#metallic orange corset

[badbitchesonlyhoe]

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

fill with fire, exhale desire, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: He smokes cigarettes. You hate it. You always have a lighter in your pocket. He is pissed off because it isn't for him, you say. So much is said, but the truth is in the silence.

wc: 26.7k; warnings: rated M (18+) for language; smoking cigarettes, negative attitudes about smoking, quitting smoking; mentions of misogyny in South Korea; slow burn; constant bickering, tbh; smut (fem reader, striptease (?), heavy making out, scratching, penetrative sex, he puts his hand over her mouth and she licks it, multiple orgasms, handjob, fingering); non-idol!AU - smoker, pining, bratty!JK x cold, independent, insomniac!reader; reader's POV

--

“Got a light?”

You reached in your pocket and pulled out the lighter that you always kept on you. It had a dragon insignia etched into the black metal. Heavy and substantial. Serious enough to bruise if thrown with enough force. You flicked it open with your thumb and raised it.

Jeon Jungkook leaned in, holding a cigarette between his lips expectantly.

You made your distaste evident in your expression.

He smirked.

You pressed the button and the orange flame shot up. Burning paper and tobacco. The end of the cigarette glowed red. You pulled your hand away, flicking your wrist to extinguish the flame. Slipped it back into your pocket and resumed not looking at him. You heard him inhale with a satisfied sigh before bleeding out smoke to the sky.

“You smoke too?”

“Fuck no,” you snapped. “I’m not disgusting.”

There was a sharp sucking sound of Jungkook’s incredulous annoyance. “Hm. Then the lighter’s just for me, huh?” His voice was throaty with nicotine. You hadn’t moved away yet. He nudged your shoulder with his knuckles. You didn’t react. “You like me that much?”

You could smell the fumes in the air even though he was attempting to be careful about it. That was the thing about smoke. It got everywhere. A gaseous parasite. You didn’t reply. Instead, you stuck your hands in your denim jacket pockets and acted as if he wasn’t there. Predictably, not a single person looked your way, even with your pleated blue plaid miniskirt was grazing the bottom of your ass and your black pleather corset showing off the ample curve of your breasts.

No one wanted to deal with the big tattooed guard dog smoking just behind you.

He was trying to stand close but not too close. You wondered if Jungkook was aware of how much subtilty he lacked. He likely had no clue. He called your name, casually, desperate for some sort of attention.

“Just say it.”

You turned your head maybe an iota of a degree in his direction, glaring at him from under your black baseball cap. Seething.

“The lighter is not for you, Jeon Jungkook.”

His lips twisted into a pout. He ran a hand through his shaggy black hair which definitely worked on other people. Just not you. He held the lit cigarette away from you, and so you spared him a little more of your gaze, pivoting your black boot to view him at an angle.

“You’re lying,” he asserted with false confidence. “You’ve always got it when I ask.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Doesn’t mean that it’s for you. Could be for someone else.”

This revelation did not pacify him. The opposite, actually. His brows knitted together. The corner of your lips ticked upward. This pissed him off even more as you seemed to imply scenarios that he very much did not like. You were curious on what how he would approach it.

“Yeah, right. Sure.” He took a quick drag and blew it towards the sky. His dark eyes locked on you. He called your bluff. “You don’t like smoking. There’s no way you would hang out with anyone else who does. You already told me that’s the reason we’re not dating.” Uncertainty etched into his stern expression. “… Right?”

You tilted your head at him.

You watched your silence infuriate Jungkook. He puffed up his chest a little, which was admittedly impressive even in his oversized black t-shirt. He had big pectoral muscles. He had picked up working out to add an addiction in attempt to subtract one. He did smoke less in your presence. But not zero.

“Right?”

He was being very demanding and prissy right now.

You pursed your lips and sucked on the side of your teeth. Then you said, “Yup. That’s the only reason.”

Despair ghosted over his features. He glanced down at the cigarette in his hand. There was slightly more than three-fourths left. His eyes went from you to the concrete sidewalk and then back again. You frowned.

“Don’t even think about littering,” you warned.

He clicked his tongue and flicked ash behind him. “So? Who is it?”

“Who is who?” You taunted back in the same irked tone, minus the underlying insecurity.

“The other person you’re cheating on me with,” Jungkook snapped.

You weren’t bothered by his fury. “I’m not cheating on you if you’re not my boyfriend to begin with.”

He shot you a look that could have scalded most. “And whose fault is that?”

“Yours.”

“Tch, then be my girlfriend and take them from me.”

“Not how this works,” you countered, shifting your stance away from him. Slight panic flashed over his features. You ignored it. “My bus is coming soon.”

“Ugh,” he tutted. “I hate that you go to concerts alone.”

“Well, maybe if you didn’t spend your money on smokes, you could join me.”

“I asked,” he growled. “I have the money. You said no.”

You sent him a soulless smile. “Because you smoke.”

Jungkook looked ready to put out the cigarette on his own arm. But you were already backing away. He half-followed, still talking.

“You’re going dressed like that? You’re going to get groped.”

You did your best to not call him stupid. You settled for an eye-roll. “Why do you think I stuck around after you asked for a light?” You stopped. So did he, avoiding closeness. He looked confused. “Men stay away from me when they smell smoke on my clothes. Either I smoke or I’ve got a boyfriend who does. Either way, not attractive.”

He flinched at your double-edged comment. Then, with a measured amount of bravery, Jungkook took a step forward and tapped your chest with his hand that held the cigarette. You made a displeased face. A tendril of smoke drifted upwards for the suspended second that he held his fingertips to your skin. You narrowed your eyes at him. He backed up, lifting both hands up in defeat. He licked his lower lip, looking down at you.

“If the lighter’s not for me, then what’s it for?”

There was a metal screech of heavy brakes behind you, closer to the street.

You glared up at him, wishing he picked better addictions.

Only time could tell.

“Arson,” you replied, and turned around to step onto the bus, leaving Jungkook alone once again. He would tire of it soon enough.

-

You scowled.

“Why the fuck are you here?”

The crowd was parting as you were heading to the train station. Just before you were meant to enter, a man approached you with a plastic bag and a bottle of water. He looked almost as aggravated as you felt. His hands were occupied so for once he couldn’t ask for a light.

“Is that any way to greet someone waiting for you?” Jeon Jungkook growled.

You were far from impressed. “Did I ask you to wait for me?” You answered yourself. “No, I didn’t. So, you’re the stalker here.”

His dark eyes shifted over the passerby you had no interest in. He looked back at you with a peeved expression. “Better me than an actual creep.”

“Spoiler alert: you are an actual creep.”

You kept your distance, wary, and made to walk around him. Something flashed in his gaze but he shut his eyes and sucked in the side of his cheek with a sharp sound. His body turned, semi-following you. You noticed he was wearing a black leather jacket, a different cream shirt, and dark olive cargo pants. Same black sneakers from earlier though. His black hair seemed faintly damp. He must have taken a shower. Perhaps he went to work out while you were gone for hours.

“At least take the water and food,” Jungkook scoffed, holding out the items. “You’re probably dehydrated and hungry. Don’t your feet hurt from standing so long?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Nothing.”

You stopped and stared him down. He rolled his eyes. He seemed hurt. It didn’t matter if he was avoiding your gaze; you could tell. There was no reason to soften your tone, but at the very least you reached out and took the water bottle from him. The condensation felt nice on your palm already. You unscrewed the cap with a cold expression and heard the plastic crack. He hadn’t tempered with it, at least. A part of you felt bad for assuming the worst, but, then again, this was South Korea. You took a sip and pointed with the cap to the plastic bag.

“What food?”

Jungkook started, diverting his peek at your reaction in hopes you didn’t notice. You had. “Pan-fried tteokbokki,” he mumbled.

One of your favorites. At least he used his ears sometimes. “You really balled out, huh. How much I owe you?”

He took offense. “You think I don’t make enough money to treat you?”

“What do you need to treat me for?”

“Aren’t we friends?” Jungkook shot back.

You were mid-sip when the damage was already done. You saw him freeze up and then quickly look away. People walking past were giving you both weird looks, splitting around the two of you as a river does to a pesky rock stuck in the middle. You lowered the water bottle. He shoved his free hand into his front pant pocket. His knuckles indented the fabric. You looked from them, to back up to his face. His brows were knitted together and he appeared to be biting back an insult.

Or something else.

You reached for the bag.

Hooked your fingers around the handles. He didn’t let go. Nor acknowledge you. You tugged lightly. He remained an immovable statue. You took a step forward and pulled up, turning your face away from his chest in the process.

Jungkook whipped his head back and glared down at you.

His grip tightened. You pressed your lips together as the side of your fingers touched the side of his. He smelled fresh. He had definitely showered. The stale scent of his cigarette from earlier still lingered on your denim jacket. You shifted your eyes and made eye contact. Close. Not touching, though. Just enough for a misunderstanding that wasn’t going to happen because both of you were crystal clear on your stances.

He let go of the bag.

The weight fell onto your fingers.

He was searching for the words but you interrupted his thoughts.

“You gonna make sure I get home safe?” you asked.

He looked away. “Don’t be stupid.” Tightened his jaw. “What kind of man would I be if I just let you wander around at night by yourself?”

You watched his profile. He didn’t turn back. You stepped back. His eyes followed, as unnoticeable as he believed, and you let him have that, choosing instead to start walking.

“Might as well eat while it’s warm. I could sit down for a bit.”

You didn’t look back to see if he was after you. You heard him bite back his reply and swiftly pivot, and then it was both you against the night of blaring headlights and a dissipating crowd, feeling two kinds of alone despite all the people around. You ended up at the underground food court. Probably where he purchased the tteokbokki to begin with. Found a table and unwrapped the container. A paper-sleeved wooden skewer was tucked against the lid.

Jungkook threw himself into the seat across from you and pulled out his phone, beginning his doomscrolling.

It was still warm. Lightly spicy. Probably a bit too heavy for late night but that was why it tasted better than usual. You caught his darting glimpse as you ate. Raised an eyebrow. He pretended not to notice. Or was it that he pretended not to care? You raised the skewer and tilted it towards him. He continued to ignore you even though his body was halfway turning.

“Want one?”

“I’m fine,” he instantly answered. Almost smugly.

You knew what he was doing. Still, you acted as if you didn’t. “I can’t eat it all anyway. Don’t waste.”

Those dark brown orbs shifted back. His eyebrows furrowed. He did his best to sound annoyed. “You don’t eat enough.”

“Even if I didn’t, I should eat something healthier,” you pointed out, keeping your face neutral.

He reached for the skewer and you pierced one of the rice cakes instead. Soaking it in the sauce and holding it out. Jungkook locked eyes with you. You slid the container closer so he could lean over it.

He took the skewer from your fingers and fed himself.

All while staring at you.

The eye contact was broken by his eyes closing. Enjoying the food. Crispy, warm, spicy. Chewy on the inside, in that satisfying way that one could enjoy the seeping heat all over the tongue. He stabbed another and ate that too, without asking. You hadn’t expected him to. You hadn’t expected him to do any of this, actually. You drank another sip of water.

“I’ll take the train home.”

“I don’t think so,” Jungkook grumbled with full cheeks, sliding the container back to you and shoving the wooden skewer in your hand. His brief touch lingered. You searched for his expression but he covered the lower half of his face with his other hand, keeping his eyes shut and chewing as he spoke. “I came on my bike. I’ll drop you off at your place.”

Now that was sounding a little too familiar. “I’ll be fine on my own. I’ve done it before.”

He cracked open an eye and you could tell he was frowning even though his hair had fallen over his temples. “Just because you’ve done it before doesn’t mean it’s smart or safe.”

He underestimated your resting psycho bitch face. You speared two pieces of tteokbokki and crammed them in your mouth. Chewed with irritation. You swallowed. “No one is out to get me.”

Those three-quarter moons remained unconvinced. “That you know of.”

You raised your eyebrows and moved to continue eating. “You watch too much true crime.”

“You don’t watch enough. You are the one that should be cautious,” Jungkook retorted.

“I am cautious.” You glanced at him above pan-fried rice cake. “But you can’t live always being afraid of possible horrors. If I did that, well, I would sleep even worse than I already do.”

You ate.

Jungkook lowered his eyes and went pensively silent.

There wasn’t anything to say. You cleaned up. Threw away the remains appropriately. Began to walk with him subtly leading the way. The night felt darker. Quieter. The concert crowd was gone and now the streets were full of night owls on their own lonely missions. You pretended passersby parted to let you and him through. The more likely answer was avoidance though. There wasn’t anything that friendly about Jungkook’s rigid presence and your inherently cold one.

In a parking lot now.

His black and chrome motorcycle was parked. A beast in its own right. Lately, you had been thinking of his addictions. Tattoos. Motorcycles. Cigarettes. Chasing after the un-chasable. Was he simply a thrill seeker or was he attempting to break an internal perfection that he had been living by for far too long? Or just doing anything that came to mind to try and feel something? You stopped walking when he did. He did his thing. And then Jungkook held out a lump of black fabric to you.

You raised your eyebrows.

He half-shrugged. “You can’t get on the bike in that skirt.”

He was right. You didn’t want him to be right. You took the lump that turned out to be a pair of his sweatpants. The Nike ones he usually wore to work out. You made a face. He rolled his eyes as he produced the helmet.

“They’re clean,” he huffed. “I ain’t nasty.”

You had quite a few comebacks for that but you kept your mouth shut. You wondered if he noticed how he slipped out of his practiced Seoul dialect for half a sentence. You noticed. You averted your eyes. It was late. The adrenaline was wearing off to soreness. You could only give about a rat’s ass of a fuck right now. Fuck it. You started bending down.

“Woah!”

All of a sudden you felt a strong grip on your forearm, pulling you back up and dragging you forward, sandwiching you in between the large motorcycle and Jungkook’s scowl, quickly letting go once you glared. You narrowed your eyes. He gave you a disapproving frown.

“I’m wearing shorts under this,” you hissed under his chin.

“Booty shorts, maybe,” he snapped back. “Also, shorts or not, they don’t hide your shape. Idiot.”

He was wrong. You were wearing black boyshort-style panties. Semantics. Instead of bending down, you raised one leg to lower the inner zipper of your boots. Immediately, Jungkook caught your shoulder, steadying you. You didn’t thank him. You glowered. He glowered back as you undid the other one. You stomped down and bunched up the legs of the sweatpants, first sticking in one foot and then the other, doing a little dance in and out of your boots, before forcefully yanking them up your legs. He didn’t let you fall, but he also didn’t look either, swiftly turning his head to stare out into the street. There was a brief moment where you had to decide to tuck in your skirt or let it flare out over the top of the pants. You opted for the latter, straightening and smoothing out the pleats over the crotch of his borrowed sweatpants.

He glanced back and frowned.

You noticed. “What?”

His eyes drifted up. Brow knitted together. He let go of your shoulder. “Not fair that you look cute,” he muttered.

“I look dumb as hell.” You bent over and rezipped your boots, adding under your breath, “But it’s better than nothing. I guess.” You stood up again.

There was a shifty, expectant silence.

You wanted to go home and sleep. At the same time, you wanted to be awake. Jungkook hesitated for a moment and then handed you the helmet in his hands before circling around you to grab the other one he had stored, leaving you to figure that shit out on your own. He avoided your gaze as surely as you did his. The whole scene looked less weird that it felt. You heard the engine purr to life. He said something and you ignored him, buttoning up your jacket so your valuables wouldn’t fall out. Not your best look, however, you had not planned any of this in any capacity.

Jungkook was already seated, his long legs extended to the asphalt to steady himself.

“So, you–”

You placed your hand on his bicep and stepped onto the footpeg, nimbly swinging your leg over to balance behind him. Underneath your hand, you felt him stiffen as you settled, sliding your other arm around his back and temporarily landing on his hip before you removed the hand on his upper arm to grip his waist.

“O… Oh.”

He cleared his throat.

“I’m good,” you confirmed even though he hadn’t asked.

He felt warm and solid and you did your best to ignore it.

“R-Right.” A pause before he said, “Hold on, alright?”

You squeezed his waist.

“Mhm.”

Jungkook took you home.

-

“I’ll get the pants back later,” he said as you handed him the helmet back. “Go on up.”

You observed him. Jungkook did his best to be calm and not jittery. He gave you a strange look, realizing that you were analyzing him. He had killed the engine so he didn’t have to shout. He cradled the helmet you had borrowed with one hand, the other on the handle of his motorcycle for a moment before using it to raise the visor to uncover his dark eyes.

You paused.

Then, you unbuttoned your denim jacket, reaching into the inner pocket for your lighter.

You held it out to Jungkook.

He glanced at it, and then at you.

You ticked your head. “You’ll need a light again. Inevitably. Take it.”

His gaze sharpened. He looked away quickly, and you could tell by the contortion of his features that he was shoving his tongue into his cheek, letting out an annoyed huff. Then, he shook his head, as if your audacity was something to behold. Jungkook then transferred the helmet to the crook of his arm and shoved his dominant, tattooed hand into the inner pocket of his leather jacket, ripping out a slightly crumpled cigarette box with one corner torn open.

He slapped it over your dragon lighter.

“Shit.”

You stared at your palm. And then at him. Jungkook glared back, exhaling hard.

“Take ‘em,” he mumbled. His Busan dialect was even more obvious now. His voice was gruff and his manner blunted. “Just fuckin’ take them.”

“I don’t want these,” you retorted.

“Yeah?” His eyes narrowed to daggers. “Neither should I.” His eyes shifted down and then back up. “Inevitably. You’re so fucking full of it.”

You almost flung both objects at his face. Almost. Yet something made you reconsider. Something about Jungkook’s demeanor shifted. He tried to keep his tone sharp but it was dulled by his body language. He cocked his chin in the most falsely cocky way.

“You think I’m gonna want ‘em?”

Your gazes locked.

“Then I’ll have to come to you to get ‘em.”

You pursed your lips. “I’m going to throw them away.”

He dared you. “Do it.”

“You’ll waste your money and time.”

“And I’ll be reminded you’ll never let me live it down,” Jungkook growled. “I’ll think twice before putting myself through that fire.”

Silence.

Eye to eye.

You held his stare.

Then, you lowered your hand, clutching his cigarettes and your lighter, backing away, and quickly spinning on your heel, striding into your apartment building. You punched in the code. Behind you, you heard the swift kick of an engine roar and then a fading zip away as you yanked open the glass door. You didn’t look back. You pocketed Jeon Jungkook’s cigarettes.

-

Nights later, you sat on the floor next to your bed, flicking your lighter on and off to kill the flame and revive it. Over. And over. You stared at the tiny orange burst. Then extinguished it. Then ignited it again. Such a small light. So fragile and yet so capable of burning this entire apartment down. You breathed out. Fixated on the dancing flame. Time passed.

You sat in silence.

You snapped the lid closed, snuffing it out.

The room was semi-dark. Your bedside table lamp was the only light on. The curtains were open, giving you a view of the city skyline etched into the black sky. The area was actually pretty quiet. You got lucky with a neighborhood full of older folks who mostly minded their own damn business. The apartments were older in a homely sort of way. The most telling trait of the apartment complex was the general unease in the air. Probably because some of the older folks had died in their apartments before. People could be superstitious like that. Maybe you were too. You just didn’t see it as a negative.

Which said a lot about you.

You looked up to your nightstand. Next to the dingy chrome base of your lamp was an open pack of cigarettes. The box was missing maybe three or four of them, you guessed. You hadn’t torn it open to confirm.

Behind your head, your phone began to vibrate.

You lifted your hand and placed your lighter on the nightstand. The lines of the dragon engraving caught the low light, casting shadows over it. Your hand pivoted and you felt around the bed. Found the smoothness of the screen and pulled your phone to you, lowering it to your lap before looking at the caller ID. You frowned slightly once you noticed the time. That late, huh? And this person almost never called or texted. Well. At least not to you.

You accepted the call and brought it to your ear out of habit.

“Ya. You,” mumbled the slurred, distorted voice of Jeon Jungkook.

You responded just as politely. “What?”

He let out a huff. There was a fair bit of rustling and maybe the sound of glass on table. “I want you to know something.” You didn’t reply to that. It wasn’t a question. He paused anyway. Maybe expecting you to reprimand him. You stayed silent. “Ah, fuck.” He exhaled hard into the microphone. You held your phone slightly away from your ear even though you couldn’t smell the alcohol on his breath. “Look. I’m not drinking because I need a smoke.” You doubted it. “I just felt like drinking. It’s Friday.” He wasn’t wrong. “I… I get it, okay? I get why you don’t like it. Makes sense and all. I…” He trailed off again, struggling to find the words. “But I’m not like you. I’m not. I don’t have my shit together.”

“I don’t have my shit together,” you interjected. Should be obvious from you answering his call perfectly awake at three in the morning. He didn’t seem to be thinking rationally at the moment though. If he ever did.

“Fuck off.” He lost control of his Seoul dialect. Kept going back and forth between upstanding citizen and gruff Busan satoori. You wondered if he was aware. Probably not. “You have it way more together than me. I’m fuckin’ trying. Ugh.” His tone tightened. “It’s not… It’s not how you think it is. It’s not.”

You weren’t sure you thought it was anything but you let him talk. Nothing else to do, after all.

“I have great parents, you know.” He sighed. Despondently annoyed. “They’re awesome. I wanted to be a good son. That’s… I mean, doesn’t everybody? I listened to them. I listened to be teachers. I listened to my classmates. I wanted to be a good person, so I did everything asked of me from others.” His voice deepened to a soft growl.

“But… People take. I didn’t even realize it.”

You realized that Jungkook sounded sad.

“They take when they know you give. And I gave, because my parents taught me to be a good person and I didn’t want to disappoint them by people calling me heartless or cruel. But…” Mumbled something you didn’t catch. Cleared his throat. “It was becoming too much. I got fed up. I had to start saying no. But not before I had already said yes to a lot of stuff that I shouldn’t have said yes to. I had already developed bad habits by then.”

A few seconds of silence.

You broke it. “You’re too easily influenced,” you accused.

“Yeah, fuck me,” Jungkook grumbled. “Fuck me for not knowing that there are people are out there don’t have my best interests at heart and want to see me fucked up because they feel some type of way. My bad.”

You figured that was common sense. But maybe not. Maybe not, considering the way he talked about his parents. You pushed back your own personal biases despite their intrusive nature.

“Is your family disappointed in you?” you quietly asked.

“Me?” He let out a humorless laugh. “No. No, they’re supportive. Even if they don’t like my tattoos or the piercings or whatever, no one has ever made me feel shit about it. Everyone is positive. Even began to like those things about me when most elders would lose their shit.” He sighed. “But… I still didn’t quit the cigarettes. Just didn’t smoke around them, because I didn’t want to see my mom sad. But still. I didn’t even want to try to quit.”

A moment of reluctance.

“Until… Until I met you,” sighed Jungkook, his deep voice heavy.

Was that supposed to be flattering? You didn’t have time to ponder it.

“Hmph… I’m so envious of you.” A light thud. More rustling. He sounded a little muffled and a lot out of it. “You’re never ruffled. No matter what anyone says or does, you’re always yourself. You don’t relent even when I act like a prick. It’s so… Hah. I can’t do that.” He sounded defeated. “I try to not care too. I’m trying. I’m trying so fucking hard. The second I think I’ve got it, yes, this is me, I remember it’s not. It’s not. I just copied someone else I saw that I thought… Copying you… You’re right. Lots of people told me to quit. Or keep going, it’s not that bad. They can all fuck right off, until…”

A weak shuffle and then you could barely hear the whisper in between the phone lines. His face was seemingly buried into something. He sounded both far away and so very close at once.

“What am I doing…? It doesn’t… Doesn’t make sense.”

You almost said something. It wasn’t the right time. You shifted your position on the floor, leaning back against the bed. He must have heard that you were still on the other side of the line. He dragged more strength into his voice. As much as he could muster, anyway.

“How…” He shuddered. Whispered your name under his breath in the same way sailors called to stars to navigate the sea on a cold night. “You told me I should quit and… Yeah. I know you’re right. I know. I… The other night…”

The night you attempted to give him your lighter to keep.

Jungkook sniffed. “You can’t… Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter how you do it,” he mumbled. “You do. You just do. And so do I. I gotta just do.”

You finally spoke.

“Yes,” you sighed. “That’s the truth.”

Cradled the phone, leaning it against your temple.

“The world doesn’t care.” He sounded resigned but no longer on the edge. “Everyone just does what they wanna do.”

A long pause. For some reason, you had the impression that both of you were curled up somewhere at home suddenly feeling not at home. Maybe it was the time of the night. Or the alcohol on his end. Or the insomnia on your end. The long seconds marched on. Then, Jungkook asked you a question with a statement.

“I wish I knew what… What I wanna do.”

Silence.

You half-smiled knowing he couldn’t see it. Preferred, actually, that he didn’t. “Gonna be honest,” you chuckled. “I don’t know what I want to do. I follow my instincts and accept wherever I end up.”

He snorted. Haughtily. It was meant to dent to your demeanor and it was about as effective as a puff of popcorn. “Of course. Hah.” Exhaled hard, taking the fight out of himself. “You really… You really don’t know…?”

You debated what you did and didn’t know. “About what?”

An irritated huff. Something about your tone seemingly made him hesitate, though. He caught the gist of what was unsaid. Maybe it was because he was drunk. Sober Jungkook could never.

“If.” Just that. If. “Ah…”

He breathed out your name. It was very late. The darkness was at its peak. But Jeon Jungkook breathed your name with the capacity of a dreamer, half-conscious and losing fast.

“I won’t let it end like this.”

There were a few minutes of quiet.

You hung up before he could start snoring in your ear. A small part of you kind of wanted to hear it. But, instead, you hung up. Placed your phone on your lap. Stared straight ahead, to the windowsill and the peek of the city skyline against a black sky. You thought about his voice on the other end. Calling for you. You sat in silence. Night bled away. You wanted to reach for the lighter again. Your instincts told you not to.

So, you hoisted yourself up and crawled under your covers, giving in to exhaustion’s embrace.

-

The next time you saw Jeon Jungkook was an evening at a convenience store. It was a coincidence. Or perhaps one of fate’s great jokes. You spied him the second you walked into the small establishment. He was talking to a tall man with a sun-kissed tan and longish black hair in soft curls. They obviously knew each other. Jungkook’s laugh was his typical bright guffaw that he tried to stifle to not be a public disturbance.

For a second, you almost forgot that call from a few nights ago.

You looked away, heading to the other side of the store.

Before you did, though, he had glanced in your direction and done a double-take. You moved into an aisle, out of sight, heading to the back, changing your original intent for being here. This particular convenience store was family-owned. It had a small section where the owner’s wife prepared fresh gimbap daily. You wondered how many people knew about this, because it was always stocked. Maybe they preferred to buy from bigger stores, not trusting a small business. You grabbed a tray of heftily-filled tuna gimbap before heading to the fridge section for drinks.

Jungkook was standing there.

You pulled back into the aisle.

His back had been to you, so he didn’t have the chance to notice. Half-in the fridge, picking something out among the electrolyte replenishers and flavored waters. He carried a black backpack that seemed heavy with things. Workout stuff, you assumed. His companion earlier had a towel around his shoulders and had worn a red tank top with exaggerated armholes, revealing a built chest and defined arms. Jungkook’s black hair looked slightly damp, possibly sweaty, pushed back and away from his forehead. He was wearing an open navy hoodie, white tank top, gray sweatpants, and white sneakers. It was safe to assume the backpack had workout shit in it. You wondered where the other guy was. He had been very tall. Easy to spot over the tops of the aisles, but he seemed to no longer be in the store. He must have left, then. No one to distract Jungkook any longer. Hm. You still wanted a drink, but.

Not that badly.

You zipped your black hoodie over your exposed stomach once you noticed the cashier was the elderly woman. You probably would have zipped it no matter who it was. The older generation just tended to be less subtle about their judgements. You approached the register and she smiled, greeting you. You slid the tuna gimbap over to her.

He was behind you.

You glanced at the glass behind the cashier. The cabinet held various brands of cigarettes. It was very well-polished, and you could see Jungkook behind you, sternly staring at the back of your head. You turned around.

He shot you a questioning look, furrowing his eyebrows.

“The total is–”

In his hands was a big bottle. Some kind of sports drink. You took it from him, and put it next to your tuna gimbap. The old woman didn’t quite register the speed of your action, blinking several times.

“Sorry,” you said. “Could you please add this too? Thank you.”

