You’re best friends.

This is normal.

(The feeling of your heart beating out of its chest has become rather normal, as well.)

He’s wearing a raggedy old t-shirt of yours that has always been too big on you but fits him just perfectly and a pair of joggers that he keeps at your place “just in case”. Just in case he stays the night. Just in case you ever need them. Selfishly, you will yourself to fall back asleep, shutting your eyes tightly and pretending that maybe, if you never wake up, this moment will freeze in time, locking the two of you together for eternity.

He mumbles to himself in his sleep, a murmur of nothing as he shifts over slightly, hand dragging up your side.

God.

Next to you, the phone begins to buzz erratically again, and wide-awake, you look over to realize that it’s Jungkook’s, and that it’s Chaewon on the other end.

This is at least the second time she’s called, which means that, despite how tempting it is, you probably shouldn’t silence his phone and go back to lying in bed with Jungkook and pretending the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

Sighing, you pick up.

“Jungkook!” Chaewon shouts on the other side. For a brief moment you wonder why on earth she’s so energetic so early, but it’s less that and more the fact that you are overwhelmingly lethargic rather late in the day. “All of my friends said you looked really good in those photos I posted of us. Do you think you’re free next Wednesday night? Seunghee wants you to accompany her to a double date her parents are forcing her to go on!”

“Chaewon—”

“Oh, Y/N! How’s it going?”

“I just woke up,” you mumble quietly as Jungkook stirs beside you.

“Of course you did,” Chaewon says, and you can see her rolling her eyes on the other side of the line. “Wait, why do you have Jungkook’s phone if you just woke up? Oh my God, don’t tell me—”

“Shh!” You hiss into the phone. Jungkook is slowly beginning to wake up, and you can only pray that he isn’t listening in to the conversation between you and Chaewon. “No, we did not. He got back after your thing and we promptly passed out in my bed, fully clothed,” you whisper loudly.

“Jungkook went to your place last night? He was so tired, I thought he was going straight back to his. We even got dropped off outside my apartment.”

What? Chaewon and Jungkook live within a three-minute walk of each other. Your apartment is ten minutes away from both of them.

“You did?” You ask, eyebrows furrowing.

“Who’s that?”

You turn around to see Jungkook lying on his back, head resting on a nearly-deflated pillow of yours as he looks up at you, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His hair is mussed, some parts styled and stiff with hair gel, and some parts tangled and unkempt. He looks like he’s been lying in that position for a while, hand resting behind his head as he gazes up at you.

“It’s Chaewon,” you tell him softly as she laughs on the other end. “She just called your phone. Are you free next Wednesday?”

“Hmm?” Jungkook, still half-asleep. “When?”

“Next Wednesday,” you repeat, a hand on the phone like it’s going to do anything to stop Chaewon from listening to you two. “Chaewon says she has a friend who wants you to accompany her to a double date she’s been set up to go on by her parents.”

“Mmmrph,” Jungkook mumbles. It’s clear he hasn’t even thought about his plans for the rest of the day, let alone next Wednesday.

“He’s not available right now,” you say into the phone. Chaewon snorts.

“Fine,” Chaewon says with a sigh. “Can you pass the message on when you guys are done pretending that you aren’t fucking behind my back?”

You suck in a breath. “Chaewon!” You hiss. “We are not—” you quickly turn back to Jungkook, who, by the looks of his hooded eyes and bewildered expression, isn’t listening in, “—fucking!” You whisper. “You know we’re not!”

Chaewon laughs. “Yeah, yeah. Call me later, Y/N, we should grab ice cream or something.” She hangs up.

“Who was that?” Jungkook asks sleepily, eyes still half-lidded as he sits up in your bed, soft skin, brown hair, pouted lips amongst a sea of white, bundled up in your thick duvet as if sitting on a cloud.

“Chaewon,” you tell him.

“Oh, why was she calling?”

“She wanted to ask if you were free next Wednesday.”

“To do what?”

Maybe you were worried about Jungkook listening in to Chaewon grill you about your relationship (or serious lack thereof) for nothing.

“She has a friend who wants you to go on a parent-mandated double date, trophy boyfriend style,” you explain. Jungkook groans.

“Pretending to know business is mentally, physically, and morally draining. It feels like I’m selling my soul to capitalism,” he says with a sigh, collapsing back against the mattress. “I just wanna stay here forever. It’s so cozy.”

“Come on, Kook,” you say, tugging the duvet off of him to reveal the rest of his body. He curls into himself at the exposure, refusing to budge. “You’ve encroached on my apartment long enough.”

“Y/N,” Jungkook whines, drawing out your name for good measure. “Noooooooo.” He reaches out to cling onto your wrist, which means that if you want him out of your bed, you’ll have to drag him out.

“Jungkook, you’re swole, you know I can’t tug you out of my bed,” you say with a pout. He knows every trick in the book to use against you, and worst of all, he knows you’re weak to all of them.

“Good,” Jungkook says with a loopy smile, pulling you back onto the bed like it’s nothing. You yelp as you come crashing on top of him, your body bumping into his as he wraps his arms around you and flops back onto your bed. You laugh and shout at the feeling as Jungkook cuddles up in the warmth of the sheets, pulling you in tightly to his body. “It’s so warm here, let’s stay like this forever.”

“What about food?”

“You keep a stash of Clif bars under your bed, we’ll eat those,” Jungkook suggests.

You attempt to wriggle out of his grip, hoping to escape before he holds you long enough to get addicted, hooked on the feeling of his arms around you, his body against yours. But Jungkook is nothing if not persistent and clingy, and he wraps his arms tightly around your torso like a koala, warm and soft. “Come on, Jungkook. It’s nearly noon. Let’s be productive today.”

“Gross.”

“Let’s not sit in bed all day.”

“Grosser. Let’s just stay in your bed all day and pretend that we don’t have any real responsibilities.”

“Given that we’re in college, that may be slightly difficult.”

“Fuck that, your GPA doesn’t matter anyway. Unless you have plans on going to grad school?” He asks with an eyebrow raise, turning to look at you.

“No way, I’m not paying for another four years of this shit,” you immediately declare. Let the capitalist system of higher education extort another two to four years worth of tuition out of you for the same degree? Absolutely not.

“Then why move?” Jungkook says with a grin.

“Because,” you say, stumbling for a real answer.

“Not good enough.” He grins cheekily. “I vote to stay in bed.”

“I vote to do my readings, your CS homework, and get back to Chaewon about Wednesday.”

“God,” Jungkook says with a sigh. “What’s Wednesday?”

“Oh my God, you need to call Chaewon. Right now. Before you ask me what you have on Wednesday one more time after losing all of your brain cells lounging around in my personal bed and refusing to leave,” you say, eyes wide as you worm your way out of his grip, dusting yourself off and heading to your closet.

“Noooooooo,” Jungkook says, reaching out a desperate hand. “Y/N, come back.”

“Call Chaewon. Call her!” You order, fishing around in your closet for some fresh clothes. You’ve been wearing the same one since Thursday night. You are disgusting.

Jungkook groans but obeys, picking up his phone and pressing her contact. “Hey Chae, it’s Jungkook. Listen, I’m literally going to Venmo you back what you paid me because you? Literally didn’t need to pay me at all? And I’m actually mad at you for it? Wait, what do you mean am I up to getting paid on Wednesday—”

The phone call presents the perfect opportunity for you to dash out of your bedroom and into the bathroom, where you splash yourself with cold tap water like a model in a face wash commercial (who already has perfect skin, so why does she need this new face wash, seriously?) to clear your head. It’s been a weird twelve hours. Even weirder knowing that across the hall, Jungkook is sitting in your room, on your bed, in your clothes, under your bed sheets. Knowing that maybe, in another universe, on another timeline, you would be in the exact same positions, only everything would be different.

You wash your face, hoping to wake yourself up. Convince your mind that the past twelve hours have been nothing but a dream, and that when you walk back into your room, Jungkook will have vanished. Or he would have never been there in the first place.

You leave the bathroom and return to your bedroom to see Jungkook tugging on his suit jacket, wearing the same clothes he had on when he knocked on your door at 2AM last night. He’s still on the phone, wrapping up the conversation with Chaewon.

“Yeah, yeah, tell her that I’m down. She can just text me, give her my number. I’m happy to do this for you and your friends, Chae. Plus, she’s gonna pay me and I feel less bad about it because it’s a service and she’s not a close friend like you are. Yeah, it’s all good,” he looks up to see you standing at the door, leaning against the frame. “Yeah, Y/N just got back so I’m gonna go. Maybe we can grab dinner or something tonight? Cool. Bye.”

“Dinner without me?” You ask with a pout.

“Never,” Jungkook says wickedly. “You’re always invited.”

“Have you figured out what’s going on on Wednesday?” You tease him as you walk him to the door.

“Chaewon has a friend, Soojin, who wants me to accompany her on a parent-mandated double date with a business partner’s daughter,” Jungkook explains. “Apparently all of Chaewon’s friends realized I make a pretty good fake trophy boyfriend.”

You rub his shoulder. He’d make a great real boyfriend too. Not that you think about that all of the time, or anything. “Gonna put that on your resume, big guy?”

“Of course.” Jungkook smiles. “Dinner tonight? We can go to the ramen place you really like.”

“Sure thing, is Chaewon coming?”

“If she wants to. Otherwise, it’ll just be us.”

“Sounds good,” you tell him. “See you then.”

“Hopefully before,” Jungkook says. “Thanks for letting me crash here last night, by the way.”

“Anytime,” you say. Maybe one day, it’ll be true.

Next Wednesday, there’s a knock on your door at midnight.

Who else could it be?

It was supposed to be a one-time thing. And then it was supposed to be just a two-time thing. And before you knew it, Jungkook’s number and his services were circling through the ring of wealthy international students, jumping from phone to phone as people crammed to get him to accompany them on their next double date, next business gala, next ballroom dance.

