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joelsgoldrush · 3 months ago

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“give me the first taste” | 10k

logan howlett x f!reader

part 2 of “GUILTY PLEASURE”

"Your hungry flirt borders intrusion / And I'm building memories on things we have not said / Full is not heavy as empty, not nearly, my love / Give me the first taste / Let it begin, heaven cannot wait forever / Darling, just start start the chase, I'll let you win." The First Taste by Fiona Apple

SUMMARY: From the moment you first laid eyes on Logan, you knew he was a tough nut to crack. But if there’s one thing you love, it’s a challenge. As your relationship grows, you’re determined to show him that, in this universe, he can also be loved.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni - smut 18+ fluff. angst. drinking. dirty talk. slow-burnish. age-gap (reader is 25). once again wade saves the day. domestic!logan. soft dom!logan. logan calls reader “kid”. they watch (500) days of summer. oral sex (f and m receiving). fingering. thigh riding. thumb sucking. throat fucking. multiple orgasms. unprotected p in v. creampie (i would say i’m sorry but i’d be lying)

AUTHOR’S NOTE: jeez. hi guys!!! hope you’re doing alright. this is the 2nd part to “guilty pleasure.” writing for these two has been a total rollercoaster, but god was it worth it. as i always tell you, english isn’t my first language, so if you come across any mistake and you feel like letting me know, there’s no problem. thank you so much for all the support you’ve been giving my posts. i’m happy strangers out there take the time to read my silly stories :)

A girl and a mutant walk into an apartment…

Actually, you’re still trying to come up with the rest of the joke. But one thing’s true: Logan’s about to set foot in your place.

You curse under your breath, putting both your hands to work as you struggle to open the door. “Fucking swollen wood. I hate humidity,” you mutter, glancing back at Logan, who frowns as you keep trying different maneuvers to get the door to function properly.

It’s a shitty situation overall. And having that gorgeous man practically glued to your back isn’t helping in any way. You can tell he wants to give you a hand, but you’re not having it—women in STEM or something of the sort.

“May I—” he starts, though you cut him off before he can finish.

“I’ve got this. Just need to—” you say, ramming your shoulder into the door with enough force to make it finally give away. Almost stumbling over the carpet but managing to catch yourself, you sigh in relief. Meanwhile, Logan stands still, scrutinizing you until you gesture for him to enter. “Welcome to the smallest apartment in New York City. It's nothing fancy, but it’s got everything you need for a comfortable stay on a budget. Make yourself at home!”

Logan narrows his eyes, the tiniest smirk playing on his lips before stepping inside. Each of his movements seems to be premeditated as he tosses his jacket onto the couch, surveying the room. A portrait of when you were a kid, probably six or seven years old, catches his attention. He tilts his head, picking up the picture to examine it more closely, and then flashes you a lopsided grin. “How cute.”

“Well, I’ve changed a lot,” you take the picture from his hands, returning it to the shelf where he had gotten it from.

“Well,” he echoes, mocking your tone, “your beauty certainly hasn’t.”

His eyes bore into you as you meet his gaze. What amazes you most is that he’s being completely honest. In a heartbeat, you look away, wondering what’s gotten into you. Usually, you’re not this awkward—you’ve learned how to take compliments over the years, knowing how to smile just right, to flutter your eyelashes. To blush and giggle in command. Those were the tools that helped you to survive countless first dates—your dearest aces up your sleeve.

There’s no use denying that they remained just that: first, failed dates. You hope you never have to go back to dating apps after this.

“Are you hungry? ‘Cause I’m starving,” you say, trying to walk away from him, although he’s faster, catching your hand in his.

“Hey,” he urges you to make eye contact with him, his voice perplexingly soft. “Is everything okay?”

You nod so vigorously that you nearly strain your neck. “I’m fine, I swear. I just never get past this point.”

Inching closer, he presses his lips together for a split second, his brows furrowing in confusion. “You lost me there.”

“Guys who come into my apartment don’t tend to call back,” you admit, a flush creeping up your face, cheeks getting hotter. “I happen to believe it’s a curse, though I’ve kissed, like, a hundred toads so far and it still won’t break.”

“So y’think you’re gonna scare me off,” he raises an eyebrow, grinning. His rough fingers become gentle as they tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “It’s sweet. Should be the other way around.”

Wow. You two are a match made in heaven.

As you detach yourself from his embrace and head to the kitchen, you decide to look for something edible in the fridge, finding different trays of food from days ago, none of which look appetizing or suitable for feeding the Tin Woodman standing behind you.