Clearly, she could only focus at one thing at a time. She did not realize you had snatched the drink from the man behind you, which would immediately raise eyebrows. Instead, the older woman was preoccupied with searching for the barcode, turning the bottle this way and that, poking the scanner against it.

Adding it to your receipt.

You felt a hand on your shoulder.

You pulled out your card as the cashier stated your new total. Tapped it as Jungkook hissed your name under his breath, but you ignored him, accepting the purchase as the cashier carefully packed up your meal and someone else’s drink in the same small clear plastic bag. She smiled her customer service smile and then noticed the disheveled punk behind you with a slight widening of her eyes.

You thanked her again and wished her a nice day before gripping his hoodie sleeve and dragging him with you.

Immediately let go when you exited the establishment, finally paying heed to the muttering of curses behind you. You reached into the thin plastic bag and pulled out his drink, pivoting slightly to give it to him. Jungkook snatched it from your hand, scowling.

“I don’t need your fuckin’ charity,” he snapped.

You wondered if he even remembered his drunken laments. “It’s not charity.” You affixed an impassive expression. “Not for you, anyway. Just making it easier for the cashier.” You began to take a few steps in the direction you needed to go.

He scoffed, “What are you doing, anyway?” and cocked his chin at you. “Stalking me now?”

You wondered if he was wishing for that. “I’m retrieving dinner like everybody else at this hour. ‘Cept you, I guess,” you added, unzipping your hoodie again even though the sun was dropping fast.

“What the–”

And Jungkook quickly jogged up beside you, shielding your body with his.

“The hell you doing?”

You glared but didn’t stop walking. “What?” Impolitely.

He pointed to your sports bra with a flick of his wrist. “Uh, you can’t leave the house like that.”

“I already have,” you pointed out. His eyes were glued to your sports bra and the low-waisted black Nike sweatpants clinging to your hips.

“And you think nothing is going to happen to you?” Jungkook indignantly shot back, blocking your way and darting his gaze around as if offenders were already on the horizon.

“Whether it does or not has no bearing on what I’m wearing,” you dryly replied. He was repeating a tale as old as time. Not that that made it any less real. It was all heard before, though. “You act like I haven’t lived for decades knowing the horrors of the world.”

His expression changed. Still frustrated. Slightly put off by your wording. And, sadly, comprehension. “That’s not what I mean.”

“That’s what you’re coming off as.”

“Not my intention,” he grumbled.

“Intentions don’t mean much in the face of what actually happens,” you said, glancing at him.

He shut up.

You almost regretted spilling your honesty.

“Sorry,” he said softly.

He seemed beaten down by your response. Eventually he shook his head and ran his free hand through his windswept black hair, trying to sneak a glimpse at your face. You were already staring at him. That threw him off. He looked away, flustered.

“Can I at least accompany you back?” he offered. Awkwardly.

You ticked your head. You knew that his gym was near that convenience store. “Don’t you live around here?” He had mentioned it, once. “I need to take the bus.” Earlier, you were aware that there was definitely a chance for you would run into him once you chose your destination. But it was the closest spot to buy liquor, and you hadn’t felt like traveling further. Then the original plan changed once you encountered Jungkook. Remembering all that made you pause. You diverted your gaze, adding, “Forget it. Go home.”

Monotone.

Your dismissal clearly annoyed him. He let out an exaggerated exhale and blocked you again when you tried to walk around him. You narrowed your eyes but didn’t raise your head. His tank top was tight, revealing the contours of his muscle. The shoulder of his hoodie had slid down, exposing part of his tattoo sleeve. Dark rings of petals in a hypnotizing mandala. The artist was talented enough to make you pause to admire. Then you swiftly looked away, anywhere else, shifting to his jaw. He stuck his tongue in his cheek and steeled himself.

“Fine.” He came to a conclusion, apparently. “I need a smoke.”

A ripple of aggravation shot through your temple. You turned your stare to fixate on Jungkook. He glared back, twice as stubborn.

“You serious?” you snarled. “Go back to the store then and buy some yourself.”

He rolled his eyes. “The fuck is the point of giving them to you, then?”

You jerked back, disgusted. “I didn’t fucking want them, asshole.”

“Yeah, well,” he pressed, becoming more resolute by the second. “That was the deal.”

You planted a palm on his chest and shoved him out of your way. Unbelievable. “There was no fucking deal,” you retorted, walking fast. He kept up because he was an annoying prick. You glowered, bristling at his presence. “What? You think you can do whatever you want, Jeon Jungkook?” The audacity of this bitch. “I’m not gonna fuckin’ give them to you anyway. So, promptly, fuck off.”

His fingertips touched your shoulder.

You yanked your body back as if scalded.

“Don’t touch me.”

He pulled his hand out of the air but didn’t back down. Those dark brown eyes narrowed. His lips thinned. Anger clouded his features. And. You felt your icy composure become brittle when you observed the distressed sadness poorly hidden underneath said anger.

A tense stillness.

“They’ll kill you,” you steely stated.

His gaze shifted. Contorted. The expression of all too well.

“Yeah.” He exhaled hard. “That’s the truth.”

Then his eyes drifted back to you.

All the fight in the air drained out. Neither of you dared to speak. There were volumes written within this shared quiet. Strangers walked past, sending you both strange looks. You and him were too busy being struck in three-in-the-morning thoughts shared during an impromptu phone call. You looked away. So did he. There was a loud screech of metal and heavy tires on asphalt. You didn’t say anything. You only had time for an instinctive decision.

You tapped Jungkook’s forearm and waved, quickly running to catch up with the bus.

Less than a minute later, him and you stiffly sat next to each other on worn seats, trying your best not to glance at one another or make eye contact with anyone else. It was mostly successful, other than a strong-smelling middle-aged man that was eyeing everybody a little too closely. He settled on you for an unknown but undoubtably nefarious reason. Jungkook shoved you against the side of the bus and firmly put his backpack in his lap, blocking the view of your torso from the stranger’s perspective. Either the random man noticed the silent hostility or lacked object permeance when drunk. He changed course.

Both of you relaxed slightly.

You zipped up your hoodie anyway. Couldn’t hurt. You lifted your head. By mistake, your eyes locked with Jungkook’s. He looked like he wanted to say something but he stayed mute for now. It was a quiet bus ride, leaving both of you in roads of thought neither of you wanted to be in.

-

“You can go home now.”

Jungkook reminded you. “I need a smoke, remember?”

You held your apartment keys and frowned at him. He gave you a casual shrug you didn’t trust. He held onto his backpack and the drink you had bought him, now half-empty. You turned away, licking the side of your teeth. Glanced from all the closed doors around you. You couldn’t shake the tension at your shoulders. Passed by his face. There was something in his expression. You let out an exhale through your nose and shoved your key into the lock, harshly twisting it.

“Fine. Go look for them,” you invited not-so-invitingly.

The door was old and jammed in the frame. You shoved it, hard, and it swung open with almost too much force. You grabbed the knob before it could hit the wall in a practiced motion, crossing the threshold to remove your shoes and scoot them by the wall. He followed, somewhat startled by your daily habits. You ignored him. Instead, you headed for the tiny kitchen with your tuna gimbap, intending to devour it as Jungkook did his search. Chopsticks from the drawer. Taking out the tray of food and placing it on the counter while you balled up the plastic bag to put it in the correct recycling bin. Yanked off the lid and picked up the end piece to eat.

You chewed.

It was fresh. Pretty good.

Without turning around, you removed your hoodie and threw it to the side. It shot to the back of the sofa and clumped. You kept eating. You had already heard Jungkook lock the door, remove his shoes, and dump his backpack on the hardwood floor with a thump. The cigarettes were exactly where you left them. Next to your bedside table lamp with your lighter leaning against them. You ate another piece, staring at the bottom of your gray-stained cabinets, and only now realizing how hungry you were. Huh.

It was eerily quiet.

Weird.

You chewed on your third piece and twisted your body to find Jungkook still standing by the door, staring at your living room with wide eyes. The apartment was quite small. Maybe a little bit crammed. The living room had a black fabric sofa, a dark-stained coffee table that had seen too many late-night dinners, and the TV on a low storage unit.

And mirrors.

Mirrors all over the walls. Most of them were small. Some were vintage with aged metal frames or darkened bamboo frames. Some of them weren’t in the best shape, the reflective glass becoming patchy and spotted. Some were a little more than smoked glass. They were all from thrift stores or resell markets. There was no real rhyme or reason to their placement all over the living room other than chaotically aesthetic. The ones on the bookshelf unit by the window were all lined up. Unique pocket mirrors with various shapes. There were a few anime and cartoon character motifs sprinkled in.

“What the fuck…?”

He finally gave you a look slight frightened concern but mostly confusion.

You shrugged. Casually. “I like to collect mirrors.” You munched.

“No shit?” Jungkook still looked mildly appalled. He furrowed his brows to regain some sort of control over his face. “And you called me a creep.” Still, he shuffled further in, peering over them. “There’s so many of them… The fuck you need all this for?”

“Nothing.”

He shot you a look over his shoulder and quickly diverted his eyes once he noticed your exposed shoulders. “Nothing?” he echoed indignantly.

“There’s no real purpose,” you reaffirmed, grabbing another piece of gimbap with a click of your chopsticks. “Why does anyone have a collection?”

Jungkook snorted. “Collecting music albums or even plushies is less weird then…” He paused. Then angled his body slightly, as if to listen to what you had to say without directly viewing you. “Is there a reason you collect mirrors?”

You, too, stilled. Seeing the back of his head and his broad shoulders suddenly reminded you that this was the first time you had ever invited Jeon Jungkook into your space and rather impulsively at that. You faced the counter again. The gimbap was about three-fourths gone. It was probably a good idea to finish it all now. You chewed on your lower lip, debating on whether or not to tell him the reason.

“When I was young,” you said, directed to the unfinished gimbap. “I didn’t like looking at myself in mirrors. Guess I had some kind of complex about them.” You didn’t elaborate. You positioned your chopsticks over another piece of the roll but didn’t yet pick it up. “When I moved in here, I didn’t really care about decorating it either. Figured it didn’t matter. At some point, I got tired of the blank walls, so I went to a secondhand shop to find something to put on the wall, and I remembered I don’t like mirrors.”

Hated them, really.

“So, I brought one because I thought the design was cool. And kept buying them.”

You half-laughed, mirthlessly.

“I decided it’s stupid to hate something like that, anyway,” you muttered, and chomped down another piece. You should have gotten out the soy sauce. Hah. With self-exasperation, you opened a cabinet to take out the small glass dispenser. Poured a little on the edge of the tray to dip the last few pieces in.

“That’s cool.”

His voice seemed louder, somehow. “You called me a creep,” you hummed.

“I didn’t call you a creep,” Jungkook said behind you.

You turned around, bristling. He was distracted, looking around your relatively neat kitchen. Probably taking note that there were no mirrors here. You restricted your collection to the living room walls to prevent overbuying. His eyes stopped at the gimbap on the counter at waist height. His dark eyes raised. Tentative. Your pulse accelerated a bit. You kept your expression neutral, chewing slowly.

“Thought you needed a smoke?” you asked after swallowing. You waved your chopstick towards the bedroom. “Be my guest.”

The tips of his ears flushed pink. He was sort of looking at you but also not. You tried not to notice that his navy hoodie had fallen off his shoulder, revealing his defined, tattooed right arm all the way to his elbow. His hands were shoved into the side pockets of his sweatpants. He was in the middle of scrutinizing yours.

“Are those mine?” Jungkook asked, completely ignoring your question.

You flicked the side seam by your thigh. “I’ll wash them and give them back. Seemed pointless to wear them for only a short while and wash immediately.” You leaned against the counter. “I haven’t forgotten. Don’t worry your pretty little head.”

His eyes shot up to your face at your comment. You shared a glare. Both of you held it more out of stubbornness than intimidation. For what reason, you weren’t sure. There were only parts of him you disliked. Not all of him. Well. Maybe if you and him dialed back the hostility, then.

Both of you broke eye contact at the same time.

“They… They look good on you.” It wasn’t said in a sarcastic way. The sincerity was somehow more alarming. “Keep them.”

“No thanks,” you retorted with more familiarity than you intended. “I don’t need your charity.” You shouldn’t have said that.

It didn’t end up mattering, though.

“Do you remember when I called you a couple nights ago?” Jungkook suddenly blurted, thrusting you both into whiplash of conversation topic change.

You froze.

There was no cue to tell you what was the right thing to say. It was best to glance at his expression to find out, and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to. There was something about the distance of a phone call that made deep conversations easier. But you realized from his abruptness that he, too, must have been struggling to bring up the elephant in the room. Could have let it sleep, but this guy wouldn’t let it be.

Still, you understood him.

You pursed your lips and rubbed your collarbone with your free hand. “Only one of us was drunk and it wasn’t me,” you finally sighed. Raised your head.

His ears were very red now. You saw Jungkook battle between being a smartass and his natural self. You saw him wish he was a natural smartass. He cleared his throat, his chest tensing. “Uh… Sorry,” he mumbled. “Sorry about… Calling so late.” He cleared his throat again despite his discomfort being purely emotional. His eyes shifted. “I didn’t think you’d answer… But you did.” He chanced a glimpse at your reaction.

You shrugged.

Casually.

He nodded quickly even though you hadn’t said anything. “I don’t remember everything I said,” he rambled in a tone that clearly indicated he did. “So, don’t, uh, don’t take it too seriously.” He was taller than you but it didn’t feel like that right now.

You considered his words and quietly replied with, “Okay.”

His eyes drifted to the kitchen counter. Lingered on your waist, but not for long. He ticked his chin towards the leftovers. “Can I have a piece?”

Wordlessly, you held out the chopsticks so he had access to the other, unused end. He hesitated. Then pulled a hand from his pocket. You moved out of the way as he retrieved the chopsticks from your grip and took a step to be closer to the counter.

It was weird.

Standing in your small kitchen next to Jeon Jungkook eating your dinner leftovers.

Mostly it was weird because it didn’t make you highly uncomfortable or positively annoyed. It felt normal, which is what made it otherworldly odd. As if you were getting used to his presence beside you. You winced and tried not to make it obvious. You heard him try to say your name between bites.

“Chew your food,” you muttered, angling your face away but not your body. Couldn’t bring yourself to watch him eat. You heard the rattle of the plastic tray against the counter as he dipped in the soy sauce. Then you felt a nudge by your arm.

Before you could stop your natural reaction, you were face-to-face with Jungkook who was holding out the last piece to you with full cheeks and an expectant expression. You blinked at him. The blunt end of the chopsticks was used, but he was holding out the gimbap with the slender side. The end you had been eating with. The seaweed glistened with soy sauce. His free hand was under the chopsticks, cradling air in the dire last resort that it fell. He roughly swallowed, looking more annoyed with each passing second.

“Open up.”

“No,” you automatically replied.

He rolled his eyes. “Come on.”

You made a face. “This is weird.”

He made a face back. Disturbing. “Shut up and open your mouth.”

“I wo–”

That was precisely the moment Jungkook shoved the chopsticks into your mouth. Instinctively, you lowered your jaw to catch it all, glaring at him. He scowled back, about to remove the chopsticks before you caught them in your teeth with your mouth full of tuna, vegetables, and rice. There was a brief, pointless tug of war before you pulled your head back rather than let him perform the action. Jungkook squinted at you, irritated, and you were just as perturbed, chewing decidedly before swallowing.

Sudden silence.

He lowered the chopsticks to balance them on the empty tray. You ran your tongue over your teeth to catch any rice stragglers. It became hard to maintain eye contact. Now he was facing the cabinets and you were facing the living room of mirrors. Minutes ticked by.

The quiet became violent.

You whipped your head to Jungkook. “So, what–”

He spoke at the same time. “You know I’m not joking, right?” he asked softly.

His profile was statuesque. Instantly recognizable. Imprinted in memory. And then his dark eyes shifted, his black hair framing his temples, and now Jungkook was searching for your eyes that remained on him. You shut your mouth. He realized he had interrupted you.

“What did you want to say?”

You faltered and then shook your head. “Not important.”

His brows furrowed. “Don’t–”

“Joking about what?” you interjected. “Don’t try to distract me.”

He was, rightfully, irate. “You–”

You wrapped an arm around your midsection, suddenly feeling cold. “Is this about you quitting smoking?”

Immediately he noticed. Your demeanor demanding him to answer was a little too intense to be ignored, though. “That’s…” He tutted, his voice deepening slightly. “I’ve already quit.” You raised an eyebrow. “What?” He was trying to unconvincingly convince you. It had barely been a couple weeks, anyway. ‘Ugh, okay, fine. Maybe I bummed a cig a couple of times. But only for a couple puffs. Don’t fucking look at me like that,” Jungkook snapped. “Like you don’t have any bad habits.”

“I have bad habits,” you answered coldly. “But I also deal with how I feel. Something you should get started on.”

He threw up his hands and began to back away from the counter, until.

“Is this how you want to spend your life?” you asked.

His back was to you now. Reluctance took over, rendering his movements as statuesque as he looked moments before. You stared at his back, wondering if you had gone too far. Wondering if these shared moments were all for naught. Not really in the very real chance that he could leave and never look back, but in the very real chance that he did and nothing changed for him. Or for you. In the chance that your interactions would ultimately mean nothing in this life when it was very clear that both of you wanted to mean something. Anything.

“I don’t.”

You looked up and Jungkook was looking back at you over his shoulder. He lowered his gaze when your eyes connected before half-turning to face you, halfway between running to and running from. You asked yourself, if it was anyone else, would you stay this silent? Before it registered, you reached out and tugged his hoodie sleeve.

After all, you did always have a light for him.

He raised his eyes.

“You’re trying. Aren’t you?” You gave him a dry smile before letting go.

His lashes lowered to waning half-moons. Then he ticked his head, asking, “Do you really hate it that much?” His eyes found yours. He already knew the answer and was asking it anyway.

You told him the truth. “Yeah.”

The corner of his lips flicked upwards wryly. “Damn. So honest.”

You almost laughed. “Well… You wouldn’t like me at all if you knew I was a liar.” Then your words caught up to you. “Not that you do,” you added after a beat.

“I do,” corrected Jungkook before looking away.

Maybe he was embarrassed by his admission. You, however, were preoccupied with other thoughts. The mirrors. Your insomnia. His tattoos. His cigarettes. Your coldness. His fire. The way you tended to lock down your deep emotions and the way his tended to spill out when they overflowed. You held the lighter. He longed to burn. You liked him. That thought lingered. You hated the smoking, true, not only because of all the obvious discomforts, but also because you had a feeling that he knew he could quit and only did it to further punish himself for things he didn’t do.

You just had a feeling since you, too, punished yourself for things you didn’t do.

You felt something soft brush against your shoulders.

His hoodie smelled like him, herbal and fresh with depth, with a vague hint of washed-out acid smoke. You glanced over. He looked apologetic, gesturing to your arm over your midsection. His built chest and sculpted shoulders were mildly distracting. His white tank top clung to his body, not leaving much to the imagination. You frowned. Jungkook saw your face and braced himself for a reprimanding.

You asked him a question you had been wondering for a while now.

“Did you plan this?”

That wasn’t what he expected. His features twisted into confusion. “Uh?” He seemed to forget his anxiousness for a moment. “Plan what?” The perfect deer-in-headlights look.

You angled your body to better face him and held the edge of the hoodie, narrowing your eyes. “You know what I mean,” you warned.

He sensed danger and held up his hands in defeat. “I don’t?”

Those big brown eyes begged you to believe him. Either he was stupid or a really good actor. You relaxed slightly. You weren’t banking on the latter and really hoped you were right. You grimaced, backing away. It wasn’t fair to let learned behavior judge him yet constant vigilance was also needed for survival. You sighed, stepping around him.

“Never mind. It’s late. Just sleep in my bed. I’ll take the couch.”

“The fuck?” Jungkook followed, infuriated, much like the rest of the night. “I can’t do that.”

“The buses aren’t running this late,” you stated matter-of-factly. You waved him away, plopping onto your sofa with a tired exhale. “Or you can call a taxi, I guess. You want money for that?”

He smacked his hand down on the back of the sofa and scowled, bending down to intimidate you.

“I am not some kid!”

You looked up at him.

Jungkook froze, realizing the closeness.

He was naturally a very handsome man. You had always thought so. Never told him. He had probably heard it enough. He faltered, losing the fight but not yet letting go of the sofa. You observed the line of his jaw and thought about how hard he had to work to fulfill the image others had of him. How hard he worked to break that image, only to shoulder a different set of expectations, for only a certain level of coolness could combat the goodness he lost. If not one thing, then another. He must not have felt that he fit those ideals either. He couldn’t win.

You worried that he simply liked you in a vain attempt to feel some level of control.

Crestfallen, his eyes wandered, then realized he couldn’t because then he would be staring down your chest or at your thighs. He pretended that he wasn’t looking and raised his head, saying the first thing that came to mind.

“I feel like I don’t know you at all.”

It wasn’t so much accusatory as it was a revelation.

You lowered your gaze and realized you were staring at his chest or his crotch. That was out of the question. You almost wished he would sit down next to you, but he was right. There was a moment where you considered brushing him off as you did with everyone else. Your eyes connected. As you stared into those dark brown orbs, your instincts taunted you, asking you want you were afraid of.

“There’s nothing good to know,” you admitted. “Better to keep things to myself.”

His expression told you he fucking hated that.

He looked up to the mirrors around the room. You could see he was still a bit creeped out by them and tried very hard not to say it. Your elderly landlord did often joke about how you were inviting spirits into your home with these old mirrors. You usually countered with they also symbolized fate, to which he guffawed and asked how many fates you needed.

Sometimes, it felt like you needed every chance you could get.

“I can’t sleep in your bed,” he finally concluded, steeling himself.

“Your smokes are on my nightstand. So is my lighter.”

The door to the bedroom was partway open but Jungkook even didn’t look in that direction. His ears were slowly turning scarlet. He distracted himself with your statements. “What? Why?” He frowned. “I thought you threw ‘em away.”

You shrugged. “Seemed like a waste of money.”

He muttered under his breath. “Yeah. That’s what they are.” He looked a little ashamed. Shook his head, trying to convince himself. “Even more reason not to go in there and be tempted.” He began to step around your legs, shooing you away with a gruff, “Move.”

You didn’t move.

“You hate my bed that much even though you want to get in it?” you quipped.

Jungkook started. “That’s–”

You stood up abruptly.

It was so fast that he had no time to react. One moment you were sitting and the next you were standing right up to him with only a whisper of breath between your bodies, peering at his face. His hoodie fell off your shoulders and onto the cushions. His eyes widened, lips parting, and you witnessed him holding his breath as if that would somehow stop time.

Seconds that felt like hours ticked by.

You wondered how it would feel to be held by him.

“Fine,” you whispered, staring into his eyes. “I’ll get you a blanket and a pillow.”

And you walked around, letting him breathe again.

-

Being awake was torturous due to constantly fighting invasive thoughts. Being asleep was worse due to remaining imprisoned in those intrusive thoughts blended with uncontrolled imagination, which was your presumed explanation for your insomniac nights. Yeah. And people wondered why you kept to yourself. Such was being human, so once again you gave into the insanity of doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result because it could not be avoided.

Everyone had to sleep, after all.

And you woke up a few hours later, as predicted, wrenching yourself out of a dream you didn’t want to be in, trying your best to remember none of it. You were used to it. Routine of the night, so to speak. That made it more annoying than anxiety-inducing. You laid on your back in relative silence, staring into the darkness of the ceiling and running your fingers over your sheets. A folded portion of the duvet was trapped under your left side and you impatiently yanked it out from under you, forgetting the images of betrayal in the wake of another’s selfishness.

For tonight, anyway.

There was a loud snore on the other side of your bedroom door, offending your ears at this late hour. You sat up. You had been a little surprised at Jungkook accepting your offer. Then again, everything was happening because of split decisions and obvious desires. And some logic. Just not much. You hadn’t talked much after you handed him the extra pillow from your bed and a soft fuzzy blanket. There wasn’t much to talk about, not to mention both of you were trying to pretend as if this wasn’t happening. In movies and television shows, this would have gone in a whole different direction. In reality, it was a lot more awkward and untimely.

You glanced over to the nightstand that held his cigarettes and your lighter, barely making out the outlines of the items. Maybe his initial intention really was to come just to get them. Or maybe it was to put you in a compromising position or something like that. Neither of those things happened because neither of those things were who he was, only ideas of what he thought he could be, but he hadn’t thought any of it through, so now he was snoring up a storm on your sofa without a care in the world.

Unlike you, it seemed like his sleep was solace rather than a battleground.

You tapped a finger against the bed and then sighed, pulling yourself out from under the duvet to grab a large t-shirt to pull over your head. Headed to the bedroom door and opened it quietly, slipping out to the kitchen accompanied by Jungkook’s noisy and uncoordinated nose symphony. He was facing the inside of the sofa but, unfortunately for you and fortunately for him, had powerful lungs. There wasn’t much worry about rousing him. You opened the fridge and took out a bottle of water, hoping the cool liquid could refresh you somehow.

You faced the sink and took a few sips.

Was friendship even the correct word for what you and Jeon Jungkook had? It was more closeness from coincidence rather than a direct seeking out of the other. Closeness that became closer before either of you realized it, slowly losing all the people in between until only you and him were left. Maybe that was why he had a sort of fixation on you since everyone had distanced themselves for various reasons, relationships, careers, adventures. Then again, fixation seemed to be his defining feature.

You almost snorted, and would have if he wasn’t sleeping on your couch.

But maybe not, as he had paradoxical, flighty tendencies too. Always influenced by someone or some media he consumed. You weren’t without your own flaws, you knew. Deep thought and constant existential crisis didn’t exactly make for good company. Sometimes it was better not to think so much, which was why you tried to fight your instinctive nature at times. You looked over to the mirrors on the living room walls, taking another drink. They were small, not very useful as a looking glass or for nitpicking an outfit before leaving. You had not been lying when you told Jungkook that you bought them to get over your hatred of them. There was a time when you hated seeing your reflection because the person in the mirror wasn’t matching up with the person in your head.

Irrational, yes.

Reality was irrational.

You rested your ass against the bottom cabinets of your kitchen and sipped from the water bottle. You knew you weren’t a good person since you had long given up aspiring for something great. Anyone worth anything aspired for something great. Not even failure was frowned upon the in the presence of a dream nowadays. You didn’t understand why Jungkook was snoring in your apartment right now, why he cared if you got home in one piece, why he was trying so hard to quit smoking for someone like you who lived in irreverence. South Korea valued productivity, beauty, and giving away one’s humanity for the cause. Not giving a fuck made you no better than the bottom of the barrel.

You couldn’t answer what he so heavily hinted at because it just didn’t make any sense.

Maybe he was just dumb.

Jungkook snored particularly loud and choked, throwing himself into a coughing fit.

You frowned and made your way over to him as he shrimped up and groaned, highly displeased and groggy from this turn of events. There was no obvious reaction to you approaching him. Either he didn’t hear you or didn’t register where he was.

You placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Nrgh…”

“You alright?” You kept your voice low, a level above a whisper. “Want some water?”

He said your name as if underwater. Muffled and out of it. You pulled your hand away as he turned over and sat up, squinting hard. “Uh?” He was still wearing his tank top which was now wrinkled around his waist. The top of his chest glistened with sweat. He probably usually slept shirtless and didn’t do so to be polite.

You held out the plastic bottle in your hand. “Water.”

He wasn’t thinking straight because he grabbed the bottle from you without objection, as if he wholeheartedly accepted you were the cold-water fairy of his dreams. He drank without so much of a thank you and with his lips right against the opening, crushing the latter half of what was left in only a few seconds.

“Uwah…!”

He dropped his hand, breathing out hard. You glanced at your empty hand. Comtemplated on giving him a reality check of what he just did but instead decided to let it go.

“Uh… Why are you awake?” he asked you blearily, becoming more awake by the second.

Some truths were better left unsaid for now. “Getting used to your snoring,” you mused, dropping your hand.

Jungkook seemed embarrassed. Looked from the water bottle to the coffee table behind your legs. The distance was too great for it to be casual. He clung onto it for emotional safety. “S-Sorry about that,” he mumbled, straightening his tank top and rubbing his neck.

“It’s probably a side effect of your smoking,” you commented.

He shot you an angry pout but there was no retort when you were right. “It’s probably my rhinitis,” he huffed. An uncomfortable, short silence.

Once again, both of you were reminded of a late-night call in the dead of night.