You had always had a feeling that his charming, charismatic personality would eventually draw everybody towards him, so electric and magnetic that you couldn’t help but want to know him, make friends with him, be close to him. From the moment you saw his Facebook introduction post, you knew it was only a matter of time before everyone on campus knew his name.

[October 17th, 4:12PM] You: do u want to get dinner tonight

Jungkook: would love to but have to go to kim family business dinner with dahyun sorry :(

You: ok next time then!

[October 23rd, 1:03PM]

You: yo what r u doing You: i have so many readings to do rip You: do u wanna come to greene w me and study

Jungkook: heejin is taking me shopping for a fancy suit for her family’s event tomorrow i can’t :/ Jungkook: but i am going to get macaroons for u at the mall so we can see each other later!

You: yummm sure thing!

[October 30th, 9:58AM]

You: hey ik you’re asleep rn but we are still on for tomorrow right? 🎃 You: can’t let our one (1) year long halloween tradition of buying last-minute candy and watching the nightmare before christmas together die

[October 30th, 11:13PM]

Jungkook: omg i just saw this now im so sorry Jungkook: uh yeonjoo wants me to go to her sister’s halloween party tm so idk if i can make it this year

[October 31st, 2:02AM]

You: ok You: thanks for telling me

It’s no fun watching The Nightmare Before Christmas by yourself, you realize this Halloween. All of your roommates are out frequenting one of the hundreds of parties being thrown on campus tonight, and although you’d normally be up for getting drunk and dropping it low, you just aren’t in the Halloween spirit this year. Wonder why.

Armed with the knowledge that your roommates probably won’t be back until three or four in the morning, you shut your laptop and decide to go to bed early. Early being midnight, but it’s early for you and that’s all that really matters.

You don’t know why you’re being such a stick in the mud this Halloween. It’s always been one of your favorite holidays, never one to pass up free candy nor the option to dress up, but this one has been particularly lame. You don’t have a costume, your local drugstore is out of mini Skittles packets, and you don’t have someone to spend it with.

Realistically, you have no reason to be sad that Jungkook isn’t available tonight. It’s not as if spending Halloween together is some ancient tradition from birth that binds the two of you together. You did it for the first time as freshmen, and you were foolishly hoping to do the same thing as sophomores. It’s not a tradition if it only happened once.

You look in the bathroom mirror, stained with nail polish and dry shampoo and old skincare, and you sigh. Jungkook has every right to prioritize his current and only source of income over a night spent lounging on the couch doing nothing. It’s not as if you haven’t seen your best friend in over a month and this was the only night you both had free. Jungkook drops by after every single event he goes on. Every single one. He stands outside your door dressed in a fancy suit, or a silk button down, leather shoes and expensive jewelry bought for him by the girls he goes out with.

No matter the time, he knocks on your door and says hello, steals a cup of tea and a bit of your heart along with it, before bouncing out of your living room and off to his own apartment. He doesn’t stay the night anymore, doesn’t worm his way underneath your duvet and refuse to move until morning comes. It’s hard to tell if you’re grateful about it or not.

Sluggishly, you peel off your clothes and wash your face, changing into some old sweatpants from the tenth grade and a t-shirt with an embarrassingly large hole in the armpit. This Halloween, you are dressing up as a lonely college student who is going to bed early on Halloween night because she has nothing better to do!

There’s a knock on your door.

Your first instinct is to freeze up. When there’s another knock, your second instinct is to grab the closest object to you (which happens to be your water bottle) for self-defense.

And then, you hear,

“You’re not watching The Nightmare before Christmas without me, are you?”

To spare yourself the shame, you won’t say that you practically leapt out of bed the moment you heard his voice. You calmly removed the covers, and casually walked to the front door. That is what you did.

When you open it, Jungkook is standing behind it, grinning, wearing the greasiest police officer outfit you’ve ever seen in your entire life. This flew at a marketing company’s heir’s Halloween party? He’s even got what looks to be a fully-loaded water gun in his holster.

“Don’t tell me this is what you wore to some fancy-shmancy Halloween party,” you say disapprovingly, eyebrows raised as you look him up and down and pretend that you aren’t just ogling his figure.

“It was fine, Yeonjoo’s sister just graduated college. If anything, she was more okay with it than Yeonjoo was,” Jungkook says with a shrug. You don’t even need to let him in at this point, just watch as he tugs off his shoes and steps inside your apartment like it belongs to him.

“What was Yeonjoo dressed as?”

“Princess Leia. We made for a very mismatched pair,” Jungkook says, chuckling to himself. “Ooh, did you guys get new tea?”

“You can have some if you want,” you tell him, shutting the door as he eagerly pulls out a box of teabags, turning on the electric kettle on the counter. “I think it’s Wild Berry Hibiscus.”

“Sounds good already,” Jungkook says, and he lets out a sigh that sounds so exhausted, so tired and aching, as he leans back against the countertop, head resting on the cupboards above it.

“You could have gone home, you know,” you tell him. Even from the couch you can see the droop in his shoulders, the bags under his eyes. He’s been going out several times every week for the past month, and he still has a truckload of CS assignments on top. He spends precious hours schmoozing with wealthy businessmen and women, shaking people’s hands and posing for pictures in the fanciest clothes he owns and then some. The selfish part of you wants him to stay. The part that loves him knows it would be better if he went home. “You still can.”

“No,” Jungkook insists, shaking his head. “We have a tradition to uphold, don’t we?”

Even though The Nightmare Before Christmas is seventy-six minutes long, the night ends long before that. You haven’t even reached “This Is Halloween” before you feel a head hit your shoulder, and crane your neck to find Jungkook having fallen fast asleep beside you, half-full cup of Wild Berry Hibiscus next to the laptop in front of you. He’s still wearing his stupid police officer costume, the navy blue uniform tight against his body. His lips are parted ever so softly, eyelashes fluttering as little non-sounds exit his mouth, hints, whispers of snores.

He hasn’t slept over since the first time. You’re not sure if you want the trend to continue, or if you just want to be a little bit selfish tonight, greedy, taking and taking and taking. He’s so beautiful like this, so innocent and gentle and soft. It would be such a shame if you had to wake him.

And so, gingerly, you rest your head against his own, breathe in the quiet little sounds that leave his parted lips, memorize the feeling. It’s not the first time Jungkook’s accidentally fallen asleep on you, but there is something about this moment, sitting on your couch a few minutes past midnight, as the rest of the world celebrates around you, that is so intimate. Like here, in your apartment, you and Jungkook have your own little bubble, tucked away in a corner of the universe far from the noise of the rest of the world. And it’s here that you wish you could stay forever, for once never wanting the feeling to end. Wanting time to freeze in its very steps, the clocks stop and the orbit halts, and it is just you and Jungkook, forever. Like characters in a movie, on pause for eternity.

The moment ends when Jungkook shifts beside you before eventually coming to, slowly opening his eyes as he turns to look at you. You smile at him, dazed and tired, as he sits up properly, staring down at your half-opened laptop and the half-full cup of tea next to it.

“Thought you’d end up sleeping here again tonight,” you joke, even though it isn’t really a joke. Maybe, somewhere deep down inside you, in the crevices between your bones and the dark corner of your heart, you had hoped that he would stay.

“Oh, did I fall asleep?” Jungkook asks, blinking away the sleep in his eyes. It’s nearly two-thirty in the morning.

“Just for a bit. I didn’t want to wake you, but I wasn’t sure if you wanted to head back to your apartment or anything,” you tell him.

Jungkook nearly jumps up off the couch at that, like he’s got springs in his shoes. Suddenly he’s wide awake, brown eyes blown open as he scrambles to gather his belongings, taking the cup of tea and quickly dumping it out in your sink.

“Hey, don’t you want that?” You ask.

“No, no, it’s okay. I’ll come by some other time and have some, it was really good, I just fell asleep while drinking it,” Jungkook sputters, words moving a mile a minute as he tugs on his heavy black officer boots, scuffed at the tips from wear and tear. It’s as if he’s desperate to leave. Like your apartment has somehow offended him. Or worse, you.

“If you want to stay, Jungkook, you can,” you tell him, standing up to run to the door before he pulls the damn thing off his hinges with how fast he’s moving. “I don’t mind. My bed is big enough for the both of us.”

“No, I should—I should get going. My… plants need watering. Right now. I totally forgot.”

It’s not a completely bullshit excuse. Jungkook has a fair few pothos amongst his other worldly apartment belongings, hanging from his ceiling or potted in old mugs and janky shoes. But it’s still a pretty bullshit excuse. It’s dark. Jungkook waters his plants every Sunday, and it’s Friday. It’s obvious he wants to get the hell out of your apartment for whatever reason.

All you can do is hope and pray that it isn’t you who’s driving him away.

“Oh—okay,” you tell him, opening the door as he furiously laces up his other boot.

“Thanks for doing this. Next Halloween will be more fun, I swear. I won’t fall asleep on you. Or anything.”

“Okay, see you soon, then?” You ask, searching for a clue, a hint, anything that will tell you that it’s not you, that he hasn’t found you out yet. That you can still be friends, be best friends, because even if you want to kiss him, hold his hand, roll around in bed with him, loving him from afar is good enough.

“Yes, yes, definitely. Dinner? Uh… sometime this week? I’ll text you. I have to go. Plants. See you!”

He dashes down the hallway.

And you end your Halloween the same way you started it. Alone.

Jungkook ran out of your apartment the other day like it was infested with cockroaches. Or the Black Plague. Or your microwave had just beeped. It was as if simply being inside it was going to scar him for life.

Maybe your apartment is cursed. Jungkook does believe in ghosts. That’s another reason as to why he fears the microwave. Tiny ghosts could be living inside the microwave chamber and you’d never know. But Jungkook knows better. He knows that they’re there.

“He just… ran out?” Chaewon asks, clearly bewildered. The two of you have been working on the first floor of the library all day, obviously doing everything in your power to not actually complete any of your assignments.

“Yeah, something about his plants.” You sigh.