All of a sudden, the unmistakable metallic sound of Logan’s claws unsheathing rings in your ears, forcing you to spin around. The image that unfolds before you is peculiar, to say the least: he’s cornering your cat against the door.

Why is he about to fight a cat?

“Please don’t kill him?” you take a step in his direction and scoop the little ball of white fur into your arms. Logan stares at both of you, eyes squinted and brows knitted. “I’m sure he’s the cutest feline you’ve ever seen. Have mercy on him.”

“I didn’t know you had a cat.”

“Earnest wasn’t aware of your existence either,” you reply, scratching along the animal’s back. He purrs beside your neck, his yellowish eyes never leaving Logan’s. “Earnest, this is Logan. He has claws just like you.”

“Don’t you dare compare me to that,” Logan warns you, retracting his claws with a sigh. You can’t help but wonder if he ever feels tranquil, at peace. “Y’know, you’ve doomed him to bad fortune with that name. Is he at least toilet trained?”

“Are you hating on The Importance of Being Earnest?” you ask, expecting a retort, though apparently the play’s title doesn’t ring a bell for him. “Oscar Wilde?”

“Who do you think you’re talkin’ to, kid?”

Now’s your time to roll your eyes, setting the cat down and letting it run away. He likes to hide in the bathroom—don’t ask why, because not even you know the answer to that. You flick your gaze up back to Logan, placing your hands on your hips. “See, you gave him trust issues.”

“He’ll survive. Don’t they have seven lives?”

This is the perfect conversation to have with someone who just ate you out thirty minutes ago: how many lives do cats have. Jesus.

At some point, Logan flops onto the couch, stretching out. You shudder as you hear him crack his neck, the popping sound getting on your nerves. He pats the empty side of the sofa, spreading his thighs until he’s almost taking up all the space. “Come here.”

Putting aside all your thoughts, you accept the invitation. You sit down, motionless, and his arm grazes the cushion behind your head, pulling you closer to him. You rest your cheek on his chest, letting out a deep sigh, one that you’ve been holding in since you got to the apartment. Is it possible that he knows you craved this? This proximity, this kind of affection. To be held—it’s been your only wish for months. He drums his fingers on your shoulder blades, then starts rubbing your back ever so lightly.

Far from dozing off, you feel alive.

It’s hard not to lose track of time and space when you find yourself immersed in the warmth he offers, and that’s when you realize how deeply you’re falling for this man. “Logan?” the mere thought of asking him what’s been on your mind terrifies you. The last thing you want is to ruin things—or whatever it is that you have. He hums, a low, heavy sound in his throat, indicating you to continue. “I have a question.”

“Ask away.”

You lift your face from his chest and look him in the eye. The city’s still alive outside, with music and chatter sneaking in through the window. Everything seems to be perfect, and you wish you could stay like this—just staring at him as if he were a painting in a museum, and you the critic who can’t stop writing articles about its beauty.

Okay, that was… weirdly specific.

Logan tries to hide his smile as you peck his lips repeatedly. For a moment, you almost forget what you were going to ask him in the first place. But then he’s ready to listen, and you a wave of nausea washes over you.

“I know that we came here to… engage in adult practices.”

“Fucking, you mean.”

“I didn’t want to be that straightforward, but yeah,” you say, shaking your head as to rearrange your thoughts. “Would you mind if we stayed like this?” to emphasize your point, you kick your shoes off and put your legs on top of his lap. He observes the whole sequence without daring to utter a word. “Don’t get me wrong. I’d love to try that too. I truly do. But… right now, all I want is to cuddle,” he’s still silent, making you even more nervous. “I’m sorry. Is that okay with you?”

His whole body engulfs yours, your cheek coming to rest once again in its original position. You can feel the rhythmic beating of his heart, each breath he takes, the air he exhales dampening your nape. Logan peppers your neck with chaste kisses before pressing his lips to your temple. His voice comes out strained, partially muffled by your hair. “Who do you take me for, huh?” he’s right there, beside your ear, fucking everywhere. There isn’t a single centimeter of your exposed skin that he isn’t touching, marking as his. You don’t give him an answer, in part because you’re unsure of what to say. He takes your silence as a cue to keep talking. “Let me take you to bed.”

“I can walk on my own.”

“I know,” he mutters, standing up with you in his arms, one arm beneath your knees and the other one under your shoulders. Logan’s not used to being this cautious, this patient with someone he’s known for less than two weeks. You see it in his eyes when he lets his guard down—something that has cracked, a shell that’s been broken.