You held out your hand for the water bottle. After a moment, Jungkook handed it back. Apparently, it still hadn’t occurred to him why it was half-empty.  He seemed more curious about you being awake. You wondered that too. You gestured to the pillow.

“It’s not comfortable, is it?”

He followed your gesture and half-heartedly shrugged. “I’ll be okay.” He shot you a look. “Worried about me?” His deep, sleepy voice sounded a lot cockier than he looked. He looked like a puppy that had just woken up after napping in a weird position. His black hair was sticking up every which way.

“I’m always worried about you,” you replied with a deadpan face.

His eyes widened.

You followed up with, “You’re an idiot.”

That pissed Jungkook off. He reached up to smack you and you caught his hand in the air. That woke him up. But honestly you were losing sleep and energy fast. It made you catch his fingers at an odd angle, almost a caress, and you were too tired to care, sighing before backing away, slowly letting go of his hand. His fingertips slid over the inside of your wrist. You turned your back to him.

You headed to the kitchen and tossed the bottle in the proper recycling bin.

He called your name.

“What?” you grumpily replied, straightening.

“You’re not wearing pants…” Jungkook reminded you.

You had to bend over to access the sorted trash. “Lucky you.”

His tone became gruff. “Don’t be so reckless in front of a guy.”

You half-turned and raised an eyebrow. He was still firmly seated on your sofa. “You act like I’m not standing in my kitchen next to my knives,” you pointed out, ticking your head in the direction of your knife block. “Also, are you implying that you’re a trashy guy?”

“I’m not a trashy guy,” he snapped angrily.

“Then what do I have to be worried about?” You took the steps towards your bedroom door.

“I just don’t like how you obviously have no interest in me,” Jungkook muttered under his breath, throwing himself down onto the sofa and turning his back to you.

You stopped in the doorway.

He was not provoking you. He sounded more like a kid that didn’t get his way rather than an adult trying to reverse psychology you. His words were not meant to change your mind. Yet, all of a sudden, you began to wonder what the fuck you were dancing in this limbo for. All because you didn’t want to be someone’s reason for anything? Well, congratulations, you failed. You failed your dream of a pointless existence. Woohoo. You rolled your eyes to the sky and turned around.

He was still pill-bug-positioned when you grabbed his shoulder and yanked him from the cease in the sofa, lowering your head to hiss, “Stop being a fucking brat.”

You expected him to tense up. His head jerked around and Jungkook stared at you. Wide-eyed, as if you had just pulled him out of a top hat by his ears. You glared, physically tired and tired of this shit, sliding your hand down his collarbone and cupping his chin, pulling him to better face you, tilting your head to narrow your eyes at him.

He sputtered. “W… What?”

“You heard me,” you answered in a clipped tone. “Get up.”

“Huh?”

You let go of his chin and slapped his upper arm. “Get up.”

In a tangle of long limbs and bewilderment, you yanked him up by his forearm, snatching the pillow from under him. Dragged him and his twisted blanket skirt into your bedroom. You hadn’t given him enough time to unravel himself. You let go of his forearm and slammed the pillow onto the empty right side of the bed, pointing rudely to the rumpled poof.

“Lay down,” you ordered.

Jungkook waved his hands, panic rising in his gravelly voice. “I can’t–”

“I don’t give a fuck,” you interrupted and marched behind him, shoving the small of his back. He got the hint after a short flailing about, shuffling towards the side of the bed before flopping onto the duvet like a caught tuna. He tried not to make eye contact, but you weren’t looking anyway, too busy crossing over to the other side and slinking under the duvet.

He squeaked out an, “Um…”

“Shut up,” was your automatic grumble. “Go to sleep.”

He answered in a small voice. “But… What if I snore…?”

“I know you’ll snore,” you grunted, reaching to him and pinning his shoulder down. He was above the duvet, half-wrapped in the blanket you had given him earlier. You had noticed he was still wearing his gray sweatpants so he wasn’t indecent. Not that it mattered. “I’ll get used to it.”

“I…”

You made a growling noise in warning, squinting at his face.

He gulped. “I just… Wanted to say thanks…”

You let go of him and turned your back, firmly closing your eyes. Jungkook was right there. You had a queen-sized bed. Big enough, but not so big that he could pull himself far away from you. You could feel his presence. It wasn’t a bad thing, though.

“You’re welcome,” you mumbled curtly and didn’t say any more.

-

When he opened the door, he looked disheveled and distractable, noisily chewing gum, jerking his head around your periphery as if he expected you to bring an entourage to shake him down. You stood at his doorstep, perturbed. His dark eyes flickered to you and nearly bulged out of his head.

“The hell are you wearing?” Jeon Jungkook blurted without any formal or informal greeting.

You thought you would be used to it by now. It was becoming kind of funny, in a way. “These are my work clothes,” you calmly explained. It was true that he hadn’t seen you in a nice silk blouse and fitted pencil skirt before. Dark teal and jet black, respectively. “I have a job I go to.”

This was the logical answer but it was not exactly the answer Jungkook wanted. You could tell by the knitting of his brows, his still open mouth, and the way he was just staring at your hips instead of continuing the conversation. His black hair was sticking up in the back. As usual, he was wearing casual clothes. A big, light gray t-shirt and charcoal sweats.

You raised your hand and shut his jaw so you didn’t have to view his half-chewed pink gum. “You’re going to the gym, aren’t you?”

It broke him out of his trance. He looked irritated, chewing again. More than that. He looked jittery. “Yeah.” He seemed to be having a mental debate. You wanted no part of that. “I was about to drink a protein shake while waiting for you.”

“Cool,” you said in an impassive tone that indicated you had no interest in protein shakes. You reached into your mid-size black leather bag and pulled out his black sweatpants, now clean and smelling of dryer sheet. “Here, then.” You lifted your head to hold them out.

Jungkook had abandoned his front door.

A muscle in your cheek twitched. His apartment was more modern, although about the same size as yours. Space was a luxury. The door was slowly closing without the aid of someone holding it. You smacked your palm against the light wood and pushed it open, your black heels clicking on the dark gray hardwood. Or was it vinyl? Hard to tell and you didn’t care to inspect. The walls were bright cool white. His big black backpack was on the floor of the short entrance hall. It was slightly open. Black boxing gloves with yellow accents and white towels were shoved in there. You expected him to be messy but all of his sneakers were lined up against the wall. Could use a shoe rack, though.

Jungkook reappeared, gum-less this time, carrying a shake tumbler with a vanilla-colored substance in it, clanging it about with one hand and trying to be chill. As chill as a nonchalant freak-out would be.

He coughed and asked, casually, “You go dressed like that to work?”

You weren’t sure why he gave a shit about what you were wearing. “Perks of an administrative desk job. Dress code.” You waved the rolled-up sweatpants in his direction. “Take these.”

He gave you a suspicious look as if you were the one to decide societal expectations for female office wear. “Who are you trying to impress?”

“The HR department,” you replied, deadpan. “I’d get fired if I showed up to work dressed like you.”

He nodded, agreeing but not convinced. “What if someone hits on you?”

“I set them on fire.”

Jungkook gawked at you.

You dropped your outstretched arm and clicked your tongue. “I don’t do anything. No one is allowed to date a co-worker and I’m not interested in any of them,” you explained. If only he knew that you sat alone in a cramped office and reviewed budgeting for university laboratories so no one was heedlessly using government funding. It was thrilling stuff. “Why do you care if someone hits on me?”

His eyes narrowed. “Of course, I care. I don’t want some asshole harassing you.” Before you could tell him to look in the mirror, he muttered, “Do you really think you won’t get hurt looking that hot?”

The real answer was that you didn’t care.

You tossed his sweatpants onto his backpack while saying, “Workplace harassment is very serious. I doubt my superiors want a scandal. You’re right. I’m considered attractive, so they want to keep me as a model employee and for gender equality points.”

“What about the train?” Jungkook pressed, stepping closer.

You almost rolled your eyes. “The subway is always shitty. Everybody knows that,” you said. “I’ve been taking the subway since high school. I’m pretty good at spotting psycho now.” You looked up at him with contained venom. “I can take care of myself.”

“I know that,” he snapped, placing his protein shake on the floor before confronting you again. “I just don’t like it.” He glared back.

You raised an eyebrow. “You don’t like that I can take care of myself?”

“No,” Jungkook stubbornly repeated. Frustration crept into his features. “It makes me mad.”

One look at his face and it was obvious what he was implying. There was no reason to give in, though. “That sucks.” You patted the top of his chest condescendingly. “Maybe you need to see a therapist for that.”

He jerked his head towards the mound on his backpack. “Take the pants back and put them on.”

You wondered if he was being this way because he had paranoia or because he had nothing better to do. “No,” you refused. You crossed your arms. “Don’t be this way only for yourself. Plus, I just washed them.”

Like an ox, he didn’t relent. “Then I’ll get you a different pair.”

You noticed you didn’t smell the scent of smoke on him. Not strong or faint. It was obvious he didn’t smoke in his apartment, but he probably did at the roof of the complex or somewhere similar. You didn’t know him to be a heavy smoker, but it inevitably got onto his belongings. You tilted your head. There hadn’t been any smell that night a couple weeks ago when he slept over at your apartment where you had eventually forced him to snore on the bed.

You had woken up to Jungkook sprawled out, snoring into the pillow and one arm on your tits.

Explained your dream where you felt annoying pressure on your chest. That morning had been rather uneventful other than waking him up and kicking him out of your apartment. You had the decency to be more polite than that, but neither of you were in a state to talk about it. Neither of you seemed to be morning people. You simply told him you had work. He had mumbled he did too, and he had to race out to get ready in time. Only now had you found time to stop by his apartment to return his borrowed sweatpants. Maybe you had been avoiding it a little bit. Texts between you both were sparse. Asking for his address and asking if he’d be home. You peered into his dark eyes. Jungkook paused. He seemed to sense that you weren’t walling him anymore.

“When was the last time you smoked?” You made sure not to sound accusatory.

He started. “Uh…” He looked sheepish. “I’ve been trying to last a month at least…” He gestured behind him to what you assumed was the kitchen. You could see part of his living room from here but not much. His couch was cognac brown leather. “Been chewing gum and going to the gym a bunch to fight the cravings.” Frowned and sighed. “It’s hard,” Jungkook bitterly muttered. He glared. “Bet you’re loving this.”

Unluckily for him, you weren’t intimidated by puppy growls. You nodded, noncommittal, and looked down. His charcoal sweatpants looked soft. Worn in with wear. Your eyes flickered back up. His followed with slight confusion etching into his expression. You held his gaze until you felt his discomfort.

And then you made an impulsive, instinctive decision.

“I’ll agree to borrowing another pair of your pants,” you finally said. He looked relieved. “As long as I get to pick which pair.”

He seemed puzzled but shrugged. “Sure?”

You pressed for confirmation. “Agree or not?”

“Yeah, sure,” Jungkook responded sharply. “What, you that desperate to raid my closet or something? Go ahead, then.” He waved a careless hand into the apartment.

But you stayed where you were. You stepped forward with a click of your heels. He stepped back in his house slippers, bewildered but still defiant, not yet realizing that you were not herding him further inside. He moved as if to let you lead the way, except you turned your body to block him, watching his every move.

His shoulder blades hit the wall.

Those big brown eyes blinked slowly. “Uh…”

You glanced down and then back up at his face.

Jungkook’s eyes tracked your movement. Didn’t get it. You repeated the dip of your chin and lashes, then back up. Dead silence. It slowly dawned onto him. You cocked your head, removing your crossed arms as his eyes became wider.

“W… What…?”

You didn’t let him hide his reaction, tracking every quiver of his lip and awkward chuckle. “They’re clean, aren’t they?” you asked as if it was the most sensible question in the world.

“Uh, well, yeah, b-but…” Jungkook stuttered, trying to decipher how serious you were or if he was even understanding the implications of your stare. “T-That’s…”

You backed up a step. “Then it’s a no?” you offered. “And you will stop trying to white knight my outfit choices?” You made yourself clear. “I won’t be changing them simply because you hate my clothes.”

His eyes narrowed. “I don’t hate your clothes. I like them. That is the problem,” he barked.

You gave him a blank look.

Jungkook sighed out of his nose before looking away and saying in a clipped tone, “Fine. I’ll change. Whatever.”

You moved before he could, blocking his way again.

He growled under his breath, glaring down. “What?”

You held aggressive eye contact. “We’re behind closed doors,” you reminded him. Gave him the pointed up-and-down. “Go on.”

Slight panic laced into his expression. “Uh… Are you serious?”

You already knew Jungkook wasn’t commenting on your fashion because he thought it was inappropriate. It was for the same innocuous reason that you were asking him for the charcoal sweatpants he was wearing right now. Well. Demanding.

“Deadly,” you answered him with a deadly smile.

He might be bigger and stronger than you, but he lacked the imposing audacity. You waited. He didn’t move. Ten full seconds passed. You had your answer, then. You gave him a curt nod and readjusted your grip on your work bag, about to turn away.

A strong hand wrapped around your wrist and gently pulled you back.

You backtracked to stand in front of him again. His eyes darted about somewhat nervously. “I get it…” he mumbled, still holding onto your wrist. His other hand was drifting down. He seemed uncomfortable but not in a bad way, which struck you as odd. He lifted the hem of his shirt a bit. It caught on the front tie of the sweatpants. The tips of his ears were pink. Jungkook hooked a thumb under the waistband and averted his eyes.

You reached forward and pulled on the end of the looped strings.

He nearly yelped and jerked back, causing the tie to come unraveled. You had leaned over a little to get access. Lifted your gaze to look up at his shocked face. He was speechless. You didn’t straighten up yet. Just stared into his eyes. His lips parted but no words came out.

You smiled.

He uneasily let go of your wrist. You backed out of his personal space. Jungkook gave you a strange look and stripped off his pants with a swift tug downwards, bending a knee to kick them up and into his hand, immediately holding them in front of his body.

“Here.”

He thrust the balled-up sweats into your chest. You looked at it. Then at him. Then tried to crane your head downwards.

“H-Hey!”

He waved wildly. You stumbled. He tried to catch you without dropping anything. Your hand came up to press against his chest, causing him to back against the wall again, clutching his pants in front of his crotch. You paused and searched his expression as you pulled back your hand. He was in between conflicted and stunned. His legs were quite defined. At least he didn’t skip leg day. You decided to do it. Lowered your bag to the floor so you had use of your two hands. You reached behind you for the invisible zipper of your skirt and pulled it down. Jungkook seemed to be in a perpetual state of silence. You had to wiggle slightly to free yourself of the tube of black fabric, stepping out of it primly before standing back up, leaving you in your sheer black stockings and with your blouse barely skimming the tops of your thighs.

Now both of you were holding your bottoms. One of you was simply dumbstruck. The other folded and rolled up the skirt, tucking it into your elbow, and stepped up to him. Immediately, his free hand shot up, planting right above your left breast, dark tattoos stark against his tan skin from the overhead light.

“W-Whoa, wait…!”

You tilted your head and rested your hand on the sweatpants he was now desperately clutching to his lower body. You tugged. He did not let go. You raised an eyebrow and began to lower your head. His fingertips hooked under your chin and yanked you back up to his terrified expression of wild eyes and fish mouth. You remained emotionless, giving him nothing. His cheeks flushed pink.

“I… I just need a second–”

You closed more of the distance, placing a leg in between his slightly open ones. His grip on your chin tightened. It didn’t scare you in the slightest. In contrast, big bad Jungkook looked like he was about to sink into the floor. You stilled. Maybe this was too far.

You leaned back a little but didn’t remove your leg. “A second for what?”

He swallowed hard, averting his gaze again. “U-Uh, j-j-just a s-second to breathe… that’s all,” he muttered.

“What’s the issue?” you calmly inquired.

“N-Nothing,” and that sounded like a whole lot of something.

You shifted your leg and your stocking-covered shin rubbed against his calf. Jungkook made a very strange noise and hastily pulled his hand back. You did not stop the contact. You simply watched the emotions play across his features as he shut his eyes, wordlessly mouthing swears before clenching his jaw and sliding up the wall to delicately back up.

“You sure it’s nothing?” Twice as unassuming and immediately tipping him off that you were aware of his predicament.

His brows furrowed. “Shut up.” He took in several deep breaths.

You hummed. “Is it that big of a deal?”

“Yes, it is,” Jungkook hissed. He cracked open one eye. “Have you no sense of danger?”

You did your best not to smile. Failed, but only just. “Not with you.”

Relief and annoyance washed over him. “Shut up,” he said again and you were beginning to realize he did not really mean for you to shut up. “Ugh.” He thrust the charcoal ball of fabric into your chest. “Here. Put it on.”

“No longer embarrassed?” you asked, catching a glimpse of his partial erection.

Jungkook pointedly looked away from you and stared at his own front door. “I’m not embarrassed. Put the pants on, damnnit. I can’t look at you.”

“Sure, you can,” you quipped as you slipped on his sweatpants. “I’m sure you’ve checked me out at some point.”

He sucked in the side of his cheek sharply. “It’s not the same. And, besides…” He trailed off.

You smoothed out the front and tightened the strings. Jungkook reluctantly brought his gaze back to you, checking you out. You tugged your blouse out of the pants a bit to give the two disharmonious pieces more balance. You filled out the top of his pants a bit more because of your ass. The whole ensemble was a little odd, but only if one looked too closely.

He frowned. “Why do you look good?”

“It’s the heels,” you absentmindedly replied. “Besides, what?”

For a moment, you thought Jungkook wasn’t going to respond. But then his eyes raised, locking to yours determinedly. “If I can make it to a month, then…” He faltered before regaining his composure. “No, I will make it to a month. And all the rest. But when you see how serious I am, then… Then I want you to seriously consider me.”

Now it was your turn to avert your eyes. You didn’t say anything for a few seconds. Guilt settled as you realized that he was more intuitive than you gave him credit for. But you came back to him, eventually. His dark brown orbs lit up as you spoke.

“Sure.”

-

In a surprising turn of events, Jeon Jungkook actually greeted you with a breathless, “Hey,” for once when you answered his call, only to follow that up with, “The fuckin’ gym is closed, fuck.”

You blinked at your phone, put it on speaker, and tucked it into one of your upper kitchen cabinets to prop it up. It was not a video call. However, your hands were currently occupied. “I’m sorry,” you replied dryly, turning down the vent fan.

“Ugh, I really needed it today,” he grumbled, mostly at himself rather than at you. You heard the sounds of traffic and the white noise of wind. “And it’s cold tonight, hmph.”

You mentally calculated the day as you picked up the plate and tongs again. “Why was it closed? It’s not a holiday as far as I know.”

“I dunno. Note on the door said family emergency, so I guess I’ll find out later from the manager,” he said absentmindedly. It was a bit weird that Jungkook was treating this like small talk when he almost never called. You weren’t sure what you were supposed to do or say about his predicament, so you began to place the slices of meat onto the hot pan, which immediately began loudly sizzling with popping oil. It must have picked up on the microphone. You heard a startled noise and then, “Whatchu doing?”

“Making dinner. And meal prepping at the same time, since I’m already cooking,” you replied, nudging the slices to fit all the meat in. Hm. Wouldn’t be the first time. Hm.

“What are you making?” He was sounding a bit too eager.

“Braised vegetables and pan-fried samgyeopsal,” you answered, reminding yourself to check under the lid. The bok choy and enoki mushrooms were just barely done. You quickly removed it from the heat before returning it the sizzling pork belly.

“Ugh.” He sounded jealous. “I’m jealous.” Guess he was. You found yourself smiling and quickly stopped, lightly adding a little flaky salt before starting the process of turning them over. You might die from a heart attack but not without a full belly of pork belly. “You’ve made me hungry. Maybe I’ll go get some ice cream.”

You mused. “Gym closed, so ice cream on a cool night is the solution?” The edges of pork belly were becoming that sweet golden caramel. Your kitchen was becoming decadently fragrant.

“This night is shit, anyway,” Jungkook complained. “I’d come over but you’d kick me out.”

You paused at his words. Then you busied yourself with taking the plate to the sink while raising your voice so he could hear you. “I didn’t kick you out last time.”

There was a short muteness that your both mutually agreed on before he sighed dramatically. “Fine, fine. I’ll go home without the ice cream.”

You tutted. “I’m not the food police. Go get your ice cream if you want to.” You began to portion out the vegetables into the glass tupperware that you had already lined up.

“Nah,” he muttered. He really enjoyed this seesaw, huh. To be honest, you didn’t mind it. Maybe calling it fun too out of line, but. “I shouldn’t go into the convenience store, anyway. I don’t wanna break my streak.”

Only stubbornness could solidify self-restraint, it seemed. You checked the pork belly. It was done, so you turned off the fire and began to plate up your soon-to-be and future meals. Took less time because you had boiled the samgyeopsal first to keep the meat tender, removed it before it was completely cooked through, sliced it, and then pan-fried to completion. You plated the last of the vegetables, added the final helping of pork belly, and drizzled a bit of soybean paste on top. A small part of you wanted to take a photo and send it to Jungkook. Rub it in, perhaps. You picked up your phone and opened the camera app.

“Hey.”

“Uh?”

You filled the photo space with a close-up shot of your simple meal and sent it to him. “Check your messages.”

There was a scuffle and Jungkook grunted before gasping and then bringing his phone back to his ear. “Hey, fuck you.”

You couldn’t help it. You laughed.

“Man… You suck.” He didn’t know the half of it. He was mumbling a tantrum on the street. “Ugh, now I’m so hungry... And mad. I’m mad at you.”

In between tee-hees and bites of your dinner, you placed your phone onto the counter. “If you buy me lunch, I’ll let you have one of mine,” you joked. Mmm, the meat was cooked just right. You mentally patted yourself on the back.

“No… I can’t do that,” he grumbled, taking your joke seriously. He scoffed. “Instead, I’ll bring a steak and make you cook it for me.”

“Steak?” You considered his suggestion. “Sure, I can cook steak.”

“Hah, see, you won’t – wait…” You heard a sputter and what sounded like a tumble. Or maybe the beginnings of one caught in the middle. He did have good reflexes. “O… Oh.” He sounded winded. “I thought you were… Thought you were gonna refuse.”

You nibbled on some delicious enoki mushroom. “Why?” You knew full well why. Just wanted to make him squirm. Also, him thinking you couldn’t cook a steak annoyed you. As if you didn’t know the value of medium rare. Hmph.

“A-Ah… Well.” He coughed and promptly changed the subject as embarrassed people do. “Are you eating right now?”

“Mhm,” you hummed. “It’s very tasty. I did a good job.”

You could him suck in an inhale of childish disappointment. “I’m suffering here.”

“No one is asking you to.”

“Hmmmm, I don’t like this.” And yet he stayed on the line. It sounded like he was jogging the streets. Maybe trying to arrive home faster and keep his body temperature up.

You imagined it. Then you told yourself to stop that. “Do you have something to eat at home?”

“There’s probably something,” Jungkook puffed. “Probably not as good, but I’ve got freezer stuff. I can cook, though,” he insisted.

You hadn’t questioned it. But you did now. “Hm, really?” You half-smiled in between bites of bok choy.

“Yes, really.” Very adamant. “Someday,” he added, in the tone of someday proving it.

You remembered the last time he was in your kitchen. The last time he was in your apartment. You looked down to the cropped black t-shirt and the familiar charcoal sweatpants you were wearing. The scene was set. Still, it didn’t clarify how to feel about it. Answers were usually simple. Believing them was a different story. He called your name. Without thinking, you answered right away.

“Mhm?”

“I’m home,” Jungkook grunted.

Maybe you supposed to pop confetti. You let it go and asked, “Less angry about your lack of gym time?”

“Not really.” But he did sound less stressed somehow. Maybe it was the cardio of the jog. “I guess I gotta find something to eat now. Lemme put you on speaker.”

The number of times he could have hung up increased. And yet he hadn’t done so yet. You were almost finished eating. You could have ended the call right now. Said you were busy and done your chores without further distraction. It just didn’t feel right. That said enough. Well, at the very least, you thought you should accompany him on his food adventure.

He exclaimed loudly. “Ah! I found some corn ice cream at the bottom of my freezer! Nice!”

Your palm made contact with your forehead. “I guess you must be the gods’ lucky one,” you mused, mopping up your last bite. Time to clear the kitchen. Sad.

“You know it,” he cheered.

You heard him ripping open the plastic with gusto. Would have sounded cocky if it wasn’t for his barely audible happy noises. You began to tidy up the kitchen to distract yourself. Putting away spices, collecting the various cooking utensils into the sink, wiping down counters, putting the lids on the now cooled-down meals. You stacked them in the fridge. You didn’t try to hide what you were doing but, then again, Jungkook was seemingly too mesmerized by his ice cream to speak. Amidst your domestic tasks, you saw the parallels of being in the same place in your respective apartments, both together and apart at the same time with only a thread of technology connecting each other, and you glanced at your phone screen, wondering if he had hung up on you. The call was still active.

Such a mundane existence.

And yet.

You stood by your sink, the washing up the last to do, and you abandoned it to stand by your phone. It seemed so… annoying to have simple enjoyments taken away by complicated thoughts. Maybe there was a better word for it. But that wasn’t the point. The point was that you were listening to Jungkook enjoying his small happiness of the day and wondered if he intentionally or unintentionally shared it with you. Wondered if the intention even mattered in the face of what was.

You broke the relative silence. “When do you want me to cook that steak for you?”

The faint sound of licking lips. He must have scooted closer to his phone, because the volume of his words was louder than the sounds from earlier. “Uh…” You waited. “I think my one month of no cigarettes is coming up soon. Maybe then…?” He trailed off awkwardly.

The crumpled pack was still on your nightstand next to your lighter. You hadn’t touched either. They were collectively collecting dust. You opened your mouth, reconsidered, and then said what was on your mind.

“I never hated you just because you smoked.”

Maybe it was better that you couldn’t see each other. “Yeah, but…” He let out a breath. “It was the reason why you didn’t want to be around me.”

You couldn’t deny it.

“I get it, though,” Jungkook muttered softly. “I didn’t really want to be around myself either. Maybe I haven’t had any great failures, but… That means I haven’t had a chance to grow from hardships. Coasting, sort of. I need to push myself to be better, because I’m definitely not where I’m supposed to be.”

Your eyes raised which caused you to realize you had dipped your head. You wondered who put those thoughts in his head, but the answer was all around you. In the subtext of conversation of strangers, friends, family.

“It’s weird,” he continued, maybe forgetting you could hear him slurp in between words or because his ice cream was rapidly melting. “I was talking to a friend about you and he asked me if you ever needed anything from me, ever.” He sucked in a breath. “Tch. I kinda hate that, but also it made me realize… Isn’t that the most natural I’ve ever been with anyone? No expectations… Maybe even negative.” He laughed a little, and you could imagine him shaking his head. “Is this how you want to spend your life? No. I want to be someone that you might need someday.”

You didn’t say anything about him talking about you to other people. It was slightly funny of him to think of you as an enigma when you felt that you were so simple, really. Maybe that made you the root of his complicated thoughts. Maybe not. He was right in that you did your best to not depend on others, even going out of you way to not need others. Not expecting anything from them to not be disappointed. You didn’t see that changing anytime soon, but, an exception?

All rules had them.

“I’m looking forward to making you that steak,” you chuckled. “I need to finish up the dishes, so I’ll let you go. For now.”

“A-Ah…” Jungkook cleared his throat. “Okay. S… See ya.”

You half-smiled. Even though he couldn’t see it, you were sure that he could hear it in your tone. “You will,” and you ended the call.

-

You found a small package addressed to you in your mailbox. No return address, no postage, but it had relatively neat handwriting that seemed familiar somehow. You tucked the soliciting letters under your arm as you re-locked your postage box. The packaging was brown paper. You turned it over in your hand.

For your collection. Jeon Jungkook.

You almost snorted. He could have. But he didn’t. You suddenly felt odd, so you quickly walked back to your apartment, shouldering your mail and your work bag, fitting the small package into your palm. The mail room was on the ground floor. You went up the flights of stairs to the far-left unit. Unlocked your front door and went in, using your shoulder to push it open.

You closed the door behind you before you opened the brown-paper wrapped parcel.

The outside packaging unfurled. Tissue paper and a bit of foam. Something told you he didn’t pack this. This was the work of the elderly who sold it to him. Smooth steel. But you felt something on the side against your palm. You turned the disc around. It was one of those snap-close clay art mirrors. The kind delicately handmade by a practiced artisan’s hands. You ran your finger over it, entranced by the ridges and matte texture. The focal point was the gradient of orange depicting tiger lilies. The background was black, making the small imagery stand out.