Chaewon narrows her eyes, the same way she does when she’s plotting something. “Interesting.”

“What?” You ask, nudging her to see if you can worm a less mysterious response out of her.

“Nothing,” Chaewon says with a nonchalant shrug. She clearly has something to say.

“What?” You repeat forcefully. Chaewon doesn’t get to go all cryptic on you just because Jungkook ran out of your apartment like it had set fire.

“I know I’ve only known you guys for, like, a year and a bit now, but you two have the strangest relationship I’ve ever seen,” Chaewon comments like it’s nobody’s business when it is, in fact, specifically two people’s business.

You scowl. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just…” She pauses, thinking. In the silence, she begins to pack up her belongings, shoving her laptop into her bag and gathering up the small pile of candy wrappers slowly amassing in front of her. “I’ve never seen two best friends have a relationship quite like yours.”

“Thanks?”

“What are you doing for dinner? I’m eating with Yoonji, but you’re welcome to join if you want,” Chaewon offers. Even though you have no idea who Yoonji is, Chaewon would never exclude you from eating with them.

“I’m getting Korean food with Jungkook, but thanks for the offer,” you say, only to be greeted with Chaewon rolling her eyes. He said he’d meet us outside?”

Sure enough, when you head out of the glass doors at the front of the library, Jungkook is waiting dutifully on a bench close by, headphones in as he nods his head and taps his feet to the beat of the music, lost in his own world. He doesn’t even realize that you’ve left the library until you’re two feet in front of him, when he recognizes your beat-up white sneakers and looks up at you in glee, eyes crinkled into crescents.

“Ready to go?” You ask happily. Your stomach has been rumbling ever since Jungkook suggested you go out to eat this morning.

“Hell yeah I am,” Jungkook says, putting his earbuds away as he stands up. “You coming, Chae?”

She shakes her head. “No, I’m eating with a friend.” There’s nudge against your shoulder, and when you turn to face her, she winks. “But you two enjoy yourselves! Don’t have too much fun without me!”

Before you can publicly berate her for being so goddamn obvious, she’s rotating 180 degrees on her heel and speed-walking in the opposite direction, zooming off so you don’t get the chance.

“I feel like we haven’t seen each other in ages,” you comment mindlessly. Twenty-four hours away from Jungkook feels like a lifetime and a half. Forty-eight is a light year.

“I’ve been busy,” Jungkook says vaguely, shrugging his shoulders.

“Doing what, going out to fancy restaurants and galas?” You half-tease. It’s sad but true—Jungkook spends his nights living a life you could only dream of. And all of these rituals you share, from studying in the library until three in the morning to crashing at his place and taking naps on separate couches, get put on the backburner.

“Hey, it’s hard work pretending to be rich,” Jungkook pouts. “Besides, the craziest thing about going to those things is that rich Korean people don’t serve Korean food at their fancy gatherings. They serve shit like caviar.”

“Is that why you’re so desperate to get Korean?” You ask pointedly.

“Yes,” Jungkook emphasizes. “Man, I just want some tteokbokki.”

“Then we’ll go and eat all of the tteokbokki you can dream of,” you promise. You round the street corner and on the edge of the main road and an alleyway sits a tiny Korean restaurant the size of a bedroom, no more than six cramped tables inside. It’s run by a family who passes it down through each generation, dependent on the starving college students nearby to keep it alive.

It’s Jungkook’s favorite place. The owner gives him a discount every time he sees him.

(It’s impossible not to fall in love with Jungkook. Impossible to not be drawn to his presence, his personality. Like moths to a flame, you can’t help but come closer.)

“Ah, Jungkook!” The old man behind the counter greets as the bell above the entrance rings. “Sit! Sit!” He points to your favorite table, a round one in the far left corner that’s right next to the biggest window. “Usual?”

“Tteokbokki, too, please!” Jungkook shouts. The man gives you both a thumbs up and heads back into the kitchen.

“It’s been a while since we came here,” Jungkook notices. You both usually eat lunch on campus and Jungkook has been largely unavailable for dinner.

“Almost sounds like you missed it,” you poke fun.

“God, I missed it so much,” Jungkook exclaims, tilting his head back in exasperation. “I didn’t realize that it would be so much work to get dressed up in a suit and look hot.”

“Don’t make it sound like such a drag.” You frown. Jungkook needs to put in literally zero effort to look hot. Sitting across from him in this tiny Korean restaurant as he wears nothing but a massive hoodie and black joggers, he looks hot. When he wakes up in your bed in a raggedy t-shirt, he looks hot. When you catch him at three in the morning in the library after eighteen straight hours of studying, he looks hot.

Jungkook sits there and radiates light. Radiates warmth and joy and beauty. Laughter and hope. He’s the college version of a Disney prince. Perfectly imperfect and completely out of your reach.

“I wish I could take you with me, you might enjoy it,” Jungkook sighs. “Plus, I have literally never seen you wear something fancier than business casual. Imagine you in a ballgown!”

“In your dreams, Jeon,” you rebuke. “Free catered food sounds nice but having to mingle with the 1% does not.”

“Touché,” Jungkook concedes. “I don’t know how Chaewon does it.”

“She’s a goddess.”

“Indeed.”

Jungkook pours you a cup of water from the pitcher that the old man dropped off, and then pours one for himself. “Chaewon said that I did well, though.”

Not surprising. Jungkook excels at everything he does.

“Of course you did, you sexy beast,” you chide.

“She said I’d make a good boyfriend.”

You choke on your water as the man’s son brings out your food, and you desperately attempt to avoid eye contact as you sputter and cough into a napkin, gaze pointed away from both a surprised waiter and a concerned Jungkook, who awkwardly thanks the man and leans over to pat your back.

“You good?” He asks, brows furrowed.

Coughing, you say, “I’m okay, I’m okay. It just—it went down the wrong pipe, that’s all.” Jungkook doesn’t buy it, and the little coughs escaping your throat don’t do much to corroborate your claim. “Seriously, Jungkook. I’m okay. It’s just water.”

“You looked like you were on the verge of death,” Jungkook frowns.

“That’s just my face,” you fire back. “Just keep talking about what you were saying earlier. What was it?”

“Being a good boyfriend,” Jungkook says, and with no water near your lips to distract you this time, your mind bears the full force of his words, weighing down on your shoulders like a calculus textbook.

It’s not as if you aren’t already aware that Jungkook would be the best boyfriend in the entire world, bar none. Not as if you don’t sit in bed and dream of a parallel universe, a life other than the one you’re living in right now, where Jungkook is lovely and wonderful and yours. He knocks on your door at a random hour in the afternoon with Chinese takeout from the local restaurant. He remembers your homework assignments when you forget them. He sits in bed with you and judges the Instagrams of the guys on the latest Bachelorette season. It’s as if he was already yours.

“Believe me,” you scoff. “The people know how great of a boyfriend you are.”

“It’s fake, though,” Jungkook reminds you. “It’s only for a night. An evening, really.”

“Better than nothing,” you sigh. “If only I had enough money to rent myself a fake boyfriend for a night.”

“If only your parents were the CEOs of a multibillion dollar cooperation,” Jungkook adds on.

“Truth,” you say, and you and Jungkook toast to that. Toast to knowing that some people are born with a silver spoon in their mouths. Toast to knowing that some of those people can get for themselves something you can only imagine in your wildest dreams—a night with Jungkook. More than just a night. A night spent dressed up in your fanciest clothes, arms wrapped tightly around each other. A night spent as a couple, rather than you and Jungkook.

Toast to knowing that even if you’ll never get to have him like that, you get to have him like this, and you’d rather it be like this than nothing at all.

“You don’t need to rent a fake boyfriend for a night, Y/N,” Jungkook tells you once you’ve downed the water in your glasses (stay hydrated!). “You shouldn’t feel pressured to spend time with people you don’t want to spend time with.”

You don’t understand, you sigh. I’d give anything to spend time with you.

Jungkook pays. He says that he’s made more money accompanying wealthy socialites—even ones that don’t go to your school, because word gets around—than he would in a month’s worth of shifts at the call center. He says he’s never looking back. He’s probably not going to give up the gig for a while, either.

“Just because you have cash now doesn’t mean you get a free pass to pay for everything we do together,” you warn. You’ve always split the price of meals, split the price birthday cakes for your friends. In the beginning of freshman year, Jungkook ate a quarter of a bag of goldfish you had and paid you fifty-three cents to account for his consumption, which you immediately sent back to him. You still fight over it, finding surreptitious ways to incorporate it into the Venmo payments you make to each other.

“I’m rich, I can do whatever I want with my money,” Jungkook proclaims. “And if that means treating my best friend to a meal, then that means I’m gonna treat her to a meal.”

“That’s very rude of you,” you tell him pointedly. “Zero out of ten, worst best friend in the entire world. Will not accept my Venmo payments.”

Walking down the sidewalk, side by side, Jungkook wraps an arm around you and pulls you in for a side hug as you come to a stop at a traffic light. “You always do so much for me and Chaewon. You deserve to be treated once in a while, Y/N.”

“Why, ‘cause I go out to CVS at ten at night to get you Nyquil after you catch the common cold from some sweaty guy at the gym?”

“That,” Jungkook nods, conceding, “and also because you’re one of the best friends anyone could ever ask for. The people who know you are lucky to get to say your name.”

If only Jungkook knew that he was the exact same. It’s an honor to know him. It’s a blessing to love him.

“What fancy clothes do you own?” Chaewon’s lying on your bed, scrolling mindlessly on her phone.

“I don’t know,” you respond, brows furrowing. You get up from your desk chair to start fishing through your closet, “I have, like, some business casual stuff.”

“How about a dress?”

You whip around suspiciously, eyeing Chaewon as she lounges around in your room and acts like she isn’t plotting something nefarious. “Don’t you think you could tell me what you’re trying to convince me to do before you ask me if I have the appropriate clothing?”