As he places you gently on top of the covers, he lingers for a moment, crouching beside the bed and searching for your lowered gaze. His fingers are warm as he tilts your chin up. “I didn’t come here just to have sex with you. That was a possibility, of course—but it’s not the main reason why I’m here,” he rasps, words accompanied by the light brush of his lips against yours for a quick, brief kiss. “I care about you. A lot. I’m fine with whatever we do as long as I get to be close to you,” he grabs your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He then goes back to his usual bossy self, his demeanor changing. “And I don’t want to hear you apologizing for not wanting to have sex ever again. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now you’re making jokes?”

“I can’t have serious conversations,” you confess, observing the look of pure confusion on his face. “It’s true. I once spoke at a funeral and they cut me off forty seconds into my speech.”

Logan laughs at your sudden confession, his eyes crinkling at the edges. Rising to his feet, he begins to unbutton his flannel, pausing after the first few buttons are undone, waiting for your approval. “Do you want me to stay tonight?”

“If that’s what you want.”

“It is what I want.”

“Are you sure?”

“Don’t make me change my mind.”

His words don’t hide any real threat—that you know.

You stifle your laughter, shedding your clothes. Instead of going to the bathroom to change, you toss your work clothes carelessly to the floor, opting for an old pair of pajamas that are the complete opposite of sexy. They surely have seen better days.

Logan’s eyes trail over you, taking his time to analyze the faded lettering on your wrinkled shirt. “Keep calm and eat pizza?” he reads aloud.

“Hey. I bought it when I was seventeen.”

“You could use a new wardrobe.”

“Well, what about you?” you tease, toying with his belt. “You’re gonna sleep like this in my bed?”

“Can’t wait for me to get my shirt off, huh?” he grins, that all-too-familiar smile on his lips.

You play along, folding your arms over your chest. “You think so highly of yourself.”

Without breaking eye contact, Logan unbuckles his jeans, letting them pool around his ankles. He then shrugs off his flannel, leaving him in just his briefs and vest. You scan his body, and the room suddenly feels a hundred degrees hotter, the air between you thickening. Logan notices your reaction, chuckling. “Don’t get too excited. This is all you’re getting today.”

“I think I’ve already heard that before.”

“Kid.”

You raise your hands in surrender, showing him your palms and mouthing ’sorry’. Approaching your bed, you pull back the covers and slip into it. When you see Logan still standing there, you frown. “Where are your manners? Come here. I’m very impatient.”

He grumbles something under his breath, but he doesn’t make you wait long. He proceeds to get under the sheets beside you, occupying that side of the bed that’s always been empty. As you both settle in, facing each other, you can’t help but giggle, your contagious laugh getting to him. “What now?”

“You’re beautiful,” you whisper, tracing the bridge of his nose with your index finger, a featherlight touch that has him closing his eyes. In the soft glow of the night, with the city’s distant sounds filtering in, he looks breathtaking. “I mean it.”

“Do you have an off switch?”

“I’m… not sure. Let’s find out tomorrow.”

“You need to sleep,” he pulls you onto his chest with firm but gentle hands. He intertwines his legs with yours, holding you close.

“Wait. I have a game to play.”

“It’s late.”

“Please?”

He sighs. “Okay.”

“We have to make confessions until we fall asleep.”

“You just want to talk—that doesn’t even qualify as a game.”

“It does in this universe,” you reply, feeling his chest rumble with a chuckle as you settle more comfortably against him. “I’ll start: remember the first night you came to the bar?” he hums in acknowledgment. “It wasn’t Burger Night. We don’t serve food. I just wanted an excuse to talk to you.”

He kisses the top of your head, his arms tightening around you. “I knew. You don’t have a kitchen down there, baby,” he falls silent, taking his time to come up with a confession of his own. “I have a fear of flying.”

“Really? You, of all people?”

“I wasn’t expecting to be judged.”

“Oh, don’t be such a crybaby,” you tease, burying your face further into the crook of his shoulder, inhaling his scent. He shivers slightly where your nose touches his skin. “I like you. It’s kind of scary, and I’m sure saying something like this probably goes against the rules of dating 101, but I do. I feel safe with you, like—like this is where I’m supposed to be.”

Almost as if the pieces of the puzzle finally fit together, you think to yourself, though the words stay unspoken.

You’ve come to learn that Logan’s not a man of many words—he’s more of the “show, don’t tell” kind of guy. So when he makes you lift your face, you’re not surprised by the way he kisses you: hungrily. Passionately, like a starved man at an all-you-can-eat buffet. A soft whimper gets lost somewhere in your throat as his tongue makes its way into your mouth, languidly stroking yours.

“We didn’t brush our teeth,” you whisper against his lips, laughing when he groans in exasperation