Tiger lilies, huh.

You opened the pocket mirror and saw your bewildered expression staring back at you. Your initial compulsion was to look away. Your intrusive thoughts interrupted, asking you if you really hated what you saw. You looked and your reflection looked back. You lifted the mirror slightly, inspecting your makeup. You barely wore any to just barely get away with it at work. It still looked good.

You half-smiled.

“You’re so fucking full of it, Jeon Jungkook,” you chuckled, tucking the mirror into the pocket of your work bag before going about the rest of your night.

-

He was quite excited for steak day until you made him speechless.

“U-uh, hey! Ahem. Hey. I have the steaks. You didn’t say if I should bring vegetables, so I also got cabbage, carrots, shitake mushrooms, I didn’t know, I guessed, sorry, and I can help cook if you need someone to watch the vegetables while, uh, I can chop or clean or anything at all… um, why are you dressed like t-that…?”

If it was his plan to greet cool, calm, and collected, he failed. You opened your apartment door to gum-chewing, wide-eyed, rambling Jeon Jungkook wearing a baggy but heavyweight white button-up and dark blue jeans with white contrast stitching. Black belt with a bright gold buckle. The hem of the jeans draped well over his black laced boots. His black leather jacket was jammed in the crook of his elbow with the groceries. His jacket had silver zippers, which didn’t match his belt. The button-up was done all the way up to his neck, which didn’t suit him.

You let him go on his rant and tried not to smile.

The situation was not exactly funny. It was obvious that he was out-of-sorts by the frantic way he was gnawing on his gum like his life depended on it. You had to wait for him to take a breath. He was too far gone in his speech for you to interrupt him. You almost dared to call it adorable. Didn’t because that wasn’t part of your image even though clearly Jungkook had completely broke the image he wanted to craft for himself over his entire time of knowing you. For his sake, you pretended nothing was amiss. You simply took the groceries from his hands while saying, “Change of plans.”

His jaw was slack. You could see the pink wad of gum stuck to his molars. Lovely. “E-Eh?”

You noticed his black hair looked a little messy and windswept. It was longer now, too, giving him an unintentional rockstar vibe. Thankfully his brain was too preoccupied with being unable to catch up to the moment to notice you noticing him. You backed up into your apartment to place the bags on your kitchen counter, busying yourself with putting everything into your refrigerator.

“I want to take you somewhere,” you said to the shelves of your fridge, clearing out space. Oh, wow. He really did buy high-grade steak. Two of them. And a giant head of cabbage. “I don’t like carrots,” you commented. “But I’ll make them for you and you can take home the rest.”

He sputtered with the elegance of a caught bluefin tuna. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t – T-Take me somewhere?”

In the middle of placing the last thing, the bundle of carrots, into the fridge, you said it.

“Yes. I want to take you on a date.”

To be honest, you weren’t sure if it would come out as confidently as you heard yourself, but there was no going back now. You had debated before this day had come, turning over the tiger lily pocket mirror in your hand at night. Debated if the unwillingness was worth it and decided it wasn’t. You weren’t sure if Jungkook was thinking the same thing you were, but then he showed up. Over-dressed. Vibrating with nervous energy. Talking too fast. One look at him and you knew. You could think you had all the time in the world, but it wasn’t true. You turned around to see Jungkook’s dumbfounded expression at the entrance of your apartment and you knew.

Despite never believing in anything and thinking everything was going to shit, well, you might as well go down with a feeling of a life well-lived.

“A d… date…?”

You closed the door of your refrigerator. “A date. You’ve heard of those, haven’t you?”

He looked like he hadn’t. “I… uh… Yes?” You had meant the light jab to bring Jungkook back to Earth but both of you were currently stuck on cloud nine. “Is that why you…?” His hand raised and made a vague gesture.

Your own hand raised to smooth back your hair from your bare shoulder. “Ah. Yes.” Since your closet was mostly made up of comfy, work, and concert outfits – in that order – that amount of classy date pieces were slightly nonexistent. You had one black dress made of a slinky soft ribbed texture that was what you ended up wearing. It reached the floor, which suited the night climate of this time of year. The rest of it was quite sexy, though. The fabric made the dress cling to and accentuate your curves. The straight neckline and thin straps were maybe too flattering. Jungkook’s eyes were certainly wandering to the general area of your collarbones. You usually wore this dress in a very specific way, which you intended to do so tonight, but it couldn’t hurt to let him admire.

Yeah.

Admire was definitely the word.

Just like how you were letting him admire you walking up to him, sending him into a mild panic, knowing exactly what you were doing but trying not to think about it, instead focusing on what had been bugging you ever since you had seen it. “This… I’m sorry, but this doesn’t suit you,” you muttered, unfastening the first few buttons of the shirt and shaking it out to a more relaxed collar. He smelled good. Oh, wow, he smelled very good. Bergamot and cedarwood, it seemed. “It looked too stuffy.” You noticed the thin gold chain underneath. Oh. Perhaps the unintentional mixing of gold and silver was intentional after all. You righted the chain so it was more visible, his warm skin under your cool fingertips, and maybe you were imagining it or was that a shiver between you and him at the contact?

Your hands awkwardly hovered over his chest.

It was hard to look up but you made yourself do it.

Jungkook seemed startled but at the very least thawed from the initial shock. “O-Oh, but…” Surely he was not staring at your cleavage. Surely. You might have put it right in his line of vision, but, surely. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “It’s c-cold outside. At least…”

It was certainly an exaggeration to call it slow-motion, and yet somehow that was the only way to describe it because now you were the one frozen in extended seconds as he tumbled his leather jacket into his palm, grabbing it by the collar and lifting it up, up and to his left hand, flaring it out with a loud flap before draping worn-in warmth over your shoulders. The sudden weight caused you to tilt forward lightly. Your open palms pressed against his chest to steady yourself. His hands stayed on your shoulders. Both of you were staring at each other for too long.

At least no one was here to record it.

He spoke first. ‘I, uh, I took a lot of my clothes to professional cleaners,” Jungkook said quietly. “Since… It gives me a good reason to not… It cost a lot.” His ears were probably as red as yours.

You inhaled, raising your chest, and noticed how new the leather smelled despite him owning it for a while now. Your faint smile was now inevitable. “I really appreciate it,” and you did. He didn’t have to, and he did.

The light in his eyes must have been your imagination. “R… Really?” Or maybe not. He was breathless and there was no obvious cause for it.

Never in wildest dreams and insomniac nights and daytime silence full of running thoughts could you have created this present time where you felt that you saw him and he saw you. From all the gray haze moments of the past to those bright uncertain days of small happiness in the future, you knew you could do it alone, but, for once, it seemed unbearable to do so.

You leaned up and kissed him.

Your eyes had closed as you tilted your head to close the distance. Maybe you should have considered seeing his surprise. Maybe you were too nervous to. It was only a simple press of lips-to-lips. Still, you found respite. A strange tingle shot through you as you felt Jungkook kiss you back. Somehow, you felt his relief of you taking charge of a moment that he had wanted to happen for a long time.

After a savored moment, both of you broke apart.

Afraid to overstep. Slightly shocked that that just happened. You snuck a peek. It was impossible to not call him adorable and thankfully you were too high off the moment to say anything. He caught your eye. You let him, gracing him a coy curve of your lips.

His cheeks bloomed pink. “Y-You… You wanna wear my jacket?”

You lightly shook your head, reaching up to touch the back of his hand. “You’ll be cold. I was going to wear a sweater over my dress,” you explained. His expression fell a little bit despite your logic. “But I wanted to wait to see what colors you were wearing so that I could choose something that pairs well. It would be nice to match somewhat, right?” Immediately Jungkook perked up again.

It was just a damn hot pot date. Why were you both grinning like idiots? The world never did make any sense, hmph.

-

In spite of best efforts, you dozed off on his shoulder.

Dinner had been a little bit awkward. Not so awkward it was unpleasant, but enough where you had to pull yourself together to bring him back to his usual self. You wore a fluffy, thick, cropped white sweater over your black dress, giving you some much needed warmth for the cool night and giving Jungkook back his sanity. Then you took it away by hooking your arm into his, holding onto him as you both rode the train in thoughtless silence. The hot pot restaurant had newly opened and was packed with curious customers. In a stroke of luck, the host managed to find seating due to your small party size. After a brief explanation, you made a beeline for the lineup of ingredients. It had taken a mountain of vegetables, shrimp, and fishcakes on a plate to break Jungkook out of his trance.

“W-Woah! You eat that much?”

You had tilted your head. “We’re sharing. Duh.”

A flash of annoyance. “How do you know what I like to eat?”

“What don’t you like to eat?” you countered.

Jungkook puffed a cheek. “That’s not the point!”

It wasn’t the most deep of conversations. Still, it did bring you both some peace to know that you hadn’t lost what you already had. There was always that fear and it was good to know that the fear was unfounded.

“I only want one egg.”

He spoke over you, “Too bad, you’re getting two,” using one hand to crack another to poach in your boiling bone broth. You made a face at him as you mixed minced onions and garlic into your chili oil, sesame oil, and soy sauce combination. He waved a third egg at you threateningly. You were adversely terrified. He became distracted by your concoction. “Let me try.”

“No. I’ll make you your own.”

“We’re sharing.”

“There are limits,” and you promptly walked off to do just that. For his credit, he didn’t snatch your hard work. Might have been because his food wasn’t finished cooking yet. Semantics. “It’s my treat, by the way.”

Irrtation was going to permanently furrow his brows if he wasn’t careful. “I don’t need your charity. Besides, you’re hurting my pride as a man.”

You cried for him. “Boo hoo.” Sarcastically.

“You’re not paying.”

“You wanna fight?”

His dark eyes narrowed. “Kinda if you keep this up.”

You pretended to lift your sweater.

Jungkook almost threw himself over the two boiling pots of broth. “Gah! What do you think you’re doing?!” He tried not to yell, hissing low between his teeth. “You’re crazy!”

“Putting you in your place,” you answered dryly.

His expression was between flabbergasted and aghast. “D-Don’t do that!”

Not the deepest of conversations. You smiled. He noticed, and looked away quickly, his ears turning pink as he busied himself ordering plates of meat. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to cook the steaks like you had originally promised. It would have made a great first date, even. And yet. Yet, you didn’t want to, because for some reason following the original plan felt symbolic of something ending instead of a beginning. You were confident in your cooking, and still the possibility of even the slightest failure made it so that you couldn’t relax. Maybe it was selfish to drag out a promise. Nothing about Jungkook’s demeanor indicated he was against it, though.

“What?”

You blinked, realizing you had zoned out in his direction. “Nothing. Just…” He frowned. You almost wanted to ask him if he was disappointed by this turn of events. He was already shoving a plateful of thinly-sliced flat iron steak into his hot pot. “Just realized we’re only here now because of a cigarette and a lighter.”

His eyes cast downward. “I’m sor–” he began.

“Who knew a bad decision could turn into such a good one.���

Jungkook snapped his head back up, surprised. You gave him an impassive expression complete with a raised eyebrow. The corners of his lips tugged upwards. He tried to hide it. He wasn’t as good at it as you were.

“Yeah. I guess…”

He sounded a little too happy for that lukewarm response. You reached into your bag, pulling out a pocket mirror to needlessly check your makeup. He noticed the tiger lilies nestled in your palm and positively beamed. You did your best to wipe your stupid smile off your face and clipped it closed to resume the meal. The rest of the dinner was similar. Well, largely focused on how many plates of shabu-shabu meat both of you could consume to make the restaurant regret seating you. At the very least, Jungkook had been impressed with your gall.

Points gained there, heh.

So, now, in spite of best efforts, Jungkook leaned his head against yours and dozed off with you on your sofa, curled up under the same blanket he had used to sleep over some nights ago. Sleep came a little too easily with full bellies. He had asked if he could sit down for a bit before heading back to his place. Because, you know, it wasn’t good if he became drowsy while driving his motorcycle. You had shrugged, casually, turning on your television to whatever late-night show was on to provide some form of mild entertainment. Distraction, really, so neither of you felt pressure to talk.

Turned out, falling asleep told you more than any conversation.

It might have been the food. The comfort of the blanket. Someone familiar being there. Whatever the cause, the stars aligned and you knew what it meant. One instance of sleep arriving quickly did not mean that you would never have a restless night again. It did not mean everything was different. But it did mean that what was already there wasn’t a lie. You thought you had done enough to spite him, but best efforts were useless in a wake of loud, hard-headed, brash Jeon Jungkook. It shouldn’t work. You were reclusive, blunt, guarded. An unfathomable match, and yet you could never seem to shake him. Apparently his fondness for you was so strong that continued meetings were inevitable. The prospect of the next time had become a regular instance. Monotone days were suddenly saturated with unexpected melodies. You kept telling yourself there was nothing else better to do than to put up with his antics.

There had been no real reason for you to believe that he would change.

He just did so he could define his own ideal of worthy.

Unconsciously, Jungkook was sinking into the cease of the sofa, into dreamlessness, taking you down with him into the cushions. You dozed practically on top of him, unknowingly nestling into his waning embrace. If you had your wits about yourself, you might have given him more conspicuous space, but he was so warm that you forgot that you didn’t typically like physical touch. Or maybe you didn’t mind as much because you knew deep down that he liked it. It was a small sacrifice for his happiness. Something like that. Ah. Right. Anyway, eventually you awoke to no-context ruckus on the television screen. Annoyed, you pawed for the remote on the coffee table and blindly turned it off. You wouldn’t have even bothered to open your eyes except for the fact that you were clearly on top on Jungkook, oh, and so you blinked slowly, line of vision shifting, realizing he wasn’t asleep.

He was pretending to be.

You placed a hand on his chest. One of his eyes cracked open. You raised an eyebrow. He almost jumped out of his skin. Probably not expecting you to be staring at him.

“Were you watching?” you asked.

“N-Not really…” Discomfort laced into his expression. “Um… You’re on my left knee a little weird.”

You shifted quickly. “Sorry.”

Relief. “No, uh, I fucked it up a bit while boxing a couple days ago,” Jungkook sighed. You could feel his inhale through your hand on his chest that you still hadn’t removed. “Think I hit it at a weird angle.”

You pointed out the obvious. “You’re not supposed to use your legs in boxing.”

He sent you the gift of a classic eye-roll complete with the bow of a scowl. “I lost my balance and fell.”

You calm expression didn’t change as you added, “Bad knees are the first sign of aging.”

His dark eyes narrowed into slits. “You–”

And proceeded to grab you by the waist. You shot up instinctively, straddling his hips, and your hand on his chest slid up. His eye went wide. He froze. You froze, realizing what you were doing. His hands were loosely around your waist with his fingers flaring out over the top of your ass. You moved your hand, resting it on his shoulder. Not on the offensive but on edge. You did your best to hold his gaze while in the precarious position. He immediately apologized.

“S-Sorry.”

“No, ah…” You shook your head. “I’m sorry.” You shouldn’t have moved to choke him out just because he was horsing around yet it was hard to really know with men these days. Still, thinking of Jungkook in that way after everything he had done for you was unfair. “I’m too used to having to protect myself.”

There was a sea of regret in those dark brown orbs. “I wasn’t going to…” Hurt you, and that part was obvious. He frowned, realizing your reaction and words said what needed to be said without saying it. “I promise. I’m not like that.”

You stared into his eyes. “I know,” and you did.

His expression became determined. “No, really.” He frowned. “I can’t help–”

You cut him off. “Is that why you have a hard-on right now?”

Dead.

Silence.

The cushions of your sofa were old, causing your knees to sink in further due to the prolonged concentrated points of pressure. You looked down. He looked up. Nobody moved. You had thought about it. Maybe. Not in any deep sense so as to not set any unrealistic expectations. He had very clearly thought about it if the rising tent of your dress in between your legs was any indication. You weren’t able to fully sit down on his crotch due to space constraints, but, even with jeans on, the distance down there was dwindling.

In short, Jungkook was obviously packin’.

You raised your eyebrows. He grimaced. He was trying not to stare at your thighs spread over him or how easily your waist fit in his hands. “Listen… Uh.” Brave of him to break the silence. “I… I’m not a disgraceful kinda guy, okay? I wasn’t planning anything. And I’m seriously serious.” His voice deepened as his eyes darted about. “Serious about…” His gaze lifted, navigating to yours.

Your lips parted, understanding him perfectly well.

However, your dress was stretching too uncomfortably. Distracted, you broke eye contact, reaching down to yank the hem from under your knee while extending your other leg to the ground to maintain balance. The fabric bunched up to your hips, draping over his lower body. You felt the friction of his jeans against your bare inner thighs. Then, you felt the friction in his jeans pressing up in between your legs.

Well.

That would be the expected result, huh.

Jungkook was beside himself. “W-W-What are you do–”

You raised your head. He stiffened. Everywhere. He was still holding you by the waist. Time was moving too fast and too slow at the same time, much like whatever this was. You made eye contact, diving into those wide eyes, searching for something to be afraid of. The scariest thing about all this was how readily he matched up with your intent to cross all the lines.

“Do you wanna kiss me?” you asked him.

His voice quivered. More out of poorly contained excitement rather than anxiousness.

“Are you crazy? Of course I wanna fuckin’ kiss you.”

There was no good reason for care-about-nothing you and caring-too-much Jeon Jungkook should match up well, and yet perhaps that was precisely the reason these puzzle pieces fit together. He lifted his torso from the sofa far too easily, meeting you halfway. With one hand on the back of the sofa and the other on his chest, your lips brushed against his. Inhale, and his warm citrusy cologne mixed with his natural scent filled your lungs. He tilted his head, closing the distance. There was no pressure of a good first kiss as it was already over with. He pulled you closer.

A kiss was not particularly special, but everything about him was.

Terrifying.

As the saying went, you felt the fear and did it anyway.

Lips to lips, electric. Your fingertips gliding over his skin, spreading the button placket before descending, unraveling him like a flower, your tongue tracing the edge of his lips. His breath hitched. His hands on your waist tighter, turning, and you adjusted accordingly, letting him sit back against the sofa with you on his lap. His fingers slid under your sweater, fanning over your back like unraveling petals as you unbuttoned his shirt, drinking in his gasps. Sinking deeper. He tugged your sweater upwards and you released him for a moment to lift your arms, arching your spine, shedding the white onto the floor. His hands on the small of your back lifted you in return, and you arrived to the view of his own white shirt barely clinging onto his shoulders, revealing tan skin and his hard work at the gym.

Your eyes trailed upwards and Jungkook hesitantly smiled, uncertain of what you were thinking.

You dipped your head and licked up his chest.

“Whoa, wha–aah, f-fuck…”

Perhaps this was a strange thought but you felt this compulsion to taste his skin. You pushed his head back and crossed his neck with kisses. Teeth. Tongue. You felt his fingertips press into your back, his hips rise, a moan bubble up in his chest. He tried to speak between gasps, his hands sliding down to your ass as you licked up to his jaw, intoxicated by the taste of his skin.

“I didn’t r-realize… o-oh…”

You flicked his earrings with the tip of your tongue, dissipating your breath so it was whisper soft against his jaw. “Deep down, you knew there was more under this surface,” you murmured and as you said it you thought of black water but the reality was reflected all over the walls, in small snapshots of mirrors from older and modern times. Yes, a mirror was the more apt imagery. Your tongue coiled around his ear, whispering his name low and slow. “You don’t like it?”

“I didn’t think you were crazy…” Jungkook gasped. He pressed you down onto his lap, hiking your dress up further. An exhale drifted past your ear. “I didn’t say I didn’t l-like it…”

With a single finger, you turned his head to face you. Half-moon eyes hazy with lust. He ticked his head, putting on the bad boy front you always knew was a front, and you rocked your hips against his to create the rhythm. He sucked in a breath, your name on the tip of his tongue, and you placed your lips against his temple to ensure that he could feel every word as much as he could hear it.

“No matter who came before you, I hope you outmatch them all.”

He viewed you from his periphery.

You smiled in a dangerous way.

There was the briefest moment where he mirrored your smirk and then he lowered his head, catching you off guard with his lips against your pulse. By instinct, your fingers laced into his black hair, tilting your head to give him more access. Your eyes wandered among the walls. In smoked glass. In craved frames. From every angle, snapshots of Jungkook kissing down your neck and you pulling the straps of your dress aside, pressing his head downwards. His lips over your collarbones created an intricate network of pinpointed pleasure, blossoming, overlapping, your nerves singing. You hooked a finger down the center of the neckline, dragging it to a risqué level. His warm breath washed over your skin.

Anticipation on a knife’s edge.

You gazed down through the shadows of your lashes. He was watching you through his own. Wondering without words. So many times Jungkook had asked for a light to ignite his addiction. You saw the writing on the wall before he did.

You tugged the top of your dress downward.

“Fuck…”

You fanned your hands over your ribs pushing your bare breasts upward. Little did he know there was a shelf bra in the dress. Probably didn’t care. He clenched his jaw and frowned slightly, his cock throbbing from below. You could feel it because you were sitting on it.

“It’s annoying that you know how hot you are. Stop knowing how to act hot too.”

You wondered if he ever looked in a mirror. “That’s rich coming from a guy that works out to make his chest big.”

He pressed his lips together before grumbling, “So…?”

You lifted you body and put your tits right in front of his face. He tried to throw you off as his lips made contact, but then was immediately distracted with the taste, running his tongue over your nipple with a moan. Strong hands on your waist again. Your own hand slid down the crown of his head, sliding in between the collar of his shirt and his shoulder muscles, caressing them as you felt sparks from his light sucking. He kissed across your chest to access the other and you breathed out, electric and erotic, your nails turning inward.

His groan was gravelly, rough from pleasure.

“Ugh, fuck, scratch me.”

You dug your nails inward and he whined into your chest, sucking harder, flicking his tongue against your nipple. You moaned to the ceiling, arching your back, and now both of your hands were on his shoulders, creating a crisscross pattern of pink under his shirt collar. There was no rhyme or reason, only instinct. Jungkook growled, taking a swift moment to yank his arms out of his shirt before pawing at your hands to explore more, touch more, repaying you with divine lips and tongue. Either he liked pain or he loved pain. Hm. You had your opinions but you kept them to yourself.

You laced your fingers into his hair, arching your back. He extended his tongue and instead of him licking upwards, you curved your body downwards, only losing contact when it was physically impossible. You lowered your head slowly. Your tongue traced your lips. He was breathing in shallow, perfumed breaths tainted with your taste. Pupils dilated. Under the influence.

You stared into his dark eyes. “You can still stop.”

Jungkook raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, right. I was in it before you were.”

He wasn’t wrong. Time moved too fast and too slow at the same time. You slid off his lap, gripping the side of your dress and pushing them down your hips. He rose, entranced, and you backed up, out of the way of the coffee table. In the room of mirrors – the living room – clothes began to slide to the floor one by one. Your tousling of his black hair had made it gone rogue, draping over his eyes as he tugged the back of his shirt out of his pants and let it fall. You took another step back while reaching forward, pulling apart his belt buckle. He glanced down as he was tugged forward. With one eye on you, he pulled the strap from the pin. You held the buckle. Pulled. He guided the black leather to smooth exit. For a few moments, you had him by the leash of his belt, dragging him into the bedroom.

Wouldn’t be the first time.

From the look on his face, he remembered.

You held onto the belt after it made its escape, twirling it around in your hand. Jungkook’s dark eyes narrowed. “Don’t.” You didn’t say anything and that was more alarming. “Do not even think about it,” he warned, his tone becoming lower, gruff. You smiled. You flicked your wrist and he halted.

You coiled the black leather around your thigh.

Tightened it by crossing the ends.

Oh, he was looking now.

“Don’t what?” you taunted, turning as you reached the end of the bed. Instead of lifting your knee to the edge of the mattress, you gripped the crossed straps of his belt and hoisted your leg upwards, adding a little bounce of your ass as you looked over your shoulder.

He didn’t expect the showmanship. His mouth squeaked out an, “Are you serious?”

Muscles, tattoos, and he still didn’t know what to do with all that. Your other hand grazed the curve of your ass to the hem of your seamless panties, hooking a finger over the edge and tugging it towards the center dip.

“Okay, fuck, you’re gonna make me bust in my damn jeans,” Jungkook muttered, looking annoyed at the tent in his pants. His hand was already undoing the button. You smiled, releasing your leg, walking over to the nightstand by the bed. The box of unused cigarettes was still there along with your lighter. You only glanced at them, dropping his belt to the side and opening the drawer, pulling out a string of condoms.

Turned around and Jungkook shot you a disbelieving look with his cock sticking out of his pants. Still in his boxer briefs, so obviously hard that he was past the open zipper. You didn’t back down, approaching him with his death sentence dangling from your fingers.

He tried not to seem flustered. “You’re busy, huh?”

You stopped in front of him, tilting in your head. “Busy waiting for you to make a move.”

He sucked the inside of his cheek. “Tch. Am I supposed to believe that?”

“You tell me.”

You sat down on the bed, placing the condoms within easy reach. Crossed your legs. Stared into his eyes, daring him to believe that you were lying. You saw bite his lip. Looking you up and down, so you did the same, watching him shove his jeans down further. You ticked your head.

“Or maybe just don’t fall for my tricks, hm?”

And you fell back onto the bed, lifting your legs, reaching under. Put your weight on your shoulders while you hooked your fingers onto the sides of your panties, pulling up, up, slipping one leg out. Then the other. Flicked your wrist and sent it flying. Then you spread your legs to reveal his stunned face.

You pulled a condom oof the line and held it out to him.

He looked uneasy, stepping out of his jeans and kicking them away. “Uh… You sure?” He tried to sound calm but his voice was shaking. He was trying to flip it on you.

You smiled. Casually. “I give you permission to find out.”

This did not ease Jungkook’s worries. He was too busy to staring at your pussy to formulate any more sentences, though. He took the condom from your hand, pushing down his black underwear. You looked. He saw you look. Confirmed that he didn’t work out because he was lacking in his pants, that was for sure. Your gaze went back to his face. He didn’t know what to think about your reaction, because you purposefully didn’t have one.

Instead of speaking, you reached down in between your legs and spread your wet lips.

Lowering your lashes. Slow smirk. Jungkook sucked in a breath and ripped open the condom. His underwear was sliding down his legs, but you were too busy being fixated on the way his arms moved, carefully rolling down the condom as he watched your fingertips trace your slit, drawing circles around your clit. The heat turned into wetness. He moved closer. You curled a leg around his hip. He put a hand on your thigh, positioning himself over you. Made eye contact. You looked back curiously, spreading the upper lips of your slick pussy.

He slid the bottom of the slick head against your clit and made you both moan from the contact.

Rubbed, slowly. Your insides throbbed with need. The lubrication made it even better. You pulled your hand back and tipped your hips upwards, and then he slid in. He gasped, his inhale catching in his throat. The hand on your leg tensed. You pressed your calf into his ass, pushing him deeper.

“F-Fuck, what–”

Your expression must have indicated that you were going to shove him in yourself, because Jungkook took one panicked glance at your face and thrust in, loudly swearing. He shut his eyes but you caught a peek of them rolling upwards as you dreamily sighed from the feeling of fullness, squeezing all around to feel more, the pressure becoming pleasure.

“You can move.” Just in case he wasn’t sure.

“Shut up,” Jungkook snapped back, shifting his hand to grab your thigh, yanking you into his crotch. He cut off his own moan by clenching his jaw. You smiled. Sweetly. He glared as viciously as he could, which wasn’t much, and thrust hard enough to make you both gasp. He was resisting from commenting about your tightness. “Stop smirking at me like that.”

You tested fate.

“Make me.”

The light was playing tricks. Or maybe his hair was casting shadows over his darkened gaze. Or perhaps this was possession of passion that made him lean down. Locked gazes. He covered your mouth with his free hand. You let him, waiting to see where this would go. He began to move. Slow, deep, building the heat between your joined bodies. Staring into your eyes, and you stared back, clenching your core to increase the unfurling bliss, so damn good, watching his lashes lower, his lips parting, heated breath drifting out like invisible smoke. You raised your hips to meet him, moaning into his palm. He bit the edge of his lower lip, the tiny mole centered underneath suddenly visible.

Your tongue traced his fingers, dripping saliva.

He spread them, entranced by the way you thrust your wet muscle in time with his hips, coiling towards the small finger tattoos you knew he had. Jungkook swore under his breath, gripping your thigh harder, but he wasn’t reaching the force you both craved. With reluctance, he removed his hand from your open mouth, watching the charming curl of your tongue disappearing in between your lips before gripping your other hip with his wet hand, cocking an eyebrow at you.