Even lying on her back, Chaewon still manages to roll her eyes, sitting up to meet your gaze. “There’s a gala tonight to celebrate some big business deal being closed and I want you to come with me,” she says like it’s a chore, exasperated.

“Me?” You frown. “Why not Jungkook?”

“He said he had some thing to do for some other girl,” Chaewon says. The topic clearly is not at the forefront of her mind. It’s a little too obvious that it’s at the forefront of yours. “Besides, I was given no date restrictions and you deserve to have a little fun tonight. It’s a Friday!”

“I just want to stay in bed and play Legend of Zelda,” you tell her.

“You’re already out of bed,” Chaewon points out unhelpfully.

“Well, then I want to get into bed and play Legend of Zelda,” you rephrase.

Chaewon pouts. “Noooo, please? It’ll be fun, I swear,” Chaewon pleads. “It’s a huge party and hundreds of people are going to be there. Everybody gets to bring a plus one. You won’t be the only person who doesn’t know anything about business and has to cling onto their date in order to survive.”

“Gee, thanks. That makes me want to go so much,” you deadpan.

“Seriously, Y/N. When was the last time you went out on a Friday?”

A while ago. You and Jungkook started having Mario Kart nights on Friday in the middle of your freshman year after you both came to the conclusion that every frat party smells, sounds, and tastes like the same fifty shades of college regret. You haven’t gone out since.

“Not that long ago,” you lie. It’s been months.

“Yeah, right,” Chaewon scoffs. “Don’t think I don’t see your Bitmoji on the SnapMap sitting in your damn apartment on a Friday at 11PM,” she scolds.

“I’m gonna turn off my location,” you declare. You’ve had enough of Snapchat exposing you and your location. People can live in mystery about your whereabouts from now on. They don’t need to know. Chaewon certainly does not.

“No excuses, you’re coming with me to the gala! You must have something to wear in that closet of yours, don’t you?” She slides off of your bed with a thud and joins you as you stand in front of your clothes. None of them scream fancy. None of them even whisper it. You stand back as she shuffles through your clothes, hangers squeaking as she shoves them along the rail. Chaewon tears through your clothing faster than you skim through your economics readings. “Aha! What do we have here?”

She whips out a dress from the very back of your closet, right behind the blazer you never wear because you’d rather be caught dead than in business attire. It’s old—you don’t think you’ve worn it since the beginning of your freshman year when you thought you actually had to dress up for parties. Needless to say, you dry-cleaned it the following Monday and never wore it again. You don’t even recall bringing it to college this year.

“This is perfect!” Chaewon cries. “Really says ‘I can fucking dress myself’, don’t you think?”

“Are you implying that I can’t dress myself?”

“You should definitely wear this,” Chaewon decides, dodging the question. “Gucci and Louis Vuitton are overrated, anyway.”

“I don’t really have a choice, do I.” Chaewon thrusts the dress towards you.

Chaewon shakes her head. “Of course you don’t.”

Three hours later finds you one makeup and hair session later, standing in the lobby of a magnificent skyscraper wearing a dress that maybe could have done without the cup of frozen yogurt that you ate before you arrived. Now you remember why you haven’t really worn it since the beginning of last year. Has it shrunk?

“I feel like a loser, Chaewon,” you hiss as she bats her eyelashes and gets directed to the private elevator that will lead you both to the top floor. “A money-less, jobless loser.”

“At least you’re honest, Y/N,” Chaewon whispers back as you step into the elevator. Despite being nearly an hour and a half late (“Fashionably so!” Chaewon exclaims.) you are crowded into the back corner, several other couples stepping inside to join you, all of them wearing clothes that cost more than your tuition for all four years of college, combined. “That’s better than most of the people here.”

Nothing separates the rich from the poor like morality.

When the elevator doors open, you and Chaewon are the last group to step out, milling about in the corner until the path is free. And when you turn your gaze away from her, you realize just why Jungkook’s so keen on going to events like these, why he never turns down an offer when it lights up his phone screen.

In movies, rich people flaunt their wealth so extravagantly that it almost looks fake. From gigantic ice sculptures to ten-feet-tall chocolate fountains, entire orchestras and dresses worth thousands of dollars, it makes you wonder if rich people really do see those items as necessities when throwing a party. They rent out entire European castles and the press publicizes every one of their actions. To you, it looks contrived, unrealistic. Even if rich people have enough money to sustain the bottom 99% for hundreds of years, how could they spend their money on nonsense like this?

As it turns out, the ice sculptures and chocolate fountains are only half of the story.

At this gala, the hosts have spared no expense. The entire penthouse is made purely of glass, from the ceiling, to the floor, to the walls in between, giving you an absolutely breathtaking view of the city lights dozens of feet below you, of the stars millions of light years away. It’s as if you’re standing in a bubble, frozen in time, the world sparkling and twinkling and shimmering around you. You didn’t even know a place like this existed on Earth. The price to book it must be astronomical. The view, even more so.

“Holy fuck,” you murmur, mouth dropping open at the sight. It’s a movie come to life. It’s a picture straight out of a fairytale.

“Pretty sweet, right?” Chaewon says, clearly proud of herself for convincing you to join her. “The Parks and the Ohs really felt like celebrating.”

“No shit,” you say, dumbfounded. Chaewon wraps her arm around yours and leads you out of the elevator, her poise and grace akin to that of a princess. She’s been to this place before. She could do this in her sleep.

“Pictures first, then we eat, and then we mingle,” Chaewon instructs, and you nod diligently. She’s the only way you’re going to make it out of this night unscathed. Without her, you don’t know what you’d do.

On the average day of an average life of an average person, pictures means getting a stranger to take a single pic on your shitty iPhone at your worst angle, which you will begrudgingly post to your Instagram later after extensive editing.

But this is not your average day, and these are not average lives of not average people. Pictures means professional photographers with entire setups, standing with their cameras held up to their eyes, poised and ready for the next shot. It means couples, one by one, stepping in front of a gorgeous backdrop and posing, over and over, as five photographers at once cram to get their best angle, the cleanest photo.

You don’t know how to pose for photos. You barely remember what the proper formatting is for your essays, depending on the citation structure. And yet, Chaewon is ushering you over in front of the photographers, immediately striking one of her classic, perfect poses as you flail about, trying to figure out what to do with your hands.

“Just relax,” Chaewon advises. Even standing beside you, she can see you panicking in her periphery. “And smile. You’re beautiful, so show them that.”

Eventually, as the photographers switch positions to get different angles, you stop worrying about your hands, stop worrying about your bag, your feet, your head tilt, and just grin. You may not have millions of dollars to your name, but it’s a Friday night and you’re living the life of a billionaire with no responsibilities. You deserve to live a little.

When the next group comes up, Chaewon nudges you out of the way and whispers to one of the photographers, who nods dutifully in response. Wrapping her arm around yours once more, she guides you to the massive catering setup, tables and tables lined with delicacies from every country you could imagine. And of course, a gargantuan chocolate fountain in the middle of it all.

Your stomach rumbles. Clearly, the frozen yogurt was not enough to hold you off. Or maybe it’s just because you’ve been eating college dining hall food for weeks now, and are probably going to throw up if you have to have dry beef one more time.

“If you want to, you should try the caviar. It’s delicious. Avoid the eggplant, it tastes like foot, but the brussel sprouts are delicious. Kimchi’s good, too. Classic,” Chaewon instructs as you walk around the tables, placing servings the size of quarters onto your plate just so you can have a taste of everything. Chaewon sticks to some ribs, pan-seared salmon, and a vegetable so expensive you’ve never even heard of it before.

“Im Chaewon, is that you?”

“Mrs. Kim!”

A strange older woman comes up to the two of you as you’re dishing up, and Chaewon’s face immediately lights up. The woman goes in for a hug, a barely-touching pat of the shoulders and hands. Over her shoulder, you watch as Chaewon rolls her eyes and pulls a face.

“How are you, dear? You look so grown up,” Mrs. Kim says. You watch as the light slowly fades from Chaewon’s eyes with each second that passes.

“I’m very well, Mrs. Kim. Did you get your hair done? It makes you look so youthful.” Chaewon’s a master. She glares at you when Mrs. Kim isn’t looking, raising her eyebrows as if to say learn, young padawan. This is how it’s done. They go on for a couple minutes, showering fake compliments on each other as you slowly begin to eat. You scrunch your nose up. Chaewon’s right. The eggplant does taste like foot.

“And who is this?” Mrs. Kim asks, turning her focus onto you. You look up like a deer in headlights, a brussel sprout puffing your cheek. You were not meant to mingle and eat at the same time.

“This is one of my closest friends, Y/N,” Chaewon introduces for you. You nod your hello, chewing the brussel sprout in the most nondescript manner possible in an effort to save whatever is left of your dignity. “She’s pre-law.”

You are not pre-law.

“Oh, how wonderful! You must have a lot you want to accomplish in life,” Mrs. Kim says. God, you couldn’t care less about how Mrs. Kim feels about you.

“Yes, definitely,” you say awkwardly.

“We really must be going, Mrs. Kim. My parents will want me to make sure I do my rounds,” Chaewon says, a hand on your arm as she makes to get you both the fuck out of there.

“Of course, of course,” Mrs. Kim concedes, sending you and Chaewon one final goodbye before moving on to find her next victim.

When she leaves, Chaewon seems to let out the biggest exhale of her life. “Holy fucking shit, I thought she’d never leave,” she exclaims, grabbing a flute of champagne and downing it in a single go. “She’s an associate of my father’s, so she’s always trying to kiss my damn ass. Like, sorry that you need to brown-nose your boss and his daughter just so you bribe your idiot son’s way into college.”

“You like mingling, I take?” You joke.

“Just murder me.”

“Have any tips?”

“Flex as hard as possible without actually flexing. Try to speak to people your age because they are usually more bearable than people older than you. The best conversationalists are anybody under the age of ten,” Chaewon tells you. She picks up another glass of Prosecco. “Want some champagne?”

“You have it,” you tell her. “I think you need it more than I do.”

Chaewon shrugs. Not as if they’re running out any time soon. She gulps it down and places it on the tray of one of the caterers as they whiz by her.

The rest of the night passes by in the same way the beginning of it did. Chaewon drags you around the penthouse, talking with her father’s business partners and associates and their sons and daughters and husbands and wives for no more than two minutes each before moving on. She’s got her technique down pat. Greet, compliment, shade, flex, compliment, say goodbye. It’s foolproof, because you immediately notice that everyone else in the room has adopted the same approach.

Business gatherings like these are just one big game of who can be the most-liked and the least-liked at the same time. And the answer: everybody, all at once.

Halfway through the evening, Chaewon collapses against the back wall, totally unafraid of the possibility of the glass giving out behind her. She doesn’t care. If it breaks, it breaks.

“Tired?”

“I just need a break,” Chaewon declares. “Because everyone in here is so fucking fake, and you’re the only one I can talk to without wanting to rip out my eardrums.”

“I’m honored,” you say sarcastically.

“When I say you’re the only honest one here, I mean it,” Chaewon says. You lean back against the wall next to her, looking out into a sea of people in fancy clothes with fancy food and fancy friends. “Look at all these people, Y/N. All these fucking people, and you’re the only one who’s true.”

And then, you spot him.

He’s far away, standing in a group of people you don’t recognize, a hand on the small of another girl’s back. He’s wearing a navy blue suit, tight-fitting and tailored, a silver watch sparkling on his wrist as he adjusts his sleeves. One of the other young men in the group says something funny, and he tilts his head back to laugh, chuckling as the girl beside him curls into his arms.

You suppose it would have been ignorant of you to assume Jungkook was elsewhere on a night like this, at a gathering where everybody who knows anybody is here.

Jungkook must not know you’re here. He mustn't, otherwise he would have come over to find you. You must have entered at different times, spent the night wandering around different parts of the penthouse. Clinging onto Chaewon’s arms, you must have avoided his gaze, and he, yours.

Chaewon hasn’t spotted him either. Maybe it’s better this way. Maybe it’s better, if you’re the only one stuck with the knowledge that he’s here tonight. Chaewon would pity you. Other people would ask you how you knew such a worldly, experienced man like him. And you would spend the night wallowing in sadness, wondering why it’s never you that gets to spend the night next to him.

From this distance, you can see Jungkook perfectly. The light from the moon shines down on him like a goddamn spotlight, catching the sparkling on his wrist, leaving a silver gleam in his slicked back hair. You watch as he laughs, smiles, talks, grins and beams and socializes. Of course he’s here. Of course. He’s so good at this, so good at being real and genuine and happy.

Chaewon says the only person in the room who is true is you, but how can that be? How can that be when Jungkook, the most honest, wonderful, real person you know, is standing in front of you? You aren’t honest. You aren’t true and real and whole. You stand on the sidelines, a wallflower in a room of daisies and roses, and pine from afar. Watch as he pretends to date a girl that’s not you, wraps his arm around her waist and kisses her cheek, and you act like everything is alright.

It sucks, being trapped like this for fear of him seeing you. You know that would be worse—if he saw you standing alone and decided to take matters into his own hands. Seeing him up close in a penthouse like this, a movie set, shimmering and sparkling, it would be worse. Jungkook pulls the girl beside him in close to his side, smiling as he listens to someone else speak. She’s the perfect height in those heels, just tall enough to rest her head in the crook between his neck and his shoulder. You imagine them walking into the room together, hand in hand. Imagine them posing for the pictures like a real couple, a pair of celebrities.

You suppose you have no reason to be jealous of her, of him, of what they have. Jealousy is when resenting someone for having something that you once had. You never had a life like that with Jungkook. You’ll never have a life like that with him. Never get dressed up to go out, never get to be his date to an event. Never get pictures taken of you as a couple, never feed each other candies and strawberries dipped in chocolate. You can’t be jealous of her. You were never in the running to begin with.

“Ready to get back out there?” Chaewon asks, placing a firm hand on your shoulder.

A waiter comes by with a tray of champagne flutes, offering it to the both of you.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Chaewon tells you as she takes a glass for herself.

You sigh, casting another glance over at Jungkook. He and his date are moving around now, joining another social circle on the opposite side of the penthouse. He looks so at ease, so comfortable. He belongs there, in the middle of it all, talking and laughing and grinning. And you? You belong back at home, underneath your duvet covers playing a game of Mario Kart. Not here.

You shake your head. You could use a drink or two in this state. “I’d love one, actually. Thank you.”

That night, you stay at Chaewon’s place.

“You’ve been acting weird.”

“Hello to you, as well,” you say with a scowl as Chaewon sits down across from you at the local ramen place.

“Listen,” Chaewon begins, “I’ve been thinking. You need to confess to Jungkook.”

You nearly spit out the complimentary water you were served. “Excuse me?”

“You need to. You’ve been acting weird and that’s the only thing that’s going to fix it,” Chaewon declares.

“What do you mean I’ve been ‘acting weird’? Care to explain?” You ask, offended. You haven’t been acting weird. Well, that weird. Maybe a little weird.

“Jungkook told me you haven’t seen each other for the last eight days,” Chaewon points out. Eight days? It’s more like seven and a half. Not that you’ve been counting, or anything.

“So? We’re busy people,” you defend. It’s a good enough excuse. You’re sophomores in college. You have classes. Clubs. You have to meal prep.

“So? You guys are best friends. You make time to see each other at three in the fucking morning if you haven’t seen each other yet that day. And you haven’t seen each other for eight whole days? What’s wrong with you?” Chaewon demands.

“Nothing! What the heck, I invite you out to a best friend ramen date and you just blaspheme all over me like this?” You accuse. This is not how you imagined today to be going. This isn’t how you imagined this week to be going. “Besides, it’s only been seven and a half days. He’s over-exaggerating.”

“Seven and a—holy fuck, you are literally the worst. Can you just stop resisting? If you tell him, everything will be fine and go back to the way things were,” Chaewon says, blinking, flabbergasted.

“No, they will not,” you hiss. “Everything will change if I tell him. We’re best friends, Chae. Imagine if I told you that I loved you. What would you do?”

“I’d love you back, that’s what!” Chaewon tells you. “You deserve to be loved back, Y/N. Nothing would change between us. I already love you. You’re one of my most favorite people ever. I would never regret something if it was with you.”

“It’s different with him, though,” you try to explain. You don’t know why—you just know that it is. The way you’re friends with Chaewon and the way you’re friends with Jungkook are entirely separate. You love Chaewon. You’re not in love with Chaewon.

“Is it? How?” Chaewon says.

“I don’t know, I just—it’s different with him.” There’s no way to describe it. Jungkook appeared in your life and it was as if everything just clicked into place. There isn’t a single thing in your life that makes more sense to you than Jungkook. “It’s always been different with him. With you, I—I knew that we would become really close friends once we started talking a lot more in the beginning of freshman year. But with him—I don’t know. From the moment I met him, I knew that I would fall in love with him. When he said hello to me, I was fucked. There’s never been any hope for me, Chae. I just have to live like this forever.”

Chaewon rolls her eyes. “No, you don’t. You don’t even see what the fuck is right in front of you.”

“You?”

“God, I’m friends with idiots. Literal idiots. How you guys have made it through nearly a year and a half of college is beyond me,” Chaewon says to nobody in particular. “Seriously, tell me, Y/N. What do you think will happen if you tell him? Just out of curiosity.”

“I don’t know—” you pause. A lot of things. He tells you he just wants to stay friends. He rejects you because he’s not interested that way and you can’t really be friends anymore because it’s weird now. He’s already interested in somebody else. He’s already dating somebody else and you never even knew. He’s not looking for a relationship right now. Things get awkward because you confessed to your best friend that you’re in love with him and he doesn’t feel the same. You end up never speaking to each other. You never see each other. You go through the rest of university seeing each other on the Green by chance and not knowing what to do. You graduate and move on with your lives. And suddenly, he’s just a past friend you used to have. No longer a part of your life. No longer given the chance to. “He rejects me. We never speak again and have to avoid each other at all costs. He lets me down easy and I feel like a total loser for having confessed in the first place. There’s a lot.”

“Jesus, Y/N. Aren’t you forgetting a possibility?” Chaewon says, eyebrows raised high.

“I’m omitting a lot of them,” you tell her. Including the one where, in the next three years, you end up in a hellish dystopian wasteland and you have to band together to survive but it’s awkward and terrible because you love him still and he doesn’t feel the same, never has and never will, and now you have to fight off zombies and a corrupt autocratic government all while dealing with your own goddamn feelings. That may be the most unbearable one of them all.

“How about the one where he actually feels the same?”

“Too unrealistic,” you tell Chaewon. It’s the truth. Why else would Jungkook be traipsing around with beautiful, rich, worldly girls on his nights off? He does it for the money, sure, but he likes it. He loves the experience, loves living that sort of life. You’d never be able to provide that for him. “You know that’s never going to happen, Chae. We’re just friends.”

“Bullshit.”

“Well, he thinks that we’re just friends. And I’m not gonna fuck everything up by telling him that I’ve been madly in love with him for the past year and a half.” You can think of nothing worse.

“Have you ever considered the fact that maybe he thinks that the two of you are just friends because you refuse to actually show him how you feel?” Chaewon asks pointedly, eyebrows raised in disapproval. She looks about ready to walk out of the restaurant. “You never do things to give him a reason to think otherwise.”

“Why would I?”

When your ramen arrives, Chaewon takes a deep breath, downs the rest of her glass of water, and moves on. It’s clear that if she thinks about this any more, her head will explode.

Nothing’s ever going to change between you and Jungkook. You knew, when you first met him, that it was always going to hurt like this. That loving him was something you had to sacrifice to stay close to him. He lights up every fucking room he walks into, and it’s all you can do not to sit there and bask in his warmth. You would rather catch a single one of his rays than be in the darkness. And if being friends with him means that friends is all you’ll ever be, then so be it. You’re lucky to have him like this. Why take the plunge?