You reached back and grabbed fistfuls of your duvet, bracing yourself with an open-mouthed smirk.

He thrust hard and you rose to meet him. Both of you cried out at the radiating smack of force between bodies. Nothing for show. Just pure raw lust, chasing the high, giving into the lust. Heat into tension. Your back arched. He pulled you to him. You squeezed him all around. With each loud slap you felt pleasure ripple through your body, making your breasts bounce to his rhythm, and you let out a soft moan, sensing the ripple turning into a cascade, your insides tightening, closing your eyes once the vicious throb overtook your hips, drowning in orgasm.

“Oh, fuck–”

Jungkook didn’t even get to choke out his surprise before his own orgasm hit him. You felt his fingers dig in, snapping your bodies together. His drawn-out groan became the sonata to the punctuated sensation of inescapable euphoria. Wet. Hot. You gasped at a jolt of ecstasy rattling in your ribs. You felt his cock jerk inside you as his hold on you lessened, switching to kneading your thighs. Your brain was so hazy that his touch seemed to amplify the addictive heat, your legs closing in, keeping him in place.

“Could’ve… fuckin’ warned me…”

He panted hard, squeezing your ass roughly. You didn’t care. It was hard to when his slip to his Busan dialect was so attractive. You reveled in the bliss for a moment longer before lowering your legs, realizing the source of the heat was Jungkook whose body seemed to be ten thousand degrees. He pushed back his hair, revealing his glistening brow and cheekbones. Gasping for breath. He pulled out before stripping off the condom with a hiss.

“What am I supposed to do with–”

You sat up, using your elbows to lift your body. It was harder than you thought because the aftermath of tension had left a residual tremble throughout your nerves, but you ignored it, living on determination alone. Jungkook started, not expecting you to move so quickly. You didn’t give him time to react, reaching down between your bodies.

“A-Ah, don’t…!”

He stuttered, gasped, then moaned, his eyes rolling back into his head. Slippery. Hot. Covered in lube and cum and now your fingers wrapping around his length, finding him half-hard. You gave him almost no pressure but all contact, glossing over the shaft until his cock swelled in your hand, ghosting over the head with your palm. He bit back a yelp, not yet opening his eyes, almost whining. His reaction drove you, sliding forward a bit to the very edge of the mattress. He held his breath. Snuck a peek. You angled your body to expose more of your inner thigh and lifted him.

His eyes widened.

You sandwiched his cock in between your palm and your inner thigh, sliding your body back and forth to stimulate him. He inhaled sharply, shooting you a look of indignation, and yet his hips began moving anyway. You gradually increased the pressure. His head tipped back, groaning to the ceiling, becoming harder and harder with each stroke.

You reached over to the condoms and held them out.

Jungkook lowered his head. “Seriously?”

You lifted your hand from his pulsing, wet cock. “Saying you don’t want to?”

“I didn’t say that,” he retorted.

You pulled one off. He handed you the used condom. There was maybe a second and then he gave back the empty foil wrapper in which you tucked the used one into, folding it carefully so there was no spillage. It wouldn’t take long, anyway.

Part of you wanted to say that, but you held your tongue.

Hands on the back of your thighs, lifting your legs. Jungkook pinned your knees to your chest and slid back in, lowly growling, “How the fuck are you so tight,” but you were too enveloped in the sensations, wet and hard and your inner muscles closing in, molding to the shaft. The swollen head hit that depth you could really feel, and you sighed, lifting your hips. His hands slid off your legs and hit the bed, sandwiching you in between the bed and his hard chest.

Your eyes locked with Jungkook’s.

It was intense, rough, carnal. You forgot your surroundings, clutching the duvet and his tattooed forearm, matching each slap of your bodies with a breathless gasp, your calves on his shoulders, his erratic breath melting into shuddering moans. You were moving up the bed little by little from the force. Your name slipped from his lips. Your pussy clenched involuntarily and then the rapid thunderous pulse overtook your senses. He lasted a little longer this time after your orgasm, but not much longer, succumbing to the vicious call, burying his entire length inside you and gritting his teeth to muffle his moan in his chest.

It should have ended there.

You could barely breathe. Suffocating from your own thighs. After an erotic, elated eternity, Jungkook lifted his upper body, gasping apologies. You could barely hear them, orgasm still ringing in your ears, having to relax your muscles one by one. The bed was a mess. Duvet bunched up. Condom wrappers garnishing the ground. Clothes all over the floor. Your legs crossed, sliding down. Jungkook was standing somehow and you could tell that even he thought that was a miracle. He offered a hand. You took it, letting him shakily pull you up to your feet.

His breath washed over your cheek.

You looked up at him. His dark orbs shifted towards you. Waning. You tilted your head. Half-moons. Lips to lips. You drank in his exhale, kissing him deeply. Still electrified. Hands all over, igniting fire over skin. His lower body bumped up against your thigh. Slippery hardness pressing into softness. The scent of sex clung between you and him. You reached down. Touching him. Stroking his cock with your fingertips while kissing him. You felt his hand snake between your legs, sliding two fingers into you. One by one, your fingers closed in. He stroked your clit before thrusting his fingers back in, swallowing your moan into his throat. You began to slide your hand up and down. The combination of lube and cum delivered that delicious friction that he was looking for. At this point, the fervor was so intense that the pace was fierce, fast, a contest of who could get each other off faster while in lip-lock.

You shoved your tongue into his mouth.

Jungkook sucked on it, pushing a third finger into your soaked pussy, all the way up to his knuckles. You welcomed it, working his entire length, jacking him off tight and harsh, and all of a sudden he let go if your tongue, gasping with a pinched moan, his hips jerking forward. Hot spurts of milky white shot down your inner thigh. Not much, but definitely enough to witness and feel. Something inside you snapped and you had to grab his shoulder to avoid falling over, your nails digging in a halo as your pussy spasmed, sucking in his fingers with a wet squelch, your legs snapping closed to extend the feeling. Breathless moan against his ear. You leaned against him with your juices leaking down your legs and sticking to his fingers.

Delicious.

Satisfyingly ragged. Blood pumping. Both of your bodies burning, or at least yours was and his chest was alarmingly sweaty. You slowly untangled your hands from each other but they lingered low, suddenly realizing how much needed to be cleaned up.

“Uh…” Jungkook panted. “I’ll help…”

He better. “Yeah. We should, hah, clean up.” Your tongue traced your lips. “Then sleep.”

“I didn’t bring clothes,” he mumbled distractedly.

You lifted yourself from his shoulder. “I still have your sweatpants,” you reminded him.

His dark eyes slid towards you. He tried to frown. His eyes were too eager and sparkly for that. “Oh. Yeah…”

“You can go home if you want,” you offered while naked and with his cum sticking to your thigh.

He sucked on the inside of his cheek sharply. “You can’t say sleep over and then take it back.”

“Then take it in the first place.”

“I was gonna,” Jungkook snapped, and grabbed your arm, pulling you in for another kiss.

-

“Did you mean it?”

The room was relatively clean now. The trash was appropriately in the trash. The clothes had been lumped into an ambiguous pile on your dresser. Teeth had been brushed. You had set aside a spare toothbrush for his use only. Seemed appropriate. He was not wearing his sweatpants. Turned out that was not his preferred way to sleep. It wasn’t yours either. He was only in his boxer briefs and you were only in your panties. Your bodies were now minus each other’s bodily fluids.

“Mean what?”

You tried to yank the duvet into a more acceptable orientation before climbing in. After a pause, Jungkook lifted the other side and tried his best to settle in.

“That you were waiting for me to make a move.”

Tried his best because he seemed to be distracted by the conversation. You adjusted your pillow and nestled in a section of the duvet that was not that close but not too far away either. It was a king-sized one for a queen bed. Plenty of sharable coverage. You didn’t interfere with his routine and he didn’t with yours. You took the time to think.

“Hm.” It wasn’t wholly true after all. “I didn’t know if you were going to make a move or not.” He snorted under his breath but you ignored it to finish speaking. “After the first time you stayed over… It was more that I figured being prepared was better than not being prepared.”

“That’s…” He sounded uneasy.

“I can’t live hoping for something that might or might not happen,” you said without facing him.

He seemed annoyed. “Why not?”

You pointed out the obvious. “I don’t think you should change your life only to appeal to me. You should do it for yourself.”

“Well, I did,” Jungkook grumbled. He cocooned himself in a good chunk of your duvet. That was the tell of a blanket stealer. You would have to keep an eye on him. “I quit for you. It was always you. It’s happened already, so accept it.”

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

He grunted. “Just like how I shouldn’t have started smoking in the first place. Guess that’s the kind of shitty guy I am.”

Silence.

He wasn’t facing you. You were looking up at the ceiling. Closed your eyes because there weren’t any promises up there. The promises were always next to you. He seemed cold, but you knew better. He didn’t know how to be a cold person. He tried his best and it was a constant failure.

“Aren’t you happy you broke that people-pleasing of yours?” you asked softly.

There was a short, reluctant pause before he muttered, “You’re a butt.”

You burst out laughing. Big, muscly, tattooed man curled up in bed with you retorting with a child’s insult was too funny. Jungkook growled, rolling over to shake your shoulder with contained fury. You kept laughing even when he gave up and took the pillow out from under him, repeatedly bopping your torso and legs with it. There was no strength behind it. Plenty of salt, though. You opened your eyes mid-snicker and looked over to him. His arm was extended over to you. His black hair was all over the place. He shook his head like a Doberman and scrunched up his face. Frowning. On the verge of a pout, really. He could have looked madder. He would never make it as an actor. Your laughter died out.

“You were gonna totally back off if I didn’t have condoms?” you teased.

He looked exasperated. “Seriously? I’m not some untrained dog who hasn’t eaten in days! You… There’s plenty of other choices we have! I’m a good guy!”

You smiled. “I know.”

He immediately stopped protesting. It was as if all the fight drained out of him. There was a whole universe in those big dark brown eyes. And then it occurred to you that, back then, Jungkook could never quite meet your eyes even though he was always looking your way. Every day came with a dark night. He would ask you, got a light, and you would hold up the flame, shining light into those dark eyes when he used to lean in.

It was strange, then, to see the light that was there when now his eyes locked with yours.

No lighter required.

“You really tried to pass off as a bad guy. Almost fooled me, even.”

His eyes narrowed into slits. “Ugh, fuck you.”

“You did,” you quipped.

Jungkook flung the pillow behind him and scooted alarmingly close. You instinctively tried to move out of the way but there was no more bed to escape to. His strong arms wrapped around your shoulders and dragged you back to him, threatening you with, “Shut up. I’m hugging you.”

You failed to listen. Classic. “I didn’t ask to be hugged.”

There was a foreign tingling feeling that raced all over your skin. Not from the physical closeness, but from the other kind of closeness. You felt your shoulder bump against his firm chest. He even threw his leg over your hip and yanked your legs closer, cocooning you with his frame. You almost thought he was trying to extend the night.

Instead, he simply latched onto you like a barnacle.

“I don’t care. I’m a bad guy. Hmph.”

Quiet.

You placed your hand on his forearm just under your breasts. This was going to become very hot and sweaty in the long run. But you let it be. You didn’t want to let go either, even though you weren’t exactly doing the holding on. You used your other hand to drag the duvet back up under your chin. He didn’t stop you. You felt him squeeze you a little tighter once you were comfortable, as if to confirm. You patted his arm.

“Your hand is too hot,” he complained in a mumble by your ear.

“That sucks,” you said and didn’t move it. He didn’t try to shrug you off either. “I’ll make your steak tomorrow.”

He pretended to gnaw on your shoulder. “We can’t have steak for breakfast.”

“Why not? We’re adults.”

“That isn’t what adults do.”

“Then I give up on being an adult.”

“Me too,” he huffed. He perched his chin by your head. “Alright, I’m down.”

You debated on telling him. Telling him why you purchased the lighter in the first place. Even before him, it constantly stayed in your pocket. It only came out on the darkest nights when the insomnia was the worst. A flame and a human life followed the same trajectory. At night was when the flame danced the brightest. You would watch the flame dance. Contemplated. Extinguished it. You even did your due diligence of refilling it when it was low. When Jeon Jungkook appeared in your life, you ignited the flame for him without much thought. That was, after all, the intended use the lighter. It made sense to use it as such. You found yourself reaching for it less because, well, what if you ran into him? He would always ask and you would always provide. When he had handed you his barely-used pack and said he was done, you too gradually began to leave the lighter behind. The two objects had begun to collect dust night after night. Untouched. Originally your lighter wasn’t for him, and yet.

That small flame had led him to you.

The universe planned well.

“Hey, Jungkook?”

“Uuh?” He sounded very sleepy and not quite conscious.

“My lighter was for you, after all.”

“Mmmm…” He nestled closer and squeezed your arm. “That’s good.”

You smiled as he drifted off to sleep. He still snored, although less intensely. His grip on you relaxed but was no less meaningful. Slowly, the exhaustion caught up to you, and you went willingly, following Jeon Jungkook’s path to dreams. You would have to get used to this new routine of the night.

--

masterpost

[autonomyofadeer]

sevika and her baby ✧.*

16+

plot: sevika stumbles upon a hidden gem inside the brothel. who is to deny her her fun after a long day?

tags: genderless, zaun au, fingering, cunnilingus, choking, ribbon tying, spanking, sevika x reader, fem bodied reader

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

it's currently 10:04 pm, the brothel has been slow today for some odd reason. people whisper about a brawl that happened between silco's men and some barkeep, but i pay no mind. babette suddenly knocks on the wall to my room.

"y/n? there's a customer here for you." babette tells you, a sly hint of hesitancy in her tone. why was babette nervous? there was no time to be thinking these dumb questions, i had a client.

"thank you ma'am." i reply hastily. i jump out of bed, slipping on my fox mask, orange with hints of gold lacing along the edges. i tighten my black and gold corset, pulling the strings to cinch my waist. lastly i slip on my heels and i lie on the bed waiting.

after a few minutes, loud footsteps could be heard from across the hall. until they stopped at your room. a metallic hand pulls aside the curtain. my eyes go wide. it was the all known sevika, the woman that men scattered in the streets from. the most well known and powerful woman in all of zaun was now in your room, wanting your time.

"so.. what's your name doll?" sevika says, the words dripping from her tongue like pure honey. she strides towards me until shes stopped at the foot of my bed.

my mouth seems to go dry, my tongue being stuck in my mouth and suddenly i no longer know what to say. i have to admit, i was frightened of her and of all the stories ive heard.

"hm? cat's got your tongue? too bad.. wish i could hear your beautiful voice." sevika replies to herself, cupping my chin in her hand as she slips off my mask. she runs her fingers over my lips as a prompt. i slack my jaw and she easily slips her fingers into my mouth. i circle her thumb with my tongue, suckling slightly on it.

"jus' like that doll." she murmurs to me as she presses her thumb flat on my tongue, causing me to gag.

"such a pretty thing" she says to me as she moves over to the table of toys. "too bad you'll be ruined once im done with you." she tells me as one last warning. she grabs a set of ribbon ties and a blindfold.

my eyes flutter at the items she picks up. "y/n." i stammer out, "my name is y/n" i tell her as she moves back to the bed. i move into the middle of the bed as she kneels at the edge of it.

"such a pretty name for a pretty lass like you, yeah?" she tells me, my face going a pale pink. she suddenly pulls my wrist, spinning me around and onto my stomach. my face was now shoved into the pillow. i try to ask what shes doing, but it's to no avail.

she ties the ribbon around my wrists, binding my arms behind my back. suddnely she pulls my head up by my hair, a pained grunt escapes my lips. a silk blindfold is slipped over my eyes. the world goes dark.

metal clanking can be heard behind me, suddenly im spun around onto my back. god i wish i could see what she looks like, i start to imagine her body.. toned abs? c or d cup? what scars does she have? and suddenly i feel a little too damp in my underwear.

sevika moves closer to me, my lower half now balanced on her thighs. a ripping sound of fabric is heard as my underwear is shredded with her knife. "just trust me, okay?" she whispers into my ear before a moan is ripped from my throat.

her fingers pinch and rub at my clit as moans slip from my lips. everything seemed heightened due to the blindfold. i needed more- i needed her. i move my hips up closer to her, whimpering for more.

"so needy" she mumbles before giving a small slap to my clit. a strangled moan escapes my mouth.

suddenly all friction is moved away for a few minutes until i feel her hot mouth on my peppled nipple. i arch my back, up and into her mouth. small and soft grunts come from her mouth, only spurring me on. after a while of abuse to my breasts, a sharp stretching pain takes control of my body.

she easily plunged 2 of her thick, warm fingers into my dampness. i wince at the pain, but it quickly subsides as she starts rubbing my clit with her other hand. i go to say something, but im quickly cut off as she curls her fingers up and into just the right spot.

my vision goes white for a hot second until i feel her dragging her fingers in and out of me. every few seconds she curls her fingers inside of me.

"please- shit- sev!" i quickly moan out as i start to feel my orgasm approach. i start to grind my hips against her fingers, my thighs clamping around her waist.

"jus' a little more. almost there." she reassures me as she quickens her pace.

sharp and loud moans are drawn from my lips as i feel hot liquid drip down my core, i squirted all over her shirt and pants. a soft moan can be heard from her lips.

i groan at the loss of sensation as she pulls her fingers out, i can hear her licking my juices off her fingers. the dip at the edge of the bed suddenly dissapears as she gets up.

a damp and cold cloth strokes against my clit, sending a jolt down my spine. "easy, im jus' cleaning you up." she coos to me.

next thing i know the binds on my arms are coming undone, falling down at my sides. i pull them to my stomach as i rub the leftover marks where the ribbon was. i take off my blindfold to thank her for her service, but the curtain was already shut. she had disapeared like most of my usual customers. three silver and a bronze coin lay at my desk.

i wonder if i'll ever see her again.

thank you for reading if you got this far! this is my first post, not sure if ill do more. just depends on if people like my writing!

[tadpolesonalgae]

Rhysand x reader: Peacock Feathers[*]

A/N: yeah, I like this one.

Summary: he always has something fun planned for Date Night.

Warnings: heavy voyeurism, heavy exhibitionism, fingering, not wearing seatbelts, sexual tension, 5.2k words

‘The most flamboyant lingerie set you have. Wear it for me.’

You huff at your husband’s minimal description for the dress code of tonight’s date. You rummage through your draws, flinging open the armoire, even the wardrobe in the corner, riffling for something. What did he even mean by flamboyant? Did he want you to strut out into the night cloaked in nothing but some sheer lace and heels? You bite your lip at the idea. It would be just like you husband to arrange something like that.

Flamboyant…flamboyant…

Flamboyant!

You rush back to the armoire, digging through the neatly set clothes, fingers searching for the material until you find what you’re looking for. You hold it up, and nodded. Yes, it would do. It would do quite well, in fact. Now, to find a way to conceal it…

You know he’s taking you out…somewhere. And unless he’s planning on smuggling you in, wrapped in a body bag, then you will need to find a way to hide the finely made lingerie from prying eyes. You sigh at yet another task to fulfil. You’re honestly going to bite Rhys’ cock off if this fails your expectations—for all the trouble he’s putting you through.

Once again, you search through your wardrobe, gazing at the menagerie of gowns and dresses. An array of satin and silk, garish and gaudy, jewels glimmering in the warm lamp light, winking at you temptingly. But no, you would choose something simple, something that would enhance your underclothes. You think about what your husband is likely to adorn himself in. If he asked you for flamboyant…it could be anything. Still, bright pops of colour weren’t really his style, preferring the brush of dark sleeves and silver cuffs than splashes of sparkling yellows or velvety oranges. The most flamboyant you’ve seen him in is a dark red suit, in celebration of a dear brother—and even then it had been so dark the crimson only showed if the light hit from a particular angle.

Having ruled out most options, you figure your best chances are either white or black, if he’s going to dress in a suit. White or black. You scan the wardrobe for anything that would fit with the lingerie. The choice is easy.

————

“Ready, darling?”

You silently move yourself to the top of the curved staircase, taking the one closest to your dressing chambers. Your husband’s eyes sweep over you, glinting with feline satisfaction as he drinks you in. One step at a time, you descend toward him, moving with elegant precision. You keep his eyes the whole while, basking in the heat of his keen gaze, and you wonder if you’ll even make it out the front doors.

A subtle string of rose quartz beads decorate your throat, the white satin of your gown flowing in smooth cascades behind you. The dress slims to your waist, the mini corset accented with small iridescent sequins that decorate the floral jacquard fabric. The heels you’ve selected hold a thin stilt to balance on, platinum lace weaving around your ankles, ensconced with silver thread keeping tiny beads wrapped snuggly against the ties. A single ring adorns your right glove, resting with grounding weight on your thumb. The band is silver, set with a moonstone, tiny amethysts framing it against the creamy silk of your gloves. Beneath the smooth fabric on your left hand lies your wedding ring, a beautiful sapphire welded delicately into the metal.

He drinks in the dusty red of your lips, matte in their texture and slightly dulled to not pull away from the rest of you. Divine. Enchanting. Refined. Perfectly attuned to him, having not gone too over the top when he’d requested flamboyance. Keeping in mind that you were a pair and would be seen together.

“You look positively delicious,” Rhys purrs as you reach the bottom of the staircase, gliding over to him. You give him a sultry smile, one that has heat shooting straight between his legs. He’s brought back to the Soirée last month, when you’d been sat on your knees between his thighs, dark rouge lipstick blurred at the edges of your mouth, perfect replicas stamped on his cock from where you’d kissed up and down the length of him until he couldn’t take it any more. He remembers how you’d swiped at the smudged tint, glaring up at him teasingly, “why is it whenever you take me out somewhere I always end up with my makeup out of place?”

Then there had been the masquerade party the month before, where you’d been set on keeping those damned masks on, hiding the beauty of your face from him. You’d insisted the anonymity had been thrilling, given a dark edge to the experience. It was this in particular that had him thinking. Turning over different venues and activities until he’s found one he believed would be pleasingly satisfying to your slightly sinister tastes.

“I could say the same about you, husband.” He looks ravishing. Charmingly debonair in his black suit, complete with smooth bow tie and crisp white shirt. Not a crease to be found. A kerchief makes a soft triangle atop his breast pocket, complete with a peacock feather decorating the smooth lapel of his jacket. “I don’t suppose you plan on informing me of tonight’s venue?” You inquire, settling a palm over his heart as you lean against him.

His hand raises to your jaw, tilting your lips toward his. “And ruin the surprise at the last minute? I think not.” He presses his lips to your own, coming away vaguely rosey from the rouge staining your mouth. You pout, fingers circling over his chest, “you like watching me squirm, don’t you? How cruel you are, truly. I cannot fathom—” you press another kiss to his lips, “—why I ever married you.” He offers you a feline grin, “maybe you enjoy the tension. The edge.” His fingers grip your hips, pulling you against him.

You’re pleased when his eyes darken as he feels the pattern of something thin beneath the satin. “What did you choose?” His voice has dropped, roughening and you suppress a shiver at the timbre. You peer up at him innocently, “and spoil the surprise at the last second? I think not.” Your teasing spurs him on, fingers deftly catching on the low collar of your dress, moving to pull it from your skin so he can catch a glimpse of what lies beneath.

Rhys gets as far as bringing a wash of cool air down your front before you’re jabbing two fingers into his chest—down his sternum. “Ah, ah, ah, husband.” You push him back, preventing him from peering down your top. “Leave something for dessert,” you chastise, a low growl sounding in the back of his throat. Pleasure sings beneath your skin at your husband’s antics.

Your fingers waltz upward, delicately hooking beneath his perfectly wrapped bow tie, pulling him downward toward your mouth. “Wouldn’t want to spoil your appetite now, would we?”

“I assure you my appetite is depthless when it comes to you, wife.” His fingers latch onto your own, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. You flush with pleasure, “shameless flirt.”

“Promiscuous madam.”

You raise a single, neatly groomed brow, “a madam?” You echo, then press against his chest, allowing him to feel the soft plushness of your breasts. “And what’s a refined gentleman like you doing in the arms of a lady of the night, hm?”

He growls, grip tightening on you possessively. “She’s taken something from me. Something very precious. Plucked it straight from my chest, weaving her sinful fingers between the bones of my ribs.” His mouth brushes over your own, an erotic caress of his lips. “I fear the day she returns it, for the pain it will bring.”

Your eyes dip as they follow their quiet movement. “I took yours as payment for my own.” You whisper back, “I am merely human, and cannot survive without it.” His arm snakes around your lower back, forehead pressing to your own, sharing in the intimacy. “You took mine first, Rhys.” He releases a soft breath at his name on your lips. “It’s only fair.”

He laughs softly against your mouth, and you keen beneath the sound, pushing up onto your tiptoes, desperate for another taste—

“Shall we?”

He’s pulled back, leaving your chest cold, heat warming between your legs. Your husband holds out an arm, waiting for you to latch onto him, arrogantly expecting. You gift him a saccharine smile, already planning how to overthrow him for the evening, “lead the way.”

————

The lamplights reflect in the puddles as it drizzles. Already you can make out the faint wisps of fog rolling through the dark streets.

“What’s on your mind, darling?”

You turn, propping your chin on your hand as you gaze at him before straightening, looking ahead. “I was thinking whether you’d enjoy the silk of my hands or the velvet of tongue.” You glance at him sidelong, pleased when he stiffens. You could swear you see his demeanour shift to match the darkness of the night. “Do you think it wise to begin this dance so early?” He drawls. You return your gaze to peering through the chauffeurs window, watching them cut through traffic. “That is true,” you contemplate, “it is usually your role to insist on foreplay.”

You turn in your seat, catching the dark glint in his violet eyes. You offer a coy smile, enjoying rilling him up before the event has even begun. He leans over, across the space between you, mouth lowering to brush the shell of your ear, “did you follow my orders for tonight?” You swallow as he pulls back to look at you, shifting to be beside you, the powerful lines of his body pressing to your own shape. “Are you so desperate to see me in my underthings?” A serpentine smile twists the edges of your rouge mouth, “I chose an appropriate set. I think it will appeal to your tastes.”

Again, his eyes dip to that teasing window of your chest, dress cut low enough to reveal mouth-watering skin, but not enough for him to catch a glimpse. No matter, he’ll find out soon enough.

Rhysand straightens, reaching to his pocket, “I forgot to give you this, for the night.” He retrieves a headband, accented with a single peacock feather at it’s crest, set with clear jewel you believe to be a diamond. “Put it on for me?” Your heart beat increases at the deftness of your husbands fingers, brushing strands of hair from your cheeks before setting the circlet atop your brow. “Perfect,” he murmurs, and you wonder if he meant to say it aloud.

His thumb brushes beneath your lashes as he stares into your eyes. You lean into the touch, indulging in the heat of his large palm over your jaw. He looks as though he’s considering kissing you, eyes dipping lower, a deep hunger roiling in their depths. “Go on,” you encourage, shifting your body to face his as your arms snake over his shoulders.

But the chauffeur pulls up a driveway, bringing the vehicle to a stand still.

Your husband pulls away with a grin, “enjoy.”

————

The red windmill.

An interesting name.

He’d guided you to the entrance, your silk encased hand gripping the satin hem of your dress to keep it from dragging on the floor. When the receptionist had asked for a name to place for the reservation, he’d given it over, and then the two of you had been escorted to a private suite. The server had shown you around, where things were, and then left you alone, together.

When the door clicks, you turn to Rhys. “Care to reveal your secrets now, sir?” His lips quirk as he settles in a large armchair, a deep red to match the atmosphere of the chamber, lit by warm lights and accented with blacks, reds and oranges. His legs spread as he gets comfortable, facing you. “Every garment you remove, I’ll let you in on a little more,” he purrs, readying himself for the show you’ll give him.

You roll your eyes, but pull the glove from your left hand, wedding band glinting in the light. He raises a brow at the small movement. “I didn’t take you for a coward,” he taunts, but you simply peer down at your nails, examining them. “Secret, please.” His mouth neutralises into an unreadable line, “we’re here for entertainment.” You roll your eyes again, “obviously.” He grins, silently ordering you to remove another item of clothing.

Teasingly, you remove the other glove, staring him down from across the room as you perch on the arm of the chair opposite him. You drop the silk onto the cushion, the pure white an erotic contrast to the dark colours shrouding the suite. “Both your voyeuristic and exhibitionistic tendencies will be satiated.” You blink, then narrow you eyes at the man. “Have you brought be to a sex club, Rhysand?” He chuckles at the use of his full name—you only use it when displeased with him. “Rhys, you haven’t,” you gasp, “what if someone sees?” Sometimes you really could strangle your husband.