“Just—” Chaewon says as you begin to pull apart the noodles in your own bowl. “I know that you aren’t as happy as you could be right now. And you deserve to be happy, Y/N. You deprive yourself of all of these wonderful things, and I just want you to know that you deserve every single one of them. But telling him? That’s something that even I know would make you the happiest. You shouldn’t live like this, Y/N. You have no idea what you’re missing out on if you do.”

The streak of not seeing Jungkook ends the next day, when you come back from an evening grocery store run to find him standing outside your door, hand about to knock on the wood. He’s all dressed up again, button-down and slacks, hair styled and parted, and you watch as he takes a deep breath, almost as if he’s waiting for the best time to knock.

“Jungkook?”

He practically jumps out of his skin at the sound of your voice, nearly tripping over his own feet as he lays his eyes on you.

“Oh, Y/N!” He exclaims. “I was just about to see if you were home.”

“You could have just texted, you know,” you say jokingly, joining him at the front door as you fumble for your keys.

“I wanted to surprise you,” Jungkook admits sheepishly.

“Well, make it up to me by helping me unpack these,” you demand, kicking the door open as you reach down to grab your reusable canvas bags filled with groceries. Immediately, Jungkook is leaning down to grab all of them for you, hauling them inside like they weigh nothing. You stare as he heads over to your kitchen without breaking a sweat, biceps clenching as he lifts the groceries up onto the counter.

“What’d you get?” Jungkook asks, slowly beginning to take out the groceries. He’s in your apartment so often that he’s memorized where all of your food goes, from the correct shelf in the fridge for produce to the proper cabinet for cereal.

“Just like… groceries. I saw a box of peppermint chocolate bars that I thought you might like, they’re in there somewhere,” you say mindlessly, pointing to a random canvas bag. Immediately, Jungkook abandons his putting-away-groceries duty to fish through each of the bags, hunting for the box of goodies. “And I got some cheap Trader Joe’s wine. You know. Just for emergencies.”

“Trader Joe’s wine and peppermint chocolate bars,” Jungkook comments, nodding in approval. He finally finds the box and tears it open sideways. “Sounds like a perfect dessert if I’ve ever heard one.”

“What, did you eat already?” You ask, busting out the wine and a couple of mugs, because you don’t own any wine glasses. Nothing says cultured like drinking seven-dollar wine out of mugs with kitschy sayings like “don’t talk to me until this is empty” or “coffee is my first love” written on them.

Jungkook shrugs. He grabs the box and heads over to your couch, already kicking back and relaxing. “Yeah, I went to some restaurant for another double date,” Jungkook says. “It was one of those places where everything is so expensive but the portions are the size of my fist. Of your fist.”

“You sound hungry,” you note, filling up the mugs and joining him. “And mad.”

“I’m getting reimbursed for the money I spent tonight, so I suppose I could be angrier. But I’m starving. Let’s finish this entire box of chocolates and do nothing else.”

“Your words, not mine,” you say, although his proposal sounds more than appealing to you.

You turn the television on for some background noise, switching to a channel showing old reruns of unsolved serial killer cases, because nothing sets the mood better than the words “then, slowly, he took the knife with which he killed her and began to slice away at her body”. Jungkook doesn’t seem to pay the television any attention, though, instead focused entirely on the chocolate in front of him, calling his name.

He takes an enormous bite out of one before moaning far too sexually for your liking, tossing his head back in bliss. “Oh my God.”

“Good?”

Jungkook moans again in response.

“Please don’t orgasm on this couch. Who knows what other bodily fluids were on here before we bought it,” you ask calmly.

“I’d say that’s nasty, but you guys did cover this with one of those couch covers, so it’s not like my body is coming into contact with other people’s body stains,” Jungkook reasons. The couch cover is the single best purchase you’ve made this entire year. Possibly your entire life. “But they’re delicious. You made a good purchase.”

“I thought you would like them,” you say. “You’re the only person I know who actually likes the combination of mint and chocolate.”

“People who say that it tastes like toothpaste are brushing their teeth with the wrong kind of toothpaste,” he tells you pointedly. “I don’t understand. This is God’s combination. It’s perfect.”

“As long as you love it, that’s all that matters,” you tell him with a pat on his back, breaking off a square of the chocolate bar for yourself. It is pretty good, even if mint chocolate ice cream does sometimes taste like toothpaste. But you’d never tell Jungkook that, of course.

Jungkook takes a swig of the wine, picking up the mug and gulping down about half of it, the wine bitter on his tongue. “Goes great with this wine, too,” he jokes. You take a sip yourself. It’s… not very good. Actually, rather sticky. No wonder it was only seven dollars.

“You don’t have to lie to me, I know it tastes like ass,” you tell him honestly. To be fair, you and Jungkook have both had worse. Compared to the shit served at frat parties, this may as well be beautifully-aged Malbec.

“It only tastes a little bit like ass,” Jungkook compromises. “But it doesn’t not taste like ass.”

“Let’s finish it now so we don’t have to have any more of it later,” you decide. “You’ve probably had some of the best alcohol in your life this semester.”

Jungkook thinks back, tilting his head to the side as he begins to recall all of the instances in the past few months when he’s had anything to drink. “Soju’s still my favorite. But yeah, I’d say I’ve had wine that probably costs more than my textbooks for this semester if I hadn’t pirated them all.”

“The beauty of being a CS student,” you muse.

“You know it,” he says, holding his half-empty mug out as a toast to himself. “But seriously, even if this Trader Joe’s wine literally tasted like garbage, it would still be better than all of that other shit.”

You turn to him, skeptical. Even the single night you spent with Chaewon, in a penthouse amongst the stars, drinking champagne and eating strawberries dipped in chocolate, was more than you could ever dream of. You woke up the next day on an air mattress in her bedroom and wanted nothing more than to go back to basking in the luxury, desperate for another taste. It was addicting. How could Jungkook ever prefer what he has right now to what he had last night?

“Really? Don’t say that just to make me feel better,” you tell him. You can take it. Jungkook has every reason to prefer the fancy meals, the penthouses, the suits and ties to your janky little apartment and old clothes from high school. The two aren’t at all on the same level. They’re not even in the same goddamn game. If you could drop everything to have what Chaewon has, what the other girls and boys who pay for Jungkook’s company have, you would.

“I’m not,” Jungkook tells you seriously. “I mean it. I would rather sit in your room, hunched over your tiny Switch because you lost the HDMI cord to plug it into the television, playing Mario Kart than out there, pretending to be someone I’m not.”

“But it was fun in the beginning, wasn’t it? Getting to be rich without the moral ambiguity that comes along with being part of the upper class?” You ask. It must have been. Jungkook looked so happy when he first started doing these gigs, coming back to your apartment in a state of bliss, a little tipsy from the expensive champagne and steak. He’d knock on your door and tell you all about the night, from how older businessmen handed him their cards and offered him jobs, to the hundreds of ice cream flavors you could only ever dream of eating. Everything seemed so wonderful to him.

Jungkook shrugs, pouring himself more wine. “Yeah, I guess, but it gets so old after a while. Like, no wonder Chaewon was so desperate for me to go with her that first time. It sucks the damn life out of you. You walk around and mingle and pretend that you’re the greatest person on Earth, talking about yourself and kissing up to the other people for an entire night. Honestly, sometimes it’s worse than my CS homework. And I hate that shit.”

“Chaewon mentioned that the eggplant usually tastes like foot,” you add. Jungkook nods in agreement.

“Yeah, it does. She warned me about it the first night and I, like a fool, tried it because I usually like eggplant. And it still tasted like foot. Never again,” Jungkook says, shivering at the mere thought of it. It’s funny, actually, because you did the exact same thing. “But the food is like, the one thing I pretty much don’t have the right to complain about. It’s delicious and usually free.”

“But I hope that you’re having fun,” you tell him honestly, because you do. When you’re sitting in your room, eating two different pints of Ben & Jerry’s, you hope that Jungkook, wherever he is, whatever he’s doing, is enjoying himself more than you are. Because he deserves it. You never want there to be a time when he’s sad, when he’s unhappy or bored. Jungkook deserves to live the happiest version of life he possibly can. “I want you to enjoy yourself.”

“I do,” Jungkook says. There’s a second half to that sentence. “I do—it’s just that… It's so fake, you know? I feel like such a goddamn actor when I’m there. I get to live this extravagant lifestyle for a few hours but in return I don’t even know who I’m looking at when I look in the mirror.”

Oh?

“Like, I pretend to be this business student, when I’m not. I pretend to have millions of dollars to my name, when I don’t. I hold hands and pose for pictures with people Chaewon is vaguely familiar with and nothing, literally nothing, feels real. I don’t know.” Jungkook takes another swig from the mug. “Even the relationships I have when I’m there are fake.”

“Do you hate it that much, then?” You ask him. If it’s so awful and terrible, then why does he keep doing it? Keep dressing up and going out, holding hands with and wrapping his arm around them?

“No,” Jungkook says, sighing as he leans back into the couch. “I don’t hate it. I just—I wish I had something real afterwards to come back home to.”

Real? Like what? Like you? You aren’t real. You sit next to your best friend and pretend that everything is fine. That nothing hurts. You’ve had the biggest crush on him ever since you laid eyes on him, and you’re doing everything in your power to make sure that he’s the only one that doesn’t know.

“That’s why I’m always coming back to your apartment afterwards,” Jungkook says. He chuckles, but it isn’t his usual laugh. It sounds forced, contrived and fake. Jaded. He opens his mouth to say something, but closes it almost immediately. Then, he breathes, long and slow. Thinks. The silence is almost unbearable. Waiting to hear what he has to say, even more so. “You’re the most genuine person I know. What we share—it’s real.”

Tonight is the least lonely you’ve felt in a long time.

Even though Jungkook has something tonight, you aren’t aching to be by his side, desperate to spend more time with him. He told you that he was really looking forward to this one, that it wasn’t going to be some stuffy gala or blind double date. He said something about going to karaoke with the girl and her friends, singing Britney Spears songs and taking shots of soju for hours on end, screaming his voice hoarse. And even if you aren’t there with him, you’re happy because you know that he’s happy, that he’s genuinely enjoying himself.

So, you aren’t that lonely.

Content with the state of your life as it is, you take the night off, ready to prepare yourself for a weekend that will almost certainly consist entirely of just work. Chaewon’s voice echoes in your mind (“I know that you aren’t as happy as you could be right now,” she had told you), but it’s different now. Because you are happy. You are happy, because Jungkook’s happy. The two of you see each other just as frequently as you used to. He texts you about his terrible CS homework and the Shiba Inu he just saw being walked across campus. It’s all gone back to the way it used to be. That’s what you had wanted.

You were prepared for this. You knew that it would eventually boil down to this, down to whether or not you could take Jungkook not knowing how you feel any longer. But right now, you don’t care. Jungkook not knowing has always been a part of your friendship. The love you hold for him, in the spaces between your bones and deep in the cracks of your heart, that has always been there. You see it, hear it, feel it, whenever you’re with him. Even when you’re not with him, it will remind you, appear in the silence, the emptiness. It will always make itself known, because it’s become a part of you. From the moment you met him, it had settled into your heart.

Staring out of the window by your living room, overlooking the ugliest parking garage on campus, you sigh. You can’t see the stars from here, not even in the dead of night, but that’s alright. There is something so peaceful about the navy blue sky. About how mysterious and unknown it is. It calms you. You put on a movie that you’ve genuinely been wanting to watch for a while, sit down in your bed, amongst your duvet and sheets, pillows and plushies, and enjoy yourself, for once. It’s a good night.

And then, much like most aspects of your terribly convoluted, over-complicated and confusing life, it all comes crashing down.

There’s a faint thud from outside, a soft little non-noise that you assume is coming from the street. Not wanting to interrupt your movie—she’s just about to confess, holy shit—you ignore it. It’ll go away eventually.

Then another thud. You pause, leaning towards your window to see if you can figure out the source. Silence. You’re just about to press play, when you hear it again. And again. It gets louder and louder, making up in volume what it lacks in rhythm and order, until you realize it’s someone knocking on your door. And not just knocking casually. It’s as if someone is shoving their whole body into it, shoulders and chest and feet hitting the wood as they bang on it.

“Y/N?”

Oh, God.

Pushing off your duvet, you tug on your slippers and wipe away the crust around your eyes as you rush towards the door. You know who’s on the other side. You’re not sure if answering it is the better or worse option.

You’ve always had an uncanny ability to pick the latter.

When you open the door, Jungkook, in a fancy sweater pulled over a white button down and black jeans that could almost pass for dressy slacks, is standing on the other side.

Correction: he’s sort of standing on the other side. He nearly topples over when you pull open the door, having clearly been leaning on it, and you barely have time to reach your arms out to catch him.

“Oh! Y/N!” Jungkook exclaims, as if he’s surprised to see you inside your own apartment. “I was hoping to see you.”

“I figured,” you tell him, laughing. You guide him inside, and even in his state he remembers to tug off his clean white sneakers, kicking them towards the shoe rack. “It’s so late, Jungkook, you should go home.”

“No,” Jungkook whines. “I wanted to see you. I missed you.”

“We saw each other this morning, Jungkook. And this afternoon, right before you went out,” you remind him. The words go in one ear and out the other, and he pulls you in close to him, wrapping his arms around you as he presses his body against yours in a sweaty hug. His grip is tight around you as he rests his head on your shoulder, breathing you in as if you’d been gone for years. Slowly, after a few seconds, you pull away from him, a hand on his shoulder to get him to look at you through his too-long bangs, hanging over his eyes. “Hey, what’s wrong? I’m right here, don’t worry. I never left.”

“I had a lot to drink tonight,” Jungkook tells you, blinking rapidly. “Like, a lot. They just kept ordering soju and I just kept drinking it. It was really good. Have you had strawberry soju? It’s delicious.”

“I might have had it once or twice,” you fib, not able to recall having it one way or another. “Come on, sit down,” you point him towards the couch, but he refuses, clinging onto you even as you make your way towards the kitchen. “Jungkook, please, I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“But I missed you,” Jungkook repeats. “I missed you a lot. I thought about you the entire time I was there.”

You can’t say you didn’t do the same.

“Next time we’ll do something together then, hey? Something really fun, like going to an arcade or bowling,” you promise him with a pat on his shoulder. “But you need to drink some water, JK. Can you please sit down?”

“No, I want to be with you,” Jungkook says like it’s nothing. Like the feeling of him wrapped around you like this, holding onto you and telling you that he misses you, that he thinks about you, doesn’t mean anything. You don’t think your heart has beaten since you opened the door to see him standing on the other side.

(You don’t think it’s beaten since you met him. Since he came up to you on the pavement, asking you for directions. Since you told him your name, and he told you his.)

“Ah, fine, just be careful, I don’t want you to hurt yourself,” you concede, because it’s so easy to let him have his way, so easy to say yes to him. You manage to grab an empty water bottle and fill it up with what’s left in your Brita, too lazy to refill it after it’s left bone dry. Slowly, you make your way to your bedroom, out of view of the central living space, where your roommates could burst through the door at any moment and see you taking care of your drunk best friend on the sofa.

Slowly, you settle on your bed, sitting off of the edge of it as you cajole him into drinking some water, whispering soft nothings to make sure he finishes the whole thing.

“Does your head hurt or anything?” You ask him, already looking around for the stash of Advil you usually keep on your nightstand.

“No, no, I’m fine, Y/N, seriously,” he promises, even if you can see the glazed-over look in his eyes, the way his sweaty bangs stick to his forehead. “You’re too nice, you know? Always treating me when I show up at your place. Even when you don’t invite me.”

“You know I never mind seeing you,” you tell him. “You can come over whenever you want. I’m always here.”

“No, you’re not,” Jungkook says with a pout, and it makes you furrow your brows. When have you not been? Jungkook’s been going out to events ever since the beginning of the semester, and without fail, you’ve always been waiting for him at home, knowing he’ll turn up one way or another. Except, there was— “That one time a couple of weeks ago, I went to this crazy big gala with Eunha, there were so many people there, and I came back home afterwards and knocked on your door, and your roommates said they hadn’t seen you all day. Where were you that day?”

He had come? You didn’t know if he would.

(Or maybe, you did. You knew he would show up at your door once he got back from that night, and selfishly, not wanting to see him after the fact, the leftover version of him, the part he leaves behind when he goes out. You knew he would be there and you couldn’t bear the thought of being the second girl he spends the night with. The other option. Maybe, you’ve known all along that you’ll never quite stack up to the girls he goes out with, and that sometimes, when you see him all dressed up while you’re in your hoodie and sweats, it reminds you is nothing more than a casual friendship.)

“I must have been out late with Chaewon that day, I’m sorry,” you apologize, letting him rest his head on your shoulder. “I didn’t know you would come.”

“I always come after my events. You know that.”

“I didn’t know if you’d remember to,” you correct.

“I’d never forget about you,” Jungkook says, the alcohol erasing his filter. Making him honest. “I really missed you, that day. I had been waiting the entire night to see you.”

“I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again,” you promise, and this one is for real.

“You know, today?” Jungkook says, pulling his head back so he can get a good look at you, your eyes meeting his own. “Today, I was so sad on my way here. It was so terrible, because I was drunk and sad and I missed you.”

“You were sad? What happened?” You ask, leaning in. Jungkook? Sad? Who would do such a thing to him? Who would erase the smile on his face, his crescent eyes, and replace them with tears?

“This girl and I, she was a lot of fun. We sang a couple duets together and we were pretty good,” he hiccups, “kept winning. It was fun. She and I talked for a long time. I definitely liked her the most out of all of the girls I’ve gone out with. Besides Chaewon, of course.”

“What happened? Did she do something you didn’t want? You know you can tell me, Jungkook,” you ask, a hand on his arm.

“No.” Jungkook shakes his head. “I don’t know. She was fun and I was drunk. We were on our way back in the Lyft when she leaned over and kissed me. And I kissed her back, and it was kind of nice. I haven’t really kissed someone like that in a while,” Jungkook tells you. And even though you’re hearing these words from him, hearing how he had all of this fun with a girl who isn’t you, how he kissed her in the backseat of a car, you rally, blinking away the tears you can feel forming in your eyes. It’s none of your business, you tell yourself. You and Jungkook aren’t together. You don’t get to feel bad about him kissing someone else.

“Did you like it?” You ask, each word a pin in your chest.

“It was pretty nice,” Jungkook admits. “We, uh, we made out a bit in the back of the car until we got to her place. And then we got out of the car and she asked me if I wanted to go back with her, to her room. And—and I almost said yes.” Jungkook looks about ready to combust. At his side, his fists are clenched so hard you’re worried he’ll pop a vein.

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” you tell him, looking him in the eyes so he knows that you don’t mind, that he can tell you these things without worry. Jungkook may be the love of your life, but he’s your best friend, first. He’s always been, before anything else, your best friend.

“But there is!” Jungkook cries, standing up in anguish. “There is, Y/N, you don’t understand! I almost had sex with her!”

“You’re allowed to, Jungkook!” You assure him, standing up to reach out to him.

“No, Y/N, you don’t get it,” he tells you coldly, pulling his hand away. “Why aren’t you mad? Aren’t you angry that I nearly had sex with her?”

“No, what the fuck, Jungkook, why would I be mad?” You shout back at him. “You can do whatever you want with your body, it’s not my job to police it! I’m your friend, not your mom!”

“But don’t you want to be more, Y/N?” He rounds on you. “Don’t you want to be the one kissing me, fucking me? Why aren’t you jealous?”