But then he stands from his reclined position, prowling forward, hands wrapping firmly around your waist as his shadow swallows you. “Isn’t that the point?” He purrs, your spine arching against him. “Don’t you delight in their attention? Revel in it?” Heat flushes your cheeks at your husband’s accuracy. “I know how you like being perceived as an object of desire. Isn’t that why you didn’t bat a single, pretty eyelash when I made my request for the night?”

His hands glide up, tracing over your breasts until they cup your jaw, “I’ll ravish you in front of the whole world if it pleases you.”

“But a sex club!” You hiss, making him laugh. “Am I laughing, Rhys?” You snap, making him calm himself.

“I give you my word, it’s nothing as disreputable as a sex club,” he purrs, but the lilt in his voice suggests a loophole. “Why don’t you remove that dress of yours so you can get to the big reveal, hm?”

He steps away, allowing you to stand. To proceed with the show. You huff, turning your back to him as you begin slowly unslotting the tiny satin cushions from their holes. One at a time. Piece by piece.

Gradually, the smooth material begins its descent off the slope of your shoulders. His mouth dries as he finds the thin, platinum straps that loop atop your arms. The satin slowly gives way, showing off the latch of the brassiere you’ve donned. Pure, glittering white. He swallows as the gown lowers over your waist, caressing the intimate skin of your waist; hips.

The dress pools at the poised set of your heel adorned feet, the silver ensconced lace matching the delicious underthings you’ve selected. His breath catches as you glance at him over one shoulder, giving him a partially concealed view of your beautiful face. Your slim fingers waltz over the skin of your arm, trailing down as your eyes follow teasingly. The other hand is wrapped over your hip, playing with the thin band of your underwear: matching lace that clings to the plump curve of your rear.

“Turn around, darling. Let me see you.” His voice sounds rougher; more strained.

Ever so slowly, you step out of the waves of satin, turning to reveal yourself to him.

A low groan sounds at the back of his throat as he slips two fingers beneath the collar of his shirt, apparently in need of some cooler air. You smirk as you begin prowling closer, stopping only when you’re positioned between his muscled thighs.

Your husband enjoys himself as he drinks you down, eyes dragging so slowly over every fine detail, and you swear you can see the plans in his mind fading back to dust. He wets his lower lip, gaze darkening as he imagines where you’d enjoy being touched, whether you would prefer his fingers or his mouth over your perky nipples. Whether you’ll insist on keeping your lingerie intact, or whether you’ll be so desperate as he is by the night’s end that you won’t care about it being hastily removed. Strewn across the rouge carpet.

Sequins and pale glass beads are woven to the brocade fabric, indentations of peacock feathers shimmering in the light, iridescent thread glimmering. Tiny sets of diamond are dotted at the base of the brassiere, looping around your back and over your shoulders. Strings of pearls dangle from the base of the lingerie, hanging in crescent circles like ribs made of moonstone—reconnecting at the clasp. The underwear matches perfectly, accented with the same glittering platinums, silver embossed feathers curling over your hips.

“You’re divine,” he breathes, violet eyes reflecting your warm light. His hands reverently pull you closer, your own settling on the corded muscle of his shoulders as he places a kiss to your navel. “Divine,” he whispers, shakily. Your husband looks up at you, your fingers weaving through his blue-black hair, so soft to the touch. He keens at your touch, revelling in the press of the pads of your fingers, feather-light as you trace the sharp cleft of his cheek.

“What’s the big secret, husband?” You murmur, hooking one leg over his thigh as you slide into his lap. He moves for your mouth, lips parting, eyes sliding closed but you set a firm hand on his chest. “Now, now, Rhys. Behave.” He groans softly at the command, eyelids lazing open to look at you. Lust and hunger dance intimately, barely hidden in the now indigo hue of his irises. Your fingers settle either side of his chin, tilting his jaw toward you, his pupils dilated and burning.

“It’s your turn, Rhys,” you whisper alluringly, hips winding over his. He stifles another groan, “wicked, wicked woman.” A thrill of excitement brushes down your spine at his pained tone. His strong arms snake around your waist, clutching you to his body, hand settling between your shoulder blades, indulging in the drag of your breasts. He grips your ass, pulling you tight to his hips, feeling the prominent outline of something delicious between your thighs—against your stomach.

“Come on, now,” you chide, mouth dancing over his own, a sensual caress of breath. “Make good on your word, husband.” A strained sound of pleasure rumbles in his chest, eyes flicking up to yours. He swallows, and you trace the roll of his throat. Then both his hands drop to your ass, hauling you against him as he stands, your thighs wrapping snuggly around his hips. “Rhys…?” Your tones shifts to irritation and he chuckles.

Your husband moves fluidly through the suite room, opening a door the server hadn’t shown you. You try to turn but he presses your face to his shoulder, hiding the view from you. All you’re able to make out is the general volume of people, but it’s a bit far away, as if from a lower floor. Music rolls up to your ears, fiery, rhythmic, and you want to set your heels to the floor, if only to spin with your husband to the syncopated melody.

“Rhys? What is that?” Your husband sets you down on what feels like a balcony, his grip loosening, allowing you to peer about. “Look for yourself,” he smirks, stepping back a little. Your thighs tighten around him, tugging him back to your chest harshly as you take in your surroundings.

He’s seated you precariously on what is indeed a balcony, thick mahogany supporting you. Large, champagne coloured chandeliers hang from the ornate ceiling, light refracting through the glass diamonds, casting their golden glow throughout the hall. You’re on the highest floor, the room is cavernous compared to the booth he’d taken you to. Below, people chatter and make merry, dressed finely in anything from night robes to stunning silk dresses to flimsy underthings with a fan of feathers haloing their heads like crowns. A menagerie of fluidly colours: purples to yellow, stripes of pink and cream, splashes of oranges and greens, the glittering sparkle of sequins and jewels gleaming in the low light.

At the front of the hall lies what appears to be a small orchestra, and you zone in on the figure at the forefront of the music, just ahead of the elderly conductor. He’s playing what might be an accordion of some kind, the music frenetic, a frenzied tango of notes. “Is that a squeezebox?” You peer closer, still wrapped tightly around Rhys’ hips. He peers with you, “I believe that’s a copy of a French Flutina. Popular in the 19th century.”

You listen closer to the music, trying to place it. Your husband smiles as recognition sparkles in your eyes, “Libertango, Astor Piazzolla.” He nods, hand cupping your cheek, “indeed.” Your hold relaxes on him a little, allowing you more leeway to watch the crowd. His mouth drops to your throat, kissing a slow trail from your collar bones to your jaw. Your breathing deepens, then catches. His lips lift into a smile over your neck, “see anything interesting?” Then he receives a light smack to his shoulder, “Rhysand!” You scold, fuming, “it is a sex club!”

Sure enough, he can make out the groping hands on the floor below, the bent over bodies, the kneeling legs, the harsh snap of hips. All while the musicians play on. A symphony of pleasure singing through the room, a harmony of moans for accompaniment. “They prefer the term massage parlour. The clientele are free to engage with other participants in whatever way they wish. No one here is paid to do anything.”

Your raise a brow sceptically, “you’ve done your research, husband.”

“Only the best for my wife.” Your lower body tingles at the title. “I hope you know I refuse to step foot in that…pleasure hall. These heels are white. And very dear.”

He laughs against your skin, “why do you think I reserved a private room for us, my darling?”

You pout at the cunning man. “How obnoxiously sly of you,” you remark. “I’m always ten steps ahead of you, dear,” he murmurs over your lips, giving you a serpentine grin before twisting you round, so your back is pressed against his broad chest. “Rhys!” You squeak, hands flying for something to grip onto, feet weaving through the wooden beams withstanding the balcony railing.

“Enjoy yourself,” he drawls, opening his mouth over the unmarked skin of your neck, pressing hot, wet kisses to you. You moan softly. All those people, indulging beneath you, hardly an idea of what’s happening above them. “Relax,” he instructs, nipping at the pearled lobe of your ear. You whine. “You try relaxing with the potential of falling to your death,” you manage, even as his arm tightens around your stomach, letting you know you’re safe with him. “You know that, should you fall, I would plummet with you,” he whispers against your skin, drawing a bark of laughter from your throat, the rose quartz beads ringing at the sound. “I would have preferred reassurance you would not let me drop, Rhys,” you snap playfully.

“That too.”

You huff a laugh that turns into a hitch as his hand cups you through the finely woven lace. A moan slips from your lips as heat warms your skin, his fingers deftly rubbing over the apex of your thighs. “Rhys…” He kisses your jaw, “look below you. All those people revelling in one another, taking what they want until they’re drunk on pleasure.” Your breathing becomes shallow.

“Any one of them could look up—some already might’ve—see you spread out on the balcony, with my hand between your thighs.” You preen against him, melting into his warmth as his fingers dip lower, oscillating over your entrance. He pushes the damp silk to the side, scooping up your slick on his middle and forth finger before raising it to his lips, groaning at your taste. You release a sultry laugh at your husband’s actions, spreading your legs a little wider, “take more, if you want.”

Rhysand growls at the invitation, gripping your jaw, forcing you to look at the people below. “How many people do you think are watching you right now, huh?” You. Not us. You. “How many people do you think have seen how you’re dressed—how you’re acting—and hoped to themselves you’ll be gracing their mouths later?” The heel of his palm presses to the top of your thighs, rubbing gently as his fingers circle you, before pushing in. “How many people down there, do you think, are pleasuring themselves to you?”

Your back arches against him, his clever fingers curling and dragging against your walls. You swallow, desperate to find your words, “I…I don’t know…” you manage, and his teeth nip at your throat, biting lightly. “Have a look, darling. Seek them out.” You moan, trying to follow his orders, but the light is fairly minimal, and the bodies are fading to an erotic dance of shadows. “Can’t do it?” He drawls, pressing his fingers deeper, up to his knuckles.

He laughs darkly beside your ear, “down near the front, a little away from the cellist.” You follow his directions, landing on a figure with their head raised, pleasuring themself. “Beside the third exit on the ground floor, wearing red.” Again you follow, finding a figure strewn over a table, gazing upward. “The floor below is, opposite.” You moan loudly, the sound getting wisped away in the music.

In the booth he’s talking about, a woman is bent over the railing, her petite breasts exposed to the air—to the audience below—while an older gentleman stands behind her, and you can see how her body is pushed forward with each snap of his hips. Her lips are parted, and were the room silent you’re sure she would be moaning as you are. Her eyes are hooded, but watching you, watching as your husband’s fingers push into you, how your back arches.

He does something wicked with his digits, and you gasp, head tipping backward onto his shoulder as he presses against your clit. “Rhys…” you moan out, feeling so high already, practically weightless, as if you could fly away. “Easy,” he orders, arms tightening around you as your hips buck. “Not tipping over that edge just yet.” The possibility has your heart rate increasing, adrenaline thrumming beneath your skin, buzzing at your fingertips.

Your eyes return to the couple on the lower floor. “Do you think she’s an escort?” You manage, noting her scandalous clothing and exquisite gems adorning her throat and wrists. “Does it please you to fantasise about their outside lives, hm? Create a story for them, to get off to?” You moan at his words, nodding your head. “What do you think she’s thinking right now?” His fingers fuck into you harder, keeping their pace though the pressure increases over your clit. “I—…” you can’t manage anything: it’s so overwhelming.

“I think she’s wondering how you taste, what it would be like to have her fingers burying into you like this,” he punctuates his words with a flick of his wrist, digits dragging against that glorious spot inside you. “I bet she’s wishing you were coming on her tongue instead.”

You whimper, nails digging into the banister as you draw nearer and nearer. “Maybe she’s fantasising about you, what your story is. Perhaps she’s winding a filthy tale in her head of you being stolen away by a dark stranger, auctioned off to the highest bidder for your virginity.” You pant heavily, delighting in the wet squelching coming from between your thighs, proof of your arousal for your husband. At some point, dancers had appeared onstage, dressed in thinner and even skimpier clothing than you. Jewels, gems, and peacock feathers waltzing across the skene.

“Perhaps she’s creating a story of a failed marriage, love abandoned, so you’ve left to seek out some real pleasure, from someone who will treat this cunt right.” You whimper, so close to unravelling from his silver-tipped tongue. He’s always been quick on his feet when it comes to this, perfectly attuned to the darker parts of your mind, the more private thoughts you have. “Perhaps she’s telling herself you’re nothing but a dirty whore, trying to scrape together a penny or two by selling your pretty pussy.”

You suck in a sharp breath of air as your high hits you, fully seizing your body as you tighten wildly around his fingers, grinding your hips against his hand as he pulls you through the euphoria. “That’s it,” he encourages, “show everyone what a filthy whore you are.” Your cunt is still fluttering around his steadily moving fingers. The hot breath from his mouth brushes over your ear, fanning across your neck, “you’re no better than a prostitute, are you?” He whispers, circling your clit slowly, working you down.

You pant heavily as your heart beat begins to even out in the aftermath. You swallow as his fingers drag out of your slick heat, coated in glossiness that shines in the low light. “Open.” You hardly have time to follow the command before the pads of his middle and forth finger are sliding over your mouth, like an obscene lip gloss. He pushes them in, against your tongue so you can taste your own arousal. His hips buck against your ass.

“So good, aren’t you. My good, little wife.” You whine at the title, and he helps you down from the balcony—carefully. He spins you around, pulling you tight to his hips, pinning you to the railing. “Think you’re all warmed up for me now? Or do you need some time to cool off?” He taunts. You buck against him, “I can take you.”

He chuckles at your enthusiasm but his eyes flick to the stage, filled with dancing song girls. “Looks like some of the entertainment is starting,” he drawls, giving you a light pat on the ass before he’s guiding you to a chair. Your legs give out when he pushes you, collapsing into the soft cushions. “Why don’t we resume after this brief intermission, hm? I’ll fetch us some refreshments.”

When you look like you’re about to stand to follow after him, he sends you a look over his shoulder. Promising more. “All I want you wearing is those gloves when I return.” His eyes darken as they drag over your body, male satisfaction glinting in his sharp gaze as he notes the slick glossing your thighs. “After all, you were so keen on finding out whether I would like your silk or velvet more.”

Heat flushes your cheeks at the reminder, excitement zipping beneath your skin. Your eyes dip to his hips, “do you think you’re appropriate?” You smirk, noting the obvious outline of his cock, your tongue wetting your lower lip. He mirrors your grin, “think I should send you out there in my stead?” He drawls, sparking arousal in the pit of your tummy. “Maybe a dark stranger will whisk me away, auction me off to the highest bidder.”

“Precisely why I will be getting refreshments,” he smirks. “I’ll knock thrice, slowly, when I return.”

“Maybe I should lock you out. Make you wait like you’re doing to me,” you drawl, watching lazily from your half reclined position. His laugh is a lovers caress between your legs, “if you have the heart to.”

“It’s your heart,” you remind him, smiling.

“Exactly.”

Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020

[starboy-sirius]

kiss me on the mouth

| wolfstar | 3.5k words | based on a tweet i saw | can be read on ao3 here |

Remus held back a groan for what felt like the millionth time this evening. The urge to roll his eyes whenever Sirius would interact with Marlene was beating down on him, which was insane because Marlene was Sirius’ girlfriend, so of course they were going to talk to one another.

Remus just didn’t think he could bear it having to watch them snog, their mouths moving together like they knew each other intimately, tongues peeking out every so often to lick up against one another. 

The Gryffindor common room was decked out with Halloween decorations, orange bunting and floating lights hanging from corner to corner, the main lights having been turned off for mood lighting, as James put it. Remus wasn’t sure who James was trying to seduce with his mood lighting considering Lily was about two seconds from jumping Mary, but with the way his friend eyed the portrait he assumed there was someone else. 

The eldest two years were all gathered in various spots in the room, some of them by the open window smoking something that Remus knew had been cooked up in the greenhouses weeks prior to the party. Most people were dancing in a makeshift area by the alcohol table, bodies dressed down in skimpy costumes moving against each other sensually, the bass of the music thrumming within their veins and pounding along with their hearts. Remus almost wished he was up there with a stranger, feeling their body entwine with his, because it would be a lot better than his current position, which was sat on the floor with his back against the sofa, James’ legs caging his body as he spoke to Peter. 

Remus was fading in and out of their conversation, humming occasionally to give the impression that he was listening as he drank from his bottle and watched from lidded eyes as Sirius got the soul kissed out of him by Marlene. 

Jealousy burned something wicked in his chest. 

Lost within his haze of hatred, which he wasn’t entirely sure if it was aimed at them or himself, he didn’t notice Lily and Mary bounding over to their little group by the fireplace. Lily was dressed as a muggle comic book character called Poison Ivy and had somehow convinced Mary to go as Harley Quinn. Remus wasn’t sure whether Mary knew that the two characters were girlfriends and that Lily was seriously projecting, but it made him smirk as he watched the two of them sneak glances at each other. 

“Guys! Come and dance with us!” Lily yelled, smiling wide and free due to the alcohol she’d consumed.

Mary was much the same, hanging off Lily as though she was her life support. “Oi! Black, stop swallowing our friend and come dance with us!”

Sirius, snapped out of his daze by a push from Marlene, jumped up and rushed to the dancefloor with the two girls, twirling them around with one hand each. Remus watched them and sighed. Sirius looked incredible tonight. He was dressed up like a pirate, with a white shirt he’d borrowed from Remus billowing around him, unbuttoned past his sternum. He wore loose brown trousers that were buckled with an oval shaped metal belt, engraved with jewels dangling from it. He also had a dainty waist chain tucked within the shirt that peaked out every time he moved his hips and the light shone from it. 

It made Remus want to eat him. 

A loud cough sounded from opposite him and he snapped his neck so fast it was a wonder he didn't get whiplash. Marlene was staring at him with a raised eyebrow, her mouth curved into a small smirk. “He looks good, doesn’t he?”

Marlene was dressed much like Sirius, her own white pirate shirt billowing around a corset that pushed her breasts upwards, making them appear as though they were spilling from it. Remus had just come out as gay to his friends but even he could admit that Marlene looked incredible tonight. Her trousers cut off at her calves, short enough to show her chunky black boots and the hint of the tattoo that curled around her ankle. A pirate hat sat atop her head and underneath it was a Gryffindor red bandana, her wild blonde hair backcombed to create an effortlessly messy look. 

Remus felt quite inadequate with his bloody shirt and trousers both adorned with rips and gashes. He’d removed the glamour from his face and body to reveal the scars he bore every day, bedazzled with some fake blood. When people asked what Remus was he told them he was the victim of a werewolf. Everyone complimented him on how real it looked. 

A soft, coy grin lifted the corner of his lips at the memory. Sirius had been horrified before he’d laughed his head off, joking that he should have gone as a dog. “He does. Your doing, I imagine?”

Marlene laughed, throwing her head back. “You’re joking, right? This was all his idea. Said he wouldn’t be able to outdo Moony but he could still look damn sexy.” 

Remus rolled his eyes, a small blush coating his cheeks as he ducked his head and took another sip from his bottle to stall for time. He didn’t know why he was so surprised that Sirius spoke about him with his girlfriend, they were best friends after all and it’s not like it meant anything. “He’s such an idiot.”

Humming, Marlene took a sip from her own bottle, black fingernails wrapped around the neck. “A damn good kisser, though.”

Remus immediately felt queasy, but he brushed it off and shrugged in a way that he prayed was nonchalant and not stiff. “I wouldn’t know.”

Marlene eyed him suspiciously, a laugh threatening to break from her lips. “You’re lying.”

“Of course I’m not,” Remus ground out, becoming more agitated as the seconds ticked by because he wished he was lying. “Why would I lie about that?”

“Well, I don’t know. But he’s kissed James plenty of times and even Pete once as a dare, so I only assumed he’d kissed you as well.”

“That’s true, Sirius is very affectionate,” James’ voice drifted down from above him and Remus jumped in his spot, completely forgetting he was there. 

“Jesus, James,” he swore, shuffling in his spot and placing a hand on James’ knee as if that would ground him. 

“I’m pretty sure Padfoot has kissed you,” Peter mumbled from around the rim of his glass, amber firewhiskey sloshing dangerously. 

“I’m pretty sure I’d know if he’d kissed me, Pete,” Remus snarked, unable to keep his irritation from bleeding into his words. 

A quick glance at Marlene told him that she’d heard the bite in his tone and found it amusing, a full grin breaking out on her lips as she sat up and leaned closer to Remus, eyes sparkling conspiratorially. “Well, you’re missing out, dear Remus. That boy kisses like a whore, so desperate for it. He’ll sit there and fight with you, so demanding and hot. But oh, the minute you put your tongue in his mouth? He practically melts. Whines like a puppy and just takes it.”

Remus felt like he was going to implode. He felt hot all over like someone had doused him in oil and lit a match, his body prickling as his brain conjured images to match Marlene’s words. Throwing him into the fireplace or holding his head underwater in the Black Lake would be less painful than hearing this and not being able to experience it. Just once Remus wanted to know what it was like to kiss Sirius. He wanted the boy whining for him, because of what Remus was doing to him. 

Marlene looked like she wanted the same thing. 

Furrowing his eyebrows, Remus watched as Marlene called for Sirius, the boy’s head whipping around immediately, his hair swishing over his shoulder like some sort of muggle shampoo advert. Remus was transfixed.

Sirius made his way over and sat down next to Marlene obediently as she patted the spot next to her. She turned to her boyfriend with gleaming eyes. “It has come to my attention that you haven’t kissed Remus. Why?”

A blush burned prettily into the freckled skin of Sirius’ nose and the apples of his cheeks, eyes darting from Remus to Marlene, an edge in them as they reached the blonde girl. “Because we just haven’t, Marlene, why are you asking?”

The girl didn’t seem intimidated in the slightest, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I just find it rather odd that you’ve kissed both Pete and James, and James a fair few times might I add, and not dear Remus here. I think you should rectify that immediately.”

Spluttering, Sirius looked between Remus and Marlene rapidly, blushing further when he caught eye contact with Remus. “I— that’s ridiculous, Marls. Why would you want me to do that? We don’t need to do that, right Moons?”

Rolling his eyes, Remus ignored Sirius’ pleading stare and turned to Marlene. The open rejection from Sirius was enough to kill his mood for weeks and he was over Marlene getting her kicks from it. “Piss off, Marlene, and stop teasing him. He clearly doesn’t want to.”

He rose to his feet, swigging the last of his drink with the intention of getting another one straight away so that he could get away from the couple before him. He dropped the empty bottle to the nearby table. Maybe he would go to the dancefloor and find someone to lose himself in for the night. There was that Ravenclaw boy who had made very obvious hints that he found Remus attractive… 

“Remus, wait—”

“That’s what you think,” Sirius’ plea was cut off by Marlene’s sly comment.

Remus turned to them, feeling slightly better now that he was looking down at them as opposed to them looking down at him on the floor. He could see clearly how panic flashed across Sirius’ face as he turned to Marlene. He hissed, “Marlene, shut the fuck up.”

Bored of their antics and feeling like the butt of the joke, Remus spoke softly and yet lethally. “When I came out to you I thought you’d be cool about it. I didn’t think you’d sit here and take the piss out of me for it.”

Sirius looked up at him like he’d just been slapped around the face, eyes widening dramatically. He stood up instantly, shooting from his spot on the edge of the sofa with desperate eyes and downturned lips. “Remus, what—”

Marlene’s heavy sigh and groan cut him off. “Godric, I am being cool about it. I’m trying to—” she cut herself off, took in a deep breath and turned to Sirius with a new determination in her eyes. “Y’know what? Kiss him.”

“Marlene,” Remus shook his head. What wasn’t she getting? Sirius didn’t want to kiss him, he’d made that perfectly clear. She was being cruel whether she knew it or not. 

“No,” she held up her hand, eyes still pinned on Sirius. “Kiss him. For the love of fuck just kiss him.”

Something seemed to travel between them at that moment, a silent conversation happening between their eyes, and Remus watched as Sirius seemed to go through the motions. He had always been so expressive, every emotion written on his face clearly for anyone to read. He wasn’t shy and he rarely kept his mouth shut, so whether someone read it or not they’d probably hear about it sooner or later. It was something that Remus loved about him no matter how annoying it could be. 

“Fine!” Sirius snapped, glaring at Marlene before turning to Remus and softening his stare immediately.

As Sirius walked closer to him the entire common room faded into nothingness, the music becoming white noise and the people vanishing completely. It was only Remus and Sirius in the room, the latter coming to a stop just before Remus, head tilted upwards so that he could look into Remus’ hazel eyes, his stare earnest and shiny. 

“Sirius, stop. You don’t have to do this,” Remus mumbled, voice hushed as to not break whatever bubble they were in right now. 

In a way, Remus sort of felt like he could cry as he watched the boy he loved force himself to kiss him just because his odd girlfriend demanded it. Was that all Remus was? An errand to tick off before he went back to the real thing?

Hands came up to the hem of his bloody shirt, gripping lightly. Those grey-blue eyes were round like a doe’s and oh-so tempting. Sirius’ lips were red and shiny, most likely from the alcohol and the way Sirius tended to bite them whilst he danced and it made something feral unfurl itself in Remus. He wanted to lick and bite every inch of him. 

“I want to,” Sirius whispered, hands tugging lightly at his shirt, lips wet and eyes wide. 

Remus couldn’t hold back. 

He cupped Sirius’ cheeks in his hands, long fingers brushing through the wild waves that fell around his face, and captured his lips. He groaned at the feeling, finally knowing what it was like to kiss Sirius Black, the boy he’d been in love with for years. 

Marlene wasn’t wrong about Sirius, but boy did she leave out a few details. 

Sirius kissed like a starving man, like someone who had been caged for years only to feel the first rays of sunshine on his face and reach for them with everything he had. His lips moved with Remus’ immediately, his hands sliding up Remus’ torso and gripping the shirt with strength, the buttons popping and scattering to the floor. Remus tried to pull away, to see the commotion that Sirius just caused but he wasn’t able to. A soft groan of complaint was all he registered before Sirius’ mouth was back on his and his hands were wound in Remus’ hair, pulling roughly and causing his roots to tingle. 

Remus couldn't keep the feral part of him locked up any longer. He pressed his hands bruisingly into Sirius’ hips, sneaking his hands under the white shirt and tangling them in the waist chain he knew was waiting there. His skin was so soft and Remus couldn’t help but moan into Sirius’ mouth, pressing his lips harder as Sirius pulled him closer. Their bodies were connected at every point, one of Remus’ legs automatically slotting between Sirius’, an eager noise ripping itself from the latter’s throat.

Their lips moved together insatiably, but it wasn’t a fight like Marlene had suggested, it was more like a dance without a leader. Sirius tried to get the upper hand, to retain control, but Remus knew that the boy was begging for someone to take the lead. So that’s exactly what he did. 

Sneaking one hand further down, Remus grabbed a fistful of Sirius’ arse and felt the shift in the air as Sirius all but gave in to his touch, his back arching deliciously and his mouth opening in a silent gasp. Remus took the opportunity to lick into Sirius’ mouth and delighted in the eager, desperate whine that left Sirius’ lips, the boy releasing little huffs and moans as Remus continued to delve into his mouth. 

Removing his mouth from Sirius, Remus ignored the whiny complaints and mouthed at his jawline, licking and biting his way to his earlobe and down his neck, listening for particular sounds that left Sirius’ mouth. He latched onto the patch of skin where his neck met his shoulder and sucked hard, feeling Sirius tremble in his grasp, legs squeezing Remus’ one trapped between them. 

Remus licked over the area once, twice, before biting the skin, holding it captive between his teeth and sucking it into his mouth. Sirius moaned, breathy and high-pitched and like nothing Remus had ever heard before. 

“Remus,” Sirius gasped, one hand gripping the hair at the nape of his neck with a vengeance and the other coming to rest on Remus’ shoulder as though he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to push him away or pull him in closer. 

Chuckling low and throaty, Remus seductively licked a stripe up his neck, over the notch in his throat, and over both of his lips, tongue curling. Sirius shuddered. “That’s it, sweetheart. Tell me what you want, hm?”

“You,” Sirius whimpered, trying to pull Remus’ lips back to his, eyes blown wide and hazy. “I want you.”

The moment was cut short by a loud voice. “Fucking thank Godric! Can I please go back to my girlfriend now?”

Remus blinked and suddenly the entire common room swam back to him in pieces. James and Peter looking at them with wide eyes and even wider grins, Marlene rolling her eyes at them with an exasperated yet happy look on her face, Lily and Mary whooping from the dancefloor, their arms wrapped around each other and lipstick smudged. 

“Wait, did you just say girlfriend?” Remus frowned, focusing on Marlene, which was a herculean effort considering Sirius was still hanging from him looking utterly submissive and edible. 

Marlene rose from the sofa and picked an invisible piece of dirt from her shirt, mouth poised in a smirk once more. “That’s the last time I do you a favour, Black. I told you he wouldn’t try to steal you from me if he saw us kissing. Remus is way too gentlemanly for that.”

“That kiss says otherwise,” Pete mumbled, grinning wildly and wiggling his eyebrows when Remus shot him a look. 

Marlene tapped Remus on the shoulder and walked off towards the portrait where Dorcas was standing, leaning against the wall with a satisfied smirk on her lips and her Slytherin friends around her. Remus could practically feel James perking up from his seat. 

“Wait, is Dorcas here? Did she bring her friends?!” James was up and out of his seat immediately, eyes on the boy standing to Dorcas’s left who was accepting a drink from a Ravenclaw in Remus’ year. 

Remus felt bad for the boy, knowing that he’d be competing against James Potter for the remainder of the evening, but he couldn’t find it in himself to focus on that right now. 

He turned to Sirius, who was still pliant from their kiss, staring up at Remus with a small, guilty smile on his face. “So you and Marlene aren’t dating?”

“No. She may or may not have a girlfriend,” Sirius shrugged innocently. 

Nodding, Remus slid both of his hands down to rest warningly on Sirius’ arse, enjoying the way Sirius’ eyes became half-lidded once more, his mouth open on a silent intake of breath. “And you thought you’d trick me by pretending to date her?”

In a rush of breath Sirius said, “I didn’t know how else to get your attention.”

Remus paused for a moment, looked at Sirius like he’d give him the time to rectify his statement, and then scoffed when it seemed that Sirius was, well, serious. He leaned down and licked over Sirius’ bottom lip and then the top one in one curl of his tongue, the fire inside of him roaring as Sirius tongue peeked out between his lips in the hope that it might catch Remus’. 

“Sirius,” Remus waited for the other boy to focus on him. “You have had my attention since I met you.”

“Really?” The hope in Sirius’ eyes only further fueled the hope growing in Remus’ heart. 

“Really. I have been in love with you for two years,” Remus murmured against his lips, pecking them softly once. 

Sirius pressed his lips against Remus’ before he whispered, “I’m in love with you, too.”

Remus felt like he was on top of the world, happiness welling within him with a force he never knew capable. It was different to every other happy moment he had experienced. When his friends confessed that they had trained to become Animagi so that they could join him on the full moon, it was like a hit to the gut. Remus could only nod repeatedly and blink the tears from his eyes, a feeling of never ending gratitude surging within him for being so lucky with his best friends. 

But this was different. What surged through him now was utter bliss. He didn’t feel the urge to cry, only the urge to never stop smiling again. He worried that he wouldn’t be able to kiss Sirius again because of his inability to wipe the permanent smile from his face, which would be a damn shame because Sirius did kiss like a whore, but Remus feared he was worse. Especially when it came to Sirius.

“Wait, if you two are going to start snogging like sluts again, I’m just gonna leave real quick,” Peter darted up from the sofa and over to the alcohol table where James was currently trying to get Regulus Black to take the drink he was offering and ditch the one the Ravenclaw had given him. 

Remus and Sirius stared at each other for a moment before, “Dorm?”

“Dorm,” Remus nodded, taking Sirius by the hand and dragging him towards the stairs, a smile still etched onto his lips.

✧˖*°࿐

they fuck in the dorm whilst james follows regulus around the party like a puppy :D

starchaser sequel?

[riacte]

Been reading dearly beloathed (and thoroughly enjoying it mind you) (the GC screenies chat loves Reina btw) and I’m genuinely so curious as to how you imagine their superhero fits/ them in general. Obvs tachy has his angler fish get up but what about Balefire and the rest :0 do you have any designs or descriptions or just ideas for the characters designs :D?

Hi thanks for reading and glad you like it! Quick Picrews from this link:

(Left to right, top to bottom: Lyra, Ben, Archie, Reina, Cora, Balefire/Uma)

Then my art: Uma with various shadow blobs, Lyra + Ben (part of this larger piece with their OC predecessors)

More detailed descriptions:

Balefire: brown skin, shoulder length black hair, brown eyes, thick eyebrows, strong nose, has a prominent glare (at least, from Tach’s pov). Slightly shorter than average. Fairly well built. Has a black scar on her chest from Tach. Likes wearing yellow. I haven’t quite decided on her hero costume but it’s black + reddish orange and has flame motifs. She probably added some phoenix motifs after her reappearance. (She didn’t start off with them.)

Tachythanatous: was obnoxiously into emo culture as a teen (belt buckles, straps, studded pads, metal chains, etc). Anglerfish inspired helmet with a dangly light that changes colours. The dangly light has a practical purpose of providing a light source in case he’s trapped in complete darkness as his shadows cannot appear. (Think Pride from Fullmetal Alchemist.) Sometimes he makes the light multicoloured so he can vibe to Caramelldansen. Dressed in black + dark blue. Probably has platform boots for the heck of it. Has a swishy cape because he’s dramatic. Surprisingly skinny (his suit is well padded for protection). He doesn’t have much strength as he heavily relies on his speed and his shadows. Without his speed and shadows, Bale can easily punt him into the sky while he goes “YIPPPPPEEEEEeeeeeeeeee 💫”.

Tach is usually in his suit. If he’s not, he’s covering up his skin with long sleeves + pants. When Bale stayed with him, sometimes Tach was too lazy to suit up so he would just walk out with a big black rectangle covering his body like a glitch in the matrix. Like imagine a stressed out Balefire with a headache coping with a complete 180 of the status quo waiting for the kettle to boil and then this floating black rectangle ominously enters into the kitchen like 🧍 “morning nemesis”.

Lyra: light skin, straight black hair with blue highlights, black eyes. Puts on hair clips and likes wearing her hair in a braid (she’s been growing out her hair for a while). Has a stoic resting face so people used to be intimidated by her until they learn she’s just a shivering pathetic wet cat. Her ears turn red when she blushes. Tall and lanky. Doesn’t like to show her legs and wears trousers and long skirts. Wears blue, grey, black, and yellow.

Ben: tan skin, short cropped hair, big brown eyes. A bit scrawny. Dresses like a tour guide at a marine park (orange shirt, cargo pants). Likes clothes with pockets despite owning a pocket dimension. (Maybe it’s his brand?) He’s clumsy and falls over like a piece of toast.

Archie: fair skin, wispy blond hair, watery blue eyes. Wears glasses. Likes vests and jackets. Wears in shades of green, beige, and brown. He tends to layer clothes and wear clothes made with different materials to practice his superpower of phasing through matter (one of his fears is phasing through a wall but leaving his clothes behind). Also wears accessories such as watches, hats, and chains to train his powers. Has a stocky build but born with a weak constitution.

Reina: fair skin, long straight blond hair to her back, brown eyes, short and stout. She later dyes her bangs black. Wears black and shades of pink (in particular magenta). Likes alt fashion (short skirts, corsets, platform boots). Occasionally wears plum / dark lipstick.

Cora: dark brown skin, shoulder length curls, dark brown eyes. Medium build, average height. When she’s in class, she wears a doctor’s coat. Dresses in shades of purple, green, and white. Her family wants her to dress “demurely” but her actual taste is more casual. Wore more androgynous clothes but leaning towards more feminine clothing lately. Occasionally wears silver eyeliner.

All of the kids can afford whatever they want to wear because the gov pays them to go to hero school. They’re rich kiddos lol.

These are the tentative designs I have of the main cast. Everyone else is more vague lmao

Arcus/Kai: brown hair, brown skin, well built. Has weather manipulation powers so his suit is probably sapphire blue with bits of dark grey

Cinder/Lillian: short hair in a bob, “mousy”, wears glasses, doe eyes, was weak and scrawny during her Academy years. Suit is a mellow yellow with white.

Moxie/Mona: black hair, black eyes. She looks lively and mischievous.

Sentinel/Milo: he’s like your fun uncle at BBQs. Probably wears his hair in a messy ponytail. Suit is maroon probably.

Harrison: brown hair, handsome, photogenic (which Ben complains about in his inner monologue)

Esme: freckled skin, sharp eyes, brown hair in two long braids

Here’s some art I drew of Bale and Tach :)

Also glad your gc likes Reina :D yes yes this is good info to me for plot reasons…. :)

Thanks for the ask <3

[growthgoddess]

Elara's Enchantment

An unruly mob has gathered at your palace gates. They are voicing disdain and disappointment over your rule as king of their lands. They were promised bountiful seasons and everlasting joy, perhaps overpromised. You only wanted to be loved, but now your subjects have overpowered your guards and are now threatening to tear down your palace gates with a battering ram.

You furrow your brow, feeling desperation sink in. If they catch you, they would probably see you hanged, or even worse, burnt at the stake. The last remaining guards of your palace have deserted you and a cold sweat trickles down your forehead as a chill rushes down your spine.

However, relief washes over you when your beloved queen, Elara, puts her hand on your shoulder. The weight of her hand along with her warmth, envelopes you. You are loved with her, you are safe with her.

Queen Elara: My love, leave this to your queen. I will deal with them personally.

Confused and worried, you try to turn to her and reach out. What could she have meant? But before you could even say a word, she vanishes from your balcony and materializes at the grand staircase from the castle gates below you.

Thunder rumbles and the orange sunset sky darkens, your queen stands before the palace gates, a wicked smile playing on her lips.

She reveals a large tome that crackles with mystical, purple energy in her hands, as she begins her monologue.

Queen Elara: Hahaha! Oh, dear subjects, you thought you could challenge the throne? How amusing! Your pitiful king may have been weak in his promises, but you will soon see that he pales in comparison to your dear Queen Elara! You wish to raid the palace? Oh, you will get more than you bargained for.

With a flourish and a series of exotic hand gestures, the queen opens the tome, revealing ancient runes and incantations. Her voice takes on an eerie, demonic tone as she recites an unholy spell.

The mob grips their pitchforks, torches, and swords tighter. Their leader, the man who seeks to usurp the throne, rallies them to push on and continue breaking down the gates.

The two last palace guards standing beside Queen Elara begin cowering in fear over the events that are transpiring before them.

Queen Elara: Unnamable Gods, O Powers of Old, I call upon Thee! Fill my supple form with your might. I offer to Thee my flesh that I can strike fear in Thy names! Grant me strength beyond measure, make me a terror they will never forget! Let your essence seep into my muscle, bone, and sinew. Let your bounty embolden my body! Let them cower at my raw might, bless me with your succor!

A dark aura envelops your queen, and power surges to her veins. The very air is stirs with an unspeakable energy. The people could taste the metallic flavor of the wind as powers beyond their recognition twist the body of the woman before them.

You stand in both awe and terror at the capability of your wife. She has always been fond of perusing the scriers archives during her free time, and now you are witnessing the very fruits of her passion take shape as she defends your last bastion.

The incantations from the weathered tome fills the grand staircase leading to the palace entrance as she raised her arms, the words flowing off her tongue like a wicked melody.

Then, it began.

At first, the change appears subtle. Her regal gown, once a symbol of her grace, tightens imperceptibly around her form. The fabric shifts around, trying to accommodate something moving inside, something growing. Smooth embroidered silk strains against her skin, hinting at the growing power within. Queen Elara, however, remains composed, her eyes fiercely fixed at the terrified mob attempting to break down the formidable gates.

Then came the first audible rip. Her tight corset immediately loses to the growing woman's burgeoning body.

Next came her gown, the exquisite fabric, woven with threads of gold and silver, surrenders to the queen's expanding frame. With each passing moment, she feels herself grow taller, her limbs elongating, and her body stretching. Her breasts, once modest, have begun to fill with mass and milk. Her arms thicken with muscle and girth.

Audible moans escape her lips as she grows in spurts that feels like orgasms at every release.

The gown protests but could not keep up the losing battle, her seams burst open like fireworks, the sound audible throughout the area.

Queen Elara's lips curl into a malevolent, triumphant smile as her once regal gown now hangs in tatters around her.

She stands tall, her figure outlined by the shimmering remnants of her attire. To her, the world seems to shrink from her ascending perspective, the threatening size of the amassed townsfolk dwindling as she continued to grow.

Queen Elara: BWAHAHA, Look at me! I am growing into a force that will quell your insolence!

Your queen, now a monstrous growing behemoth, turns to look at you looking down from the balcony.

Queen Elara: My beloved king, you need not cower any longer. For it is they who will fear me now, and through their fear, they will understand the consequences of betraying the crown!

Her laughter, now dark and melodic, blast their ears as she guffawed. The torn gown fell away in tatters, unable to contain her majestic size any longer.

Queen Elara, now a giantess, stands amidst the ruins of her regal attire. She was a monument to dark power, her eyes ablaze with the might of ancient forces.

Then, with a booming voice, she declared.

Queen Elara: A queen must protect her king, no matter the price! I shall be your shield, my love, and none shall dare to defy us again!

The malevolent tome that has begun floating around her as she grew suddenly glowed and flew towards her, ramming her chest with immense force. She winced and took a step back. Her heavy feet cracks the floor to the castle door and she tries to lean on something for support.

That was when it hit you and her. She was leaning on your elevated balcony for support! She has grown even bigger now!

Queen Elara glances at her chest to see that it is now pulsing with purple energy. The tome has entered her body to become a more efficient channel to this otherworldly power flowing within her.

Queen Elara, now confident with her might, strides forth, her steps like seismic rumbles. The ground shakes beneath her feet as she surveys the peasants below with eyes that glitters with both malignant glee and unbridled fury.

Queen Elara turns towards her beloved king and picks you up with her hand. You seemed like a child's doll compared to her now. She winks at you and places you on her shoulder. Then, she grasps a nearby guard tower and yanks it off the bastille foundations. With ease, she breaks it with her bare hands.

Queen Elara: We will no longer need this petty castle! I shall be your fortress, my king! My love will protect you from every danger, every threat! Hold on tight, my dear, this will be perilous!

With a powerful heave, she breaks through the castle gates, her massive form now emerging to engage the fleeing masses. Your once mighty castle now seems minuscule behind her.

Queen Elara: This is my new order, hear your queen's decree! Guards, rally to me! Let us crush this rebellion and restore order!

The remaining castle guards drew courage from this and cheer at the massive Elara. They gear up and start pouring out of the castle behind her and into the town. A massive civil war breaks out, but the odds are in your favor with your beloved queen taking to the front lines.

She turns to you and whispers gingerly.

Queen Elara: Fear not, my beloved king! Your queen shall be your protector, your shield, and your wrath! Those who defy us will meet their end at my hands!

But before you stands one obstacle. The leader of the mob. The one who organized this whole rebellion - The Usurper.

He stands before you and Elara with unmatched courage as he draws his sword which he anoints with blessed oil and enchants with a glowing yellow aura.

Queen Elara: Ha! You dare raise your blade at me? You are defeated, your mob routed. Kneel before your ruler, your queen, and we may yet spare you! O Usurper, should you still dare challenge us, then you shall feel the consequences of my ire!

Queen Elara charges at the hero with all her might. The darkened sky above breaks out into a chorus of unspeakable melodies and chants to herald the incarnation of the Unnamable Gods that is your wife. An epic battle between a force of order and chaos ensues.

[himalia-aesthetics]

Whimsical Gothic Aesthetic

The Whimsigoth aesthetic isn’t quite goth or quite bohemian, but blends together aspects of each. This aesthetic was conjured out of the 70s, 80s, and 90s with witchy influences showcased in a plethora of movies and television shows. Free spirited individuals with interests in astrology or witchcraft may feel called to this aesthetic. 

Visuals:

Stained Glass 

The Night Sky

Well Worn Rugs 

Brass/Gold Candle holders 

Velvet 

The Moon

Black Cats

Crystals 

Vining Plants 

The Sun

Candles

Antique Rings 

Cozy Fireplaces

The Stars

Key Colors:

Black

Emerald Green

Gold

Deep Blue

Burnt Orange

Silver

Ruby Red

Purple

Bronze

Dark Teal

Yellow

Clothing:

Tops:

Corsets 

Tank Tops 

Flowing Long Sleeves

Blouses

Mesh Tops (Long/Short Sleeves) 

Velvet Tops (Long/Short Sleeves)

Lace/Lace Trimmed Tops (Long/Short Sleeves)

Bottoms:

Skirts 

Trousers 

Jeans 

Corduroy (Trousers/Skirts)

One Pieces:

Dresses

Jumpsuits 

Bodysuits 

Overalls

Outerwear:

Cardigans 

Leather jackets 

Fur Trimmed Coats

Shawls

Shoes:

Doc Marten Boots

Platform Boots

High Heel Boots

Doc Marten Loafers

Platform sandals 

Accessories:

Layered Necklaces 

Metal Belts 

Vintage/Antique Rings

Bracelets 

Dangle Earrings 

Beauty:

Dark Lipstick 

Eyeliner 

Mascara

Media/Music:

Movies:

The Craft 

Practical Magic

Coraline 

Halloweentown

Labyrinth

Alice in Wonderland 

Buffy the Vampire Slayer 

The Corpse BrideW

Edward Scissorhands 

Hocus Pocus 

Shows:

Charmed

Sabrina the Teenage Witch 

Chilling Adventures of Sabrina

Twin Peaks 

The Owl House

The Vampire Diaries

Playlists:

Whimsigothic by nataile

Whimsigothic by buffn

90s Ethereal Whimsigothic by Teleglam Sam 

90s Witch by linnett

YouTube:

Let’s Explore the Whimsigothic Aesthetic Origins, Breakdown, Outfits, Analysis by beepworld

Styling Whimsigoth Outfits with me | Talking About Thrifting by Amber Triana 

Is Whisigoth the 90s Witchy Bohemian Reborn by Teresa’s Chaotic Corner

Style Analysis: FairyGrunge and Whimsigoth by Dion the Taurus 

Authors:

Holly Black 

Kate Pentecost

Emily X.R. Pan

Adalyn Grace

Hobbies/Activities:

Studying Astrology 

Reading 

Painting 

Collecting Crystals 

Tarot Reading 

Thrift Shopping

Aromatherapy 

Gardening 

Listening to Music

Spellwork 

Related Aesthetics:

Bohemian 

Fairycore

Renaissance 

Witchcore 

Gothic 

Cottagecore

[cinnanaan]

I’m revamping this at a later time, so you can have this version.

Elias Bouchard rounded the corner of the tight hall. It was dark, and cramped. Black lights illuminated neon markings on the walls. He passed by black painted doors. Thick paint chipping away, to reveal chunks of green, or deep red underneath. Each door had an illuminated neon painted symbol. A bloody knife in bright pink. A theater masquerade mask in orange on the next door. Two faces, one with eyes open, one with eyes closed on the door opposite.

All around him were the muffled sounds of pleasure. Breathy little moans. Muted sounds of begging. The thwack of something being slapped.

Elias ignored it all. Keeping his eyes on the door at the end of the hall.

Fresh black paint, against a striking illuminated neon green eye. Wide open, and watching him approach.

Elias swallowed. The warmth that always came with keeping this appointment settled firmly between his legs. He smirked, and straightened his tie, as he came to stand before the door.

He raised a hand, and knocked lightly twice.

“You may enter,” a voice called.

The door opened easily, and Elias felt his mounting excitement in a shiver down his thighs.

The room was well lit. The walls were dark, highlighted by a deep red glow in intervals. Various toys lined the walls. Whips, vibrators, gags, mostly black, but some colored a soft pink. All framed by heavy curtains. The poster bed off to the left of the room, was large, with shiny black sheets. A metal chair sat across from it, restraints sat loose on the arms and front chair legs, ready for use.

But across from the door. On the other side of the room, stood why Elias was really here.

The owner of this room was short, and had a thin frame. His dark hair, highlighted with hints of white and grey, was loosely braided. The braid hung over his right shoulder. He wore a waist corset, and matching corset collar. Dark colored, the thread the cinched them close a deep red. His legs were covered in dark stalkings. They went all the way up to the garter belts attached to the lacy floral lingerie that adorned his waist. The sole of his black heels was the same deep red, matching the corsets.

His body language told Elias he was already in a mood. And Elias couldn’t hide his excited smile.

“You may shut the door,” the voice commanded.

Elias did as he was told. Shutting the heavy door. But he didn’t move after it thunked close.

“Lock it,” came the next instruction.

Elias felt his cock leak as he clicked the lock.

“Come here,” the voice said after a minute of making Elias stand with his hand still on the lock.

Elias turned, and walked towards the figure. He reached the middle of the room, and heard a sharp, “Stop.”

Elias froze. His cock twitched.

The figure turned slowly. Elias’ insides fluttered as he was fixed with a steely gaze. His braid fell off his shoulder as he continued to turn. He faced Elias, arms crossed, riding crop gripped in one hand.

Elias bit his bottom lip as green eyes bore into him.

“Get down on your knees,” commanded the small man.

But Elias was feeling bold today, every bit as much as he was looking forward to this. He ignored the command.

The figure tilted their head, and Elias saw their eyebrow twitch. He dropped his crossed arms, and his heels clicked as he strode up to Elias. Getting right into Elias’ personal space. Even with the tall heels, he was shorter than Elias. Elias looking down at him, as he glared up at Elias.

“On. Your. Knees,” his voice dripped with dominance.

Elias’ everything shivered. He carefully began to lower himself. Careful not to touch his beautiful dominatrix as he finally did what he was told. Lowering himself down onto his knees.

Now he was looking up at the shorter man, and Elias had never felt like he belonged somewhere more in that moment.

“Good boy,” the dom said sweetly, reaching out to caress Elias’ face.

Elias sighed, barely audible, at the touch. Just beginning to lean into the palm, when it was gone.

“Is what I would say, if you were a good boy,” his dom began to walk around him, running the riding crop slowly over his chest. “Sit.”

Elias dropped immediately, sitting with his legs underneath him. Gripping his knees, all too eager to hear how he was not in fact a good boy.

“You missed our last appointment,” his dom said, as he circled Elias, running the riding crop up his chest, over his shoulder, and down his back.

“Mr. Sims, I—-,” Elias started.

Mr. Sims was infront of him immediately. The riding crop slapped sharply under Elias’s chin. Not enough to cause pain, but it made Elias shudder as his chin was raised slowly. He was once again faced with those green eyes. Forced to meet them, despite their utter disappointment in having to look upon him.

“Did I say you could speak?” Mr. Sims said in a low voice.

Elias swallowed, and shook his head.

Mr. Sims sighed, flicking the riding crop out from under Elias’ chin, “Honestly. You miss one session, and you forget whose in charge.”

Mr. Sims took a step back, crossing his arms once more. He stared down his nose at Elias.

“Who is in charge?” Mr. Sims asked. “Speak.”

“You are,” Elias answered quickly.

“Correct. Good boy,” Mr. Sims reached out and gently patted Elias’ head.

A fresh wave of wet spread between Elias’ thighs. But once again, the gentle touch was far too brief. Mr. Sims was once more circling Elias. His heels falling heavy on the carpet.

“Which is why I cannot fathom why you would waste my time,” Mr. Sims shook his head, and Elias stayed still, wishing he would touch him again. “My time is so precious, you know? I could be spending it with someone far more important. Instead of waiting around for you.”

Hit him, punish him, remind him that he belonged on the floor like a dog.

Look at me. Punish me with your gaze.

Mr. Sims was behind him. He leaned down and grabbed a fistful of Elias’ hair. Elias shivered as he felt warm breath on his ear.

“Is my time not precious to you? Speak,” Mr. Sims growled in his ear.

“Your time is very precious, sir,” Elias shuddered out the words loudly.

“Good boy. You are so right,” Mr. Sims released Elias’ hair, and Elias bit back a whine.

Mr. Sims walked slowly around Elias again. He still wasn’t looking at Elias. He looked bored, as he pulled out a black handkerchief from inside his corset, and began to clean the riding crop. Just the end, where it had touched Elias.

“Which is why, dog. I won’t be playing with you today,” Mr. Sims said, keeping his back to Elias.

Elias stopped. Staring at his dom’s back. He made to stand, made to grab him.

“Jon, wait—-,” Elias reached out, but the man whipped around.

“Color?” Jon asked.

Elias swallowed, regretting breaking character, but nodded, “Green.”

Mr. Sims nodded, and swatted away Elias’ outstretched hand. He took a step forward, lifted one of his heels, and brought the red sole down on Elias’ crotch. Elias bit back a shuddering moan as the tip of his cock was pressed down against the floor, the cock cage he always wore before coming here, keeping his shaft from being fully stepped on. Mr. Sims grabbed his hair, and forced his head back. Making sure this lowly dog met it’s master’s eyes. Elias see the small key to his cock cage dangling from one of Mr. Sims’ ears. Glinting in the light.

“This is a lesson, dog. You will come when you are told to come. You are on my time. You are here by my grace. You will learn not to waste my time again,” Mr. Sims hissed, leaning down over Elias.

Elias listened to every word with reverence. He had truly overstepped. Forgotten his place under his master’s heel. Where he belonged.

“Do you understand?” Mr. Sims’ gaze bore into him. “Speak.”

Elias squirmed, nodding, and gave a quick bark.

Mr. Sims smiled gently down at him, “There’s my good boy.”

He released Elias’ hair, and stepped back. He turned away, and walked back to his dresser, where he was standing before. Elias watched him go sadly, but was ready to accept his punishment.

“Stand. You are dismissed,” Mr. Sims called over his shoulder.

Elias got to his feet on shaky legs. A wet spot now visible at the crotch of his pants. He turned, feeling pins and needles down his legs from where they had started to go numb. His cock still strained against his cage as he slowly made his way to the door. He had just unlocked, and opened the door. A couple and their master stood in the hallway, pausing upon the door next to their’s opening.

“Oh, and puppy?” Came Mr. Sims voice.

Elias looked back. Very aware of those green eyes looking at him again, and the gaze of the people outside the door now blatantly listening in.

“No touching yourself until our next session, okay? I’ll know,” Mr. Sim’s smiled at him, and waved good bye.

Elias did as the wave commanded, and stepped outside the door, closing it behind him. He straightened his tie, and pulled his suit jacket down to hide the obvious stain of arousal at his crotch. He ignored the eyes on him of the others in the hall as he raised his chin, and walked down the hall and back around the corner.

[badbitchesonlyhoe]

Irina Shayk

Bvlgari Party; Le Bain, New York City

[anachronisticmech]

‘It’ll be easier for you to recognise me / By the coils of concentina wire / Surrounding my head in a shiny halo / Of small, sharp blades’ /lyr

[ID: a digital drawing of three characters, Edward, Marius, and Bonnie, standing together with handwritten lyrics in running writing in the background. Marius is in the centre, Edward to the left of them, and Bonnie to the right. Marius holds a tired, fatigued, and hurt expression, Edward one of intrigue, and Bonnie a smile.

Marius is a tall, fat pale vampire with long, pink, greying, wavy hair. The side of her head is shaved, showing a craniotomy scar. They have a small amount of facial hair, large and dark eye bags, some beauty spots, a lot of chest hair, and bruises from bites on their cheek and chest. They have pointed ears that still resemble human ears, and fangs. They have another scar down their chest from a sternotomy. Rot wears semi circle glasses and has a port on rots chest. She wears a purple and green Edwardian era style dress, with a lot of layers and gold ribbon on the corset.

Edward is a shorter, thin, brown Indian vampire with short, curly brown hair that is greying. He has a beard and moustache, large eye bags, and a lot of beauty spots. They have pointed ears that resemble humans the least out of the three characters, and fangs. He wears small, circular glasses with a glasses chain, and has a prosthetic eye. He is looking at Marius, and holding a metal tray, which is dripping a small amount of blood. They wear a light purple undershirt, and blue vest.

Bonnie is a medium height, fat, dark skinned First Nations Australian vampire with long, wavy dark brown hair, which is greying. She has some stubble, lots of beauty spots, and large eye bags. Radi has pointed ears in between Marius and Edward’s, and fangs. Vivi wears large circular glasses, a hanging earring with the Aboriginal flag in a circle, and has a ng feeding tube going into her left nostril. She is looking at Marius, with a hand on rots stomach. She wears an orange shirt under a white lab coat, blue jeans, and blue latex gloves. END ID.]