“Were you trying to make me jealous, Jungkook? Is that what you were trying to do? You wanted to get a reaction out of me because my best friend nearly fucked someone else and then didn’t? What the fuck, Jungkook? What do you want from me?”

“I just want you to tell me you fucking love me back!”

“Jungkook, what—”

Jungkook, eyes dark and furious, pushes you against your closet door as your lips part, feeling the breath get knocked out of your lungs. He’s so close. He’s right there, you can see him, watch as he looms over you, hands clenched in your hoodie as he presses you against the wall. And then, wordlessly, he’s leaning down, crashing your mouths together.

Suddenly, your heart starts. You gasp into the kiss, the feeling of his mouth on top of yours. It’s fervent, hot and angry and passionate, his body against your own as your hands reach out to press against his head. You seize up at the feeling, almost as if in shock, before melting into his touch, leaning into him, desperate. You can feel his breath mixing in with your own, feel the way his chapped lips meet your overly-moisturized ones, feel how his hands drift from where they’re bunched up in the front of your hoodie to your waist, your hips, your thighs. Jungkook kisses ruthlessly, kisses like he’s trying to prove a point. Holds onto you like he’s afraid to let go.

When you part, gasping for air, Jungkook runs a hand through his hair, blinking.

“Jungkook, you’re drunk—” you tell him firmly, refusing to let get your hopes up if what you have in front of you is really just an intoxicated best friend. Your heart is beating miles a minute, about ready to thump right out of you, chest heaving and mouth agape.

“That doesn’t matter,” Jungkook argues back. “Even when I’m sober I love you. Don’t tell me I’m confused because I’m drunk.”

“You show up at my place at one in the morning, tell me about how you made out with some other girl and almost slept with her just to get me angry, kiss me, and tell me not to tell you you’re confused?” You demand. “Jungkook, I’ve never been more confused in my life than right now, can you please just—”

“I love you, Y/N,” Jungkook says, and even though he’s angry, red in the face and sweaty, when he says it, it’s soft. It’s a whisper, a murmur. He says it not to convince you, but so you know. “I’ve been in love with you for so goddamn long, ever since I fucking met you. And I thought you might like me back but you never did anything about it, and so neither did I.”

“You need to go home, Jungkook,” you tell him, hiccuping. When you blink, you feel the warm tears streaming down your face. You hadn’t even noticed them. “You can’t just come into my apartment and tell me shit like that. How do you think it makes me feel?”

“Do you feel the same, Y/N?” Jungkook asks, looking you in the eyes. He’s angry, that’s for sure, but even underneath, you can see the desperation, see how he’s just waiting for an answer.

“Go home, Jungkook. Please. Let’s talk about this when you aren’t drunk, okay? I’m confused and I need to clear my head,” you plead, pushing him towards the door. “Please, okay? Be safe, too. I’ll call Chaewon to give you a ride,” you tell him, grabbing your phone.

Jungkook puts a hand on your wrist. “I’ll be okay, Y/N. I just… Please, tell me. Did that kiss mean anything to you?”

“Yes, it did, but Jungkook, I can’t—”

“It meant something to me, too,” he tells you firmly, lets the words sink into the air around you. He heads for the door, pulling on his shoes. He looks so sad. “Good night, Y/N.”

You place a hand on the doorknob. “Good night, Jungkook.”

It’s barely nine in the morning the next day when a knock wakes you up. It’s soft at first, one every couple of seconds, before it gets progressively louder. Slowly, you get out of bed, trying to tame your hair as you rub the sleep from your eyes.

“Y/N’s in her room. Is that for her? That’s so cute. Yeah, she’s probably awake. You can just knock.” It’s your roommate.

You scramble to make your bed, pouring some water from the water bottle by your nightstand into your hand and splashing your face, wiping it away with an old t-shirt as you run towards the door, pulling it open just in time.

On the other side is a much more tired, much less drunk Jungkook, one hand raised and about to knock, the other holding a bouquet of daisies.

“Hey,” he says shyly, mouth breaking into a smile the moment he sees you.

“Hey,” you say back. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah, head hurts like hell, though,” Jungkook says. “Can I come in?”

“Oh, yeah, s-sure, of course,” you say, stepping aside to let him into your bedroom.

“These are for you.” Jungkook holds out the bouquet towards you, wrapped up neatly in cellophane and tied at the stems with a bow. “So you don’t have to keep Febreze-ing your room all of the time.”

“They’re beautiful, Jungkook,” you tell him, grinning as you take them from his hands. Today feels different from yesterday. It feels lighter, fresher. New. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

“I—” He pauses, taking a second to think, “I meant what I said, yesterday. Maybe not all of it, but. Most of it, yeah. I meant it.”

“Why did you try to make me jealous, Jungkook?” You ask him. “Why did you think that would work?”

“I don’t know,” Jungkook admits. “I shouldn’t have, and I fucked up. I just got so… so tired of waiting to see if you’d ever come around. I just wanted you to tell me. And then I guess I got so fed up that I told you instead.”

You place the bouquet on your dresser before walking towards him, reaching a hand out. “Yeah, that was a pretty big asshole move of you,” you chide, grinning to yourself.

“I know, I’m sorry.” He sighs.

“But I’m happy you’re here,” you tell him. “And happy that you meant what you said. Maybe it could have been said in a less angry way, but hearing it made me happy.”

“I’m happy that you’re happy.” Jungkook grins. “You’re my favorite person, Y/N.”

“When you asked me, yesterday, if that kiss meant anything to me? And I said it did?” You begin, Jungkook nodding in front of you. He’s positively beaming. “It still does. I want to do that every day, Jungkook. Every hour. Every single second for the rest of my goddamn life.”

“You do?” Jungkook asks.

“I love you, Jeon Jungkook. From day one, it’s always been you.” You smile, and it feels like a weight has been lifted off of your shoulders. Feels like you’re fucking flying. Like you’re weightless.

“I love you, too, Y/N. I never want to be away from your side,” he declares, and like a cheesy, rom-com movie, like the shitty novels you used to read in eighth grade, he pulls you in close and presses a kiss against your lips. Wraps his arms around your waist as he holds you tight, kisses you in the middle of your bedroom, in your hoodie and sweatpants, a bouquet of daisies on your dresser. He kisses you because he can, because for every second of every day for the rest of your goddamn life, he can kiss you, over and over and over.

“We owe Chaewon an apology,” you tell him when you’re parted, sitting on your bed, wrapped up in each other’s arms.

“Hell yeah we do,” Jungkook agrees. “She’s been on my ass for ages about telling you.”

“Mine too.”

“She’s such a great best friend,” Jungkook comments. “Knew all this time that her two friends were madly in love with each other and didn’t say a damn word to either of us. That’s loyalty.”

“We should do something for her, to make up for it all,” you suggest.

“You know,” Jungkook says, grinning, “I know this guy who made bank this semester by going on fake dates with a bunch of really rich girls. Maybe he could help.”

“I know him, too,” you joke. “He’s the love of my fucking life.”

Jeon Jungkook quits his job on the ninety-eighth day of the fall semester of his sophomore year.

You know this because on the ninety-eighth day of the fall semester of your sophomore year, he comes banging on the door of your apartment shared with three other girls at 7:18PM, eighteen minutes after he normally heads out on one of his many dates.

“Y/N!” He shouts, banging wildly on your door. You rush over to open it, letting the pasta water on the stove boil over and sizzle on the heat. He’s barely gotten in a second knock when you turn the doorknob to reveal your smiling boyfriend in his oversized hoodie.

“Don’t tell me you’re blowing someone off for me,” you say, inviting him inside. He places a kiss on your cheek on the way in, taking off his shoes and coat as you rush over to take care of the pasta.

“Me? Blowing someone off? Never,” Jungkook says, mock offended. “I actually quit the dating thing, this afternoon. A girl asked if I was free and I said that I wasn’t, because I have to go home to my girlfriend making me a meal. Don’t you love the sound of that?” He asks, pleased with himself.

“You quit? I thought you liked doing that stuff,” you say, using the spaghetti fork to move around the linguine. “Hope you’re cool with boring old pasta for your meal tonight. You could have had caviar if you hadn’t quit.”

“I don’t care, it smells so good,” Jungkook tells you, wrapping his arms around your waist as he stands behind you, watching you cook from over your shoulder. “Look at you, being all domestic and shit. It’s very cute.”

“Stop rubbing in the fact that you’re the better cook, I get it. Pasta is all I got right now.” You pout, turning down the heat as you move to pour yourselves two cups of tea. Jungkook follows you the entire way to the kettle, grip on your waist never faltering. “You can keep going on those dates, you know. I don’t mind. I get to see you in a suit when you get back, and then I get to take it off of you. It’s a win-win.”

Jungkook pinches your waist in response. “If you have a thing for suits, you can just tell me, you know. I won’t be mad.”

You turn around to whack him with the spaghetti fork. “I do not!”

“Alright, Y/N, guess I won’t wear a suit next time you call me at two in the morning—”

“I never said you couldn’t,” you interrupt, making Jungkook laugh.

“You’re so cute, Y/N,” Jungkook coos as you begin to dish up the pasta, making sure to add peas because Jungkook loves peas with his spaghetti. “But I quit because I have enough money to sustain me for the rest of the semester. I’ll work over break and get a new job next semester when the new work-study positions open. Don’t worry about me,” he assures you.

“But didn’t you like going out and everything? Getting dressed up and drinking fancy champagne?” You ask, setting the plates down at your dinky kitchen table, a single scented candle lit in the center.

Jungkook thinks about it for a split second, and then he shakes his head. “Nah. I like hanging out with my girlfriend more.”

“Well, when you put it like that…” you reason with a grin.

Jungkook laughs, leaning over the table to plop a kiss on your lips. “I love you, Y/N.”

“Yeah, you pea-eating loser,” you chide, “I love you too.”

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#jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #bts fluff #bts angst #bts scenario #jungkook scenario #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #bts au #jungkook au #w: if i told you #god this fic.... i cant believe i wrote this.... how did i do it

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