[charmixpower]

Mythix rankings!! Kill me!!

Now let me get a complaint out of the way

THIS!!!! THE FUCKING FLOWERS!!!!

How are we going to design a mythical transformation??? Put all the girls in the same length homecoming dresses and glue a bunch of random flowers on them

Why are they're so many flowers everywhere! Why does Stella have so many flowers on her??? Why do they keep doing this to Stella???? They went really hard on the flowers for Tecna too???? You cover the fairy of technology in flowers???? For what????

Anyways I hate all the flowers!!! I hate them!!! I hate them so much!!! Why are they all covered in flowers???

Telling you all now so I don't break off into a rant about the flowers in each ranking, because god I would

Oh and all of their skirts are the exact same length, with the same collar for most of them, and only Stella has different sized boots. Because individually is above their pay grade

1) Bloom

Her wings in Mythix???? Flat out gorgeous. They look like layered flames and I love them so much, I wish they were on a better transformation in a better written season

Her dress is the least offensive to my eyes, with some mild visual interest. The arm warmers are cute. It looks so ugly in 2d but in 3d it's tolerable, that shade of blue and purple are pretty together. Over all I love her color palette and wings, and I do not see the rest of it

2) Flora

I am OBSESSED with her wings. Like they TRULY have a vibe I'd associate with the name Mythix. They look old and worn, with the holes in them, but still powerful. Like an ancient set of wings Flora got for herself, and it's such a cute visual

Flora being covered in a petal dress is lazy but easily the least egregious because she is the fairy of nature so it at least matches her personality and powers

3) Tecna

TENCA'S WINGS ARE WEIRD AGAIN!!! NOW MAKE THEM WEIRDER!!!!! I love how geometric they are they look so strange, perfect perfect perfect

Her heels are also metallic which is sufficiently weird

Tecna would literally never wear that dress however, at least it's pointy, but it's a complete flop on the weird scale. Make it weirder. Make it cyber. Make it Tecna

4) Aisha

Why is she a red head again. Well with Wow and s8 I think we know why

Anyways her wings are ready mid. They kinda look like a plant and I'm physically restraining myself from saying anymore about that. Her heels are weird in a fun way, and she has what looks like an ice skaters dress on?? I have no clue why they put Aisha in that but whatever. It's better than Flora's dress, win

5) Stella

Her wings are almost good but I hate the shape of them. The colors are gorgeous though

Anyways Stella's dress is boring and the FUCKING CORSAGE. AHHHH. I'm normal I'm normal

Anyways her dress is so fucking boring and literally for what!!! It's just orange!!!!

Her purple part under her skirt and the fabric over her boots also look like fire???? For some reason?????? Like it looks like a mix of a Bloom and Flora outfit and it drives me up the fucking wall

6) Musa

I like her corset, it looks like musical staffs

Thats it

Her wings look like moth wings, her hair is so ugly, her shoes have weird staff plant things on them, her skirt is weird and fuzzy, her hair things are weird and fuzzy

HELP HELP HELP HELP IM DYING TO DEATH

[sirserpentine]

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐁𝐄 𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘.

𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐒:

Gold. Copper. Black. Dark Grey. Ruby red. Lots of metallic shades. Also, yellow.

𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒:

Cinnamon, orange peel, lemon, vanilla, baked treats, gasoline, smoke, leather, peppermint, candles, Earl Grey, roses, rain, clean sheets, Oct-1-en-3-one (That's what makes metals and blood smell... metallic)

𝐅𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐎𝐍:

Tall hats, tailcoats, collared shirts, rolled sleeves, pinstripers, waistcoats, vests, leather straps, bowties, cravats, goggles, gloves, brass jewellery, utilitarian belts, corsets, hair ribbons, pockets, pouches, small chains, brooches

𝐎𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐒:

pocketwatch, tools, cogs, tea cups, leather-bound journals, ink, piano, clocks, weapons, blueprints, cake tins

𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐆𝐄:

Tail wags, toothy grins, stuttering, hand fiddling, bowtie and collar fixing, tip of his hat, deep bows, theatrical poses, wrung hands, hands on chest, teary eyes, heavy cries, gentle and tremoring claws, gyrating tail, crossed arms, secure hold, never stops trying to dance without legs

𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒:

Tinted glass against the sunset, steaming cup of tea next to an old, open novel, meticulous cake decorating, breeze on a lonely field of flowers, pouring milk into a bowl for a cat, a steam engine slowly breathing in and out, being scared of the mirror, sitting down on the velvet seat of a theatre, scales glinting in moonlight, pocket watch ticking with powder hidden inside it, cogwheels turning, letters sealed with wax, sitting suited up in an abandoned train, explosions, lying down in burning rubble as rain pours over you

tagged by: @angie-long-legs Thank you so much!! Yours was so sublime! So tangible!! Could see Angel in every single one.

tagging: @hazbinned, @radioiaci, @aracniss, @poisonedspider, @veneror, @krovcost

[gakehc]

My Sweet Enkeli: Chapter 1

"Enkeli": finnish word for "angel".

When Noah Sebastian met Nori Nurmi for the first time, he knew he wanted her more than anything. She was beautiful like an angel and dangerous like the devil.

♡ Author's note: So this is the first chapter of my new fanfic about Noah Sebastian and the female character Nori Nurmi. I created her when I started to write back in 2011. Basically she's perfect because I like to think about my favorite musicians having some trouble getting someone's attention. We tend to see them as wonderful great people so I wanted to create a character that would be just as awesome as them. The band Forever Damned is totally ficcional, I created the name a few years ago and I have no idea if there's already a band with the same name. Blind Channel fans, please, stay tuned on this fanfic! The lady on the cover is Nori created by I.A. and that's exactly how I imagine her.

♡ Warnings: This is a work involving real people but it's 100% fiction written. Please remember that this is only for fun purposes and it doesn't reflect their real thoughts and behaviors. Don't take this work too seriously. +18 only. Nothing too sexual going on this time.

♡ Characters: Noah Sebastian × Nori Nurmi (OFC).

♡ Words: 2.386

♡ MASTERLIST HERE.

It's been one week since the tour around Europe started and the night it's about to start. The opening band is ready to go up on stage and Noah waits backstage so he can watch the show, just like every night when they are playing. For the first time, Bad Omens is touring with Forever Damned, an all female band from Finland. At first, everyone was worried: How will it be to tour with five womens? Is it going to be too much different? Are they going to get used to the Bad Omens lifestyle of touring?. Well, everything is working fine, except for Noah's obsession with the lead singer, Nori Nurmi. It sounds so cliché for him, but he couldn't help himself this time; it happened before he could do something. When they met each other for the first time, his eyes captured the image of a woman wearing a black sporty shorts and matching black top, her cherry red hair with lighter orange highlights tied in a messy bun while she punched the air and swung side to side just like a professional boxer while she was training behind the tour bus. He was hypnotized by her moves, the way her legs were slightly inclined and the fabric of her clothes was glued to her body and showed all her curves. There were sweat drops on her forehead while her green eyes were focused like she was punching someone real, her lips parted to exhale the air. He can't erase this scene of his mind anymore. Seeing her in person for the first time made him see how intense and eye-catching her aura is, Noah is totally captured by her Scandinavian beauty.

After seeing Forever Damned playing through the week, Noah already knows how the band works, most precisely Nori. She likes to do a warm up, doing some stretches like an athlete would do before a race or a match. Her outfits are always seductive and provocative, tonight she's wearing a black pair of shorts that almost shows her butt and a black leather corset, making her huge boobs pop out. Her high heels boots makes him wonder how she can stand on them and play a concert at the same time. Her lips are covered in a dark brown lipstick and looks even more appetizing. Definitely Noah is head over heels for this woman and he can't even fight against it: he would lose. But of course he's not tripping on his feelings - it's pure physical attraction.

The lights are changing non-top, the music starts: the show is on. Nori walks towards the center of the stage, exuding confidence as she faces the crowd that screams for her and her band. When she opens her mouth to sing, she starts to growl in the most insane way. It's not difficult for her to sound like a growling monster just the way heavy metal fans love. A red light spots her, she sings with a clean voice and it's like hearing an angel but, at the same time, it's sexual and makes Noah feel his whole body shivering.

It didn't need too much time for Noah to realize that Nori is a completely different person off the stage. When she's up there, performing with her four best friends, she is like a sex demon, seducing everyone and enchanting the crowd with her voice, always moving her hips with the sound of the frantic drums. But when she is backstage, living her life, she is sweet and humble. It's almost like she can't see how perfect she is. The way her cheeks get colored in an irresistible tone of red when someone compliments her makes Noah want to grab her in his arms and kiss her big juicy lips that are always covered by thin lays of lip balm. He wonders what it tastes like, strawberry maybe. Her light green eyes are big, surrounded by natural long lashes. Looking right into them is avoiding yourself to lose your self control, is to embark on a journey that there's no way back. When they are facing the crowd, they shine like the biggest star in the sky.

Time flies when Noah is watching Nori perform. Soon, their set is over and the girls are thanking the crowd, who seems to love them. When the singer leaves the stage, she goes straight to the green room, making Noah think that she is avoiding him. He is disappointed, he really wanted to say some words to her, but it's better for him to wait and let her have some privacy. He needs to get focused because, soon, it's his time to go up on the stage.

•

Since Noah had some issues with his voice while touring in the United States, this time they decided to go slow and have more days off so everyone can rest. This means that they are free to spend some time chilling at the bar close to the parking lot where the buses are. The mood it's nice, everyone seems to be having a good time. The bands already started to build a friendship and the guys are thinking that it is cool to spend some time with the five Finnish girls. Auri, the bassist, it's the perfect example of an antisocial gothic girl: she doesn't speak much but knows how to tell a good joke, always full of sarcasm. Her extremely straight black long hair is always hanging loose on her back while she tends to be drinking some beer or coffee. Maila, the drummer, it's kind of hyperactive - maybe that's why she chose the drums as her main instrument. Like her bandmate, she enjoys having some beer throughout the day but she is definitely more social and likes to be around people. Mirva is Nori's sister and is hyper focused on practicing guitar. They look alike, some people even thought that they were twins, but they don't have the same aura. Nori is way more intimidating while Mirva has a totally chill vibe around her. The last one but not least, Lara, the second guitar player, it's a blond bombshell. She's always seducing everyone around, flirting and making jokes so she can make the guys laugh. And of course she already put her eyes on Noah.

The two of them talk, Noah holding a bottle of beer while she drinks a dose of what seems to be whisky. These Finnish girls don't play around when it comes to alcohol. The bar is a small place and the crews of the two bands are enough to make the place totally full like they are having a private party. The lights are low but not enough to obstruct the view, there's a lot of pictures of soccer teams hanging on the walls and a huge TV screen that streams a hockey match. Nori is sitting close to the bar, her legs crossed while she slowly drinks her bottle of beer. She doesn't drink like their bandmates because she likes to take care of her voice.

Lara tries to catch Noah's attention but Nori is everything he cares about right now. It seems that something is off for her, like she is not enjoying the time with her new friends and crew. Soon, the hands of the blond guitarist are playing with Noah's hair. He laughs, trying to be nice to her but of course she is not the one who he wants to talk to; he just doesn't want to be rude. She gets closer but his eyes are not on her, they are staring at Nori, hoping that she sees that she is all that matters to Noah right now.

"Who are you looking at?" Lara asks, turning herself so she can find the spot that Noah doesn't stop looking at "Oh… Of course it's her. If I was you I would change my mind".

"Why?" he asks. Now she got his attention.

"Nori never looks at any man while she's on tour. The girl is like a fucking nun".

"Again, why? Did something bad happen?".

"It's a long story… and she is too negative. She thinks that it's not a good idea to hook up with anyone in a band because it will not end well and the tour can get ruined, blah blah blah" she rolls her eyes "She's so fucking professional".

"Maybe she didn't not find anyone who would be worth taking the risk".

"Believe me, you're not the first to put eyes on her. We've been on the road for a while, always touring with lots of guys. There's always someone full of hope that thinks he can have a chance with her".

Lara it's not trying to get Noah just for her, she doesn't care about that. If he doesn't want to spend some time on the bed with her, she just moves on. The guitarist it's just trying to give him good advice so he doesn't waste his time and energy with Nori. Now, Noah is unsure about taking the first step. For the first time in a while, he is feeling insecure about a woman. Now that Bad Omens has reached fans around the world he knows that there's a bunch of women crazy about him and who would give anything to have a chance to suck his cock. Is this kind of misogynist? Of course it is, but it's the truth. He can have any girl he wants - even though he doesn't find it fair to use women like that - but he already understands that Nori it's not like those girls. It's like there's a shield around her and that matches with what Lara just said about her friend.

"Maybe that's why she is avoiding me" he says.

"Mm, it makes sense. I can see in your eyes that you are into her".

"Is that obvious?".

"Yep" she takes a sip of whisky.

Quickly turning around to watch her friend, Lara sees that Nori it's acting weird. Just like Noah had noticed, the singer doesn't seem right. She seems bothered but she is alone, there's no one talking to her. Lara and Nori have been friends since teenage years and they know each other like the back of their own hands. The blond one knows that her friend is observing Noah talking to her.

"I think you got lucky" she says "Let me try something".

She starts to play with his hair again, and soon Nori drinks the rest of the beer in the bottle in one long sip, taking everything down her throat. Her eyes facing the floor like she's trying her best to not look into Noah's direction but soon she can't resist. She's staring at them intensely, wishing that she could be at Lara's place, her body clearly uncomfortable at the stool while she squeezes her thighs with her both hands. Her friend has seen this before so she knows exactly what's the reason why Nori is acting like this.

"Mm, If you pay attention you can see that she's slowly clenching her thighs together" Lara says.

"It's hot" Noah smirks.

"Yeah, I bet she's jealous of me right now".

Suddenly, the singer leaves, trying to hide any emotion that might be on her face right now. She walks furiously to the parking lot and Noah follows her. It's dark and there's no one around them, so it's the perfect chance for Noah to do something because they are away from the crew and their bandmates, from all the drama that they would create if he flirted with her.

"Why are you following me?" She asks, finally slowing the steps so Noah can approach her.

"Are you okay?" He's cynical.

"I'm fine. I just need some sleep".

"Wait!".

She tries to enter the bus but he grabs her by her arm, pressing his fingers on her skin. For a brief moment, Nori allows herself to feel his touch on her, how his big hand can hold her with such strength that makes her whole body shiver as a warmness grows inside her jeans. But soon, she starts to get mad at his audacity.

"Don't you ever touch me without my permission again. You should leave me alone" her voice is firm.

"What If I don't?"

"Then I will have to punch you in the face".

She's not lying. Nori has the guts to punch Noah right in the face and her fist is ready to take into action and make his perfect nose bleed. Noah can't help but laugh at the situation. She looks even more adorable when she's angry.

"You're a very bad liar, Nori" he says.

"You don't know me".

"So let me know you, then".

She's silent, her brain can't form any single word right now. All the strength she has is being used to prevent her from melting under his touch. Her red hair is matching the color that's in her face, her nostrils widening as her breath gets quicker. Noah is loving to see that, for the first time, Nori is being vulnerable. There's an extreme desire inside his body, an urge to feel her lips locked on his, to feel her tongue swirling inside his mouth, to take her body for him and possess her, touch every single piece of her skin. Her warm breath is crashing against him, he feels like he can't hold it anymore.

"Good fucking night, Noah Sebastian".

She lets herself go of his hand and goes inside the bus in a hurry, closing the door with so much anger that it makes a huge sound and makes Noah wonder if she didn't break something. He leans his back against the bus, slowly going down and crouching while he holds his face in disbelief. They were so close to each other for the first time, the sexual tension between them was so huge that Noah felt his cock awakening inside his pants. Even though he is frustrated, deep inside he knows that he made some progress. He could see in her eyes that she was very close to letting herself lose to him and this is what makes him open a smile. Her smell it's still on his hands: cherry liquor mixed with almond and touches of rose and jasmine. He's sure that she is going to be the main attraction of his dreams tonight.

CHAPTER 2 HERE.

[feverinfeveroutfic]

Paradise | kinktober 2024 | “bridgeport”

prompt: corsets

pairing: alex/one of my many girls

word count: 3141

song: “danger! high voltage” by electric six

contains: drinking, daydreaming, corsets, and group sex

He ran his fingers through his black curls, and every time he did he always made sure that he had locked eyes with one of them. He hoped that none of them paid any attention whatsoever to him from where they were; he proved to be the one boy under drinking age there at the bar, but he always found a way to get his hands on the nectar of the forbidden gods, on some kind of liquor. A little bit of that and he’d be as loose as anything there in the rest of the bar or the party.

There were four of them over on the other side of the floor of L’Amour, and he could scarcely keep his eyes off of each of them. The one with the dyed hair. The one with long blonde hair and the bright smile. The one who worked at the label. And the one who was dating Cliff.

However, the longer he watched them over on the other side of the room, the more the doubt crept in over him like that old friend that would not leave him alone even for a second. He looked on at the bar next to him: an eighteen-year-old boy alone at the bar with a fake ID card in his pocket and nowhere to go.

He turned his attention to the other side of the room behind him.

There was Zelda. The little drummer girl and the underrated stud who could, who emanated from the gutters of Rhode Island. The way that she moved about on the floor of the bar with that short little bob of dark hair slicked back over the crown of her head as if she came from the beach.

He ran his fingers through his dark hair and thought of what to say to her once they had a moment alone together. But then again, he wondered if such a girl like her would even want to hang out with a boy like him, a nerdy uncool boy. Zelda had her eye on Louie, anyway: he lived with her over in Rhode Island and assisted her in paying her rent for her. No way that he could do that to one of his best friends and their drummer as well.

She wore that white shirt without a bra on underneath, either, and thus, he couldn’t help but look on at her. He couldn’t help but look on at the apex of her chest and the way that her nipples emerged from underneath that soft white fabric. He nibbled on his bottom lip and never lifted his gaze from her.

Zelda showed off a smile and a big bout of hearty laughter at something that Marla said right then. He never took his gaze off from the slim hourglass shape of her body. He let his eyes wander about the floor next to him, to which he spotted Marla over there with Charlie.

That head of shimmering pink orange and red hair, shimmering in such a way that it almost seemed metallic. He propped his chin up on the palm of his hand and watched her from clear across the room. It was almost unfair that she was with Charlie because he knew that he could treat her well. He was raised right, and thus, he knew that he could do it. But there was no way he could do that to Charlie, however, one of his best friends in the world.

Though he considered himself a nerd all the way down to the atomic level, he was a bastard, a dirty dog of a boy and yet one who never really had that much time on his hands, not enough time to give any girl what he so wished for them.

It was almost too much to even so much as think about for him, especially when the feeling never subsided for a second within him. No one else seemed to be paying any attention to him, either, as the rest of his band had gone out to the rest of the bar behind him. He returned to the bar before him and the little glass of stout. As long as he brought the glass back to the bar, it would be fine.

He may as well go off and fantasize about the two of them, and more so given the fact that he was under the drinking age. If he stayed in hiding, no one would have to see him there. But there never really was any place to hide out in there, either, not with all of the people running around them there. He sighed through his nose as he looked on at the glass and the bubbling dark beer right before him.

He peered over his shoulder to behold the sight of the room behind him, and then he held onto the glass with one hand and slid out of his seat. He towered over a fair number of people in there, but it seemed as though everyone in there paid no attention to him whatsoever. He bowed out of there and into the narrow hallway outside of that main room, where he was met with even more people, all of whom with big teased up hair and jeans more snug than Chuck’s black denim.

He sidled his way through the crowd towards the men’s room, but he kept on going towards the very end. All the while, he kept that glass of beer up close to his chest as if it was about to get away from him. The tiny plume of gray at the crown of his head acted as his own personal fake ID, and he knew no one would card him if he had it showing for all the world to see.

At least at the end of the corridor he could be alone for a while.

He rounded the corner and pressed his back to the wall. He held the glass close to his chest. He closed his eyes as he strove to think about those two girls back there. No way he could force a fantasy like that, especially when he was in such a noisy place and with only a beer to help him with the process.

He shook his head, and he realized that it was completely useless.

There had to be something else to help him with the fantasy.

He sipped on his stout and turned to the door next to him. As far as he knew, it was merely the janitor’s closet, but he knew to follow his nose if he so wished. He peered over his shoulder, and then he nudged a few stray locks of hair back from the crest of his collar bone, and he reached for the door panel before him. The door creaked open and he was met with the smell of cleaner and something else. After another peek over his shoulder, he inched over to the door for a better glimpse into the closet. He stuck his head in all the way, only to feel the watering to his eyes and the deep tickle to his throat. The smell inside of there was a bit too much as is, and thus, he leaned back against the wall with his nose close to the door. He tried to clear his throat at a low rate so as to not bring attention to himself.

The smell of chemicals to transform him and lead him into the darkened, otherwise inaccessible corners of his own mind.

He sipped on his stout some more, and then he closed his eyes. The chemical smell engulfed him like a blanket.

He could make out the hourglass shapes on the backs of his eyelids. The girls there at the bar, the sight of them there before him.

He was back at the bar, with no one else in the rest of the club. The entire place had been refurbished to the nines, with heavy dark wood lining walls and rich dark red lace draped off the insides of the corners. A plush, crushed black velvet couch and accompanying armchair stood in the place of the stage: in between them stood a long, large, intricate, colorful, soft-looking rug. He ran his fingers through his hair again, that time to nudge a few stray locks of curled hair away from his face and eyes. He was alone with them, that time with all five of those girls. Marla and Zelda sat closest to him; for a moment, he believed that they were completely naked with nothing more than the edge of the bar to block his line of sight.

He sidled over to the other side of the bar to see if they really were in the buff, and he was instead greeted by the sight of corsets strapped onto their bodies. Marla and Zelda in particular caught his attention: the former had on a fitted pearly white corset with a low neckline and thin lacy straps over her shoulders; Zelda meanwhile wore a magenta corset with fine laces on the back and no straps. He nibbled on his bottom lip as he thought about what he wanted to do and say to them right then: a nerdy boy with a slight penchant for getting high and drinking to his heart’s content and yet he could scarcely speak to girls, let alone girls whom he found attractive. But not this time. Something had lifted his barricade, and he soon found himself next to Zelda and the corset which pushed her breasts up and accentuated the hourglass shape of her body. 

She showed him a little smile, complete with a twinkle in her eye.

“Hey, dude,” she greeted him in that big New England accent.

“Hey, did I wake up in the Playboy mansion or some shit?” he asked her in a broken voice. “‘Cause you girls look like you could give me something good to eat.” And he sighed when he realized that he had messed up that analogy.

“We’ll be the proprietors of that,” she assured him, and she reached to the side of his head for a nudging of his hair back from his face. “I can tell you’re hungry.” A strange warmth swept over him, and more so when he showed her a smile in return. Zelda moved the end of his gray streak back over the crown of his head to the very back, but it was only about the size of a cherry tomato, and thus, it only reached the middle of his head.

Sam and Belinda turned their attention to him, both of them with mischievous smiles on their faces, and both of them in black leather corsets that shimmered and shone under the soft candlelight all around them. But it was Zelda’s hand on the side of his neck and down onto the crest of his shoulder that kept up his attention.

The feeling of her skin there. The fact that her breasts were nudged up just enough to show off her entire chest to him without his actually seeing her nipples. The fact the corset wrapped around her body so nicely and showed off every inch and every slight curve to her slender body.

“You wanna touch me, big fella?” she teased him.

“Oh, you know it,” he quipped in a low voice, and he sipped on his glass of stout some more. Zelda took advantage of that and lightly pressed her lips on the side of his neck. She touched his chest with nothing more than the tips of her fingers, and she slid them down to his stomach.

He let her take his shirt off for him, to which he put his arms up for her. She whipped off his shirt and kissed him down from his collar bones onto his chest.

He fell onto his back with his legs wide open and his hair disheveled out from his head.

That slicked back hair and that Rhode Island attitude were both enough to make his knees into jelly.

All four girls surrounded him into a tight spiral as if to gang up on him.

“Get onto our Cypriot rug, baby boy,” Marla commanded him, and he showed her a smile before he rolled over onto his hands and knees. He gave them a little shake of his ass before he crawled across the wood to the rug in question. He lay down on his back with his feet up onto the couch and his hands rested right across his bare chest.

From upside down, he could see them striding over to him with sways to their hips and a big spring in each of their steps.

Sam and Belinda stood over his head with their hands pressed to their hips; he noticed the spiral upon the ceiling, and before he could say to himself that it looked like the spiral inside of a seashell, Marla and Zelda hung over him as if they were about to do something particularly drastic.

“I am such a lucky boy,” he stammered, and he showed them the sideways little smile and the very tip of his tongue.

Marla took her spot down upon his chest, and she opened her legs all the while. His eyes wandered over the shape of the insides of her thighs as well as her lips, tucked back inside of her black lace panties. He could see that they were bright pink and bold, about to be in full bloom like the ripest orchid in the garden. He thought he wanted Zelda, but it was Marla with her dyed hair and big bright sunny smile that made his heart pound deep within his chest. She licked her lips and leaned in closer to him as if to kiss him on the full tip of his nose, but she never did. She instead sat back upright to show him her body, accentuated by that white lace.

Zelda meanwhile stood over his head with her legs spread open to show him the crotch of her shorts, that is before she unbuttoned them and let them fall down her legs to her bare feet. He wondered as to what Sam and Belinda were going to do back there when Zelda squatted down over his head to show him her lips, which were just beginning to turn bright pink from the feeling.

But he directed his attention to Marla, who stayed right before his face and chest.

“I think I’m always going to want to see you in something like this,” he confessed to her in a low voice. Marla shook her hair about so it shimmered under the delicate candlelight that cast down from overhead, and she fluttered her eyelashes at him.

“Do you think you can have something to eat?” she asked him. “Take a donut and bridge the gap between your stomach to this—” She reached back to touch the crotch of his pants with the mere tips of her fingers, and then she returned to him. “—and get away with it?”

He raised his eyebrows as Zelda squatted down over his head with her legs wide open for him. He tilted his head back and slipped his tongue inside of those little lips. It was tricky given he lay upside down but he managed to touch the head of her clit. Zelda initially steadied herself on his shoulders, but then when he coughed and let his tongue relax, she reached down with one hand to touch herself.

He then lifted his head to be met with Marla’s lips, hidden back with nothing more than a small piece of lace. With his fingers, he nudged the lace out of the way and slipped one finger under her hood. She steadied herself on his chest. All he could see was the corset right before him. The shape of her body. The fact Zelda held right over him with her fingers up inside of her.

He could feel himself rising from the feeling.

Marla showed him her tongue as he caressed over the head of her clit with his fingertips.

All he could focus on was the sight of their lips around him. They surrounded him like a pair of flowers in full bloom. Full bloom despite the barren landscape around them.

Zelda stayed over his head with nothing more than her fingers at the helm.

He gazed up at her, at those darkening lips in place all for him. He reached up to touch her with his free hand.

He was touching two girls at the same time.

That is until Marla batted his hand away and helped him open his pants for him. He took a quick glimpse down to see his burgeoning erection right before his eyes. All it took was a slight bridging of the gap.

Marla straddled his hips and took her spot on top of him.

Meanwhile, Zelda lowered herself to her knees and opened her legs even more for the swipe of his tongue.

He was getting off to two girls, and he couldn’t help but cross that bridge.

Cross that bridge and erupt into the loudest moan he could deliver for them, such that he had no idea if he could give it to Sam and Belinda behind him, even with as much as he wanted it from them; Marla breathed harder while Zelda gasped and cackled like a madwoman from the feeling, to which she fell onto her side with her legs kicked out in the air. Marla closed her eyes and treated him to a gentle moan followed by a slightly louder one as she came right then and there.

But his body had been ravished.

He lay there, still flat on his back on the rug with his mouth open and a fine sheen upon his chest and the side of his neck. His eyes drooped closed and his lips were dry from the thirst. Through his blurry vision, he spotted Sam and Belinda’s figures over his head and shoulders.

“Ready for more?” Sam asked him, and he coughed and sputtered again.

He then opened his eyes, only to find that he was back in the little corridor with the closet door still slightly ajar, and the clean smell still wafted out from the shadows. He had fallen asleep and wandered into his own realm, and yet he still held onto his stout. Carefully, he stood to his feet and dusted himself off with his free hand. He then closed the door behind him and walked on back to the bar. The girls were still there at the bar, but he knew there was no way he could bring that dream out to the fold.

No way he could bridge the gap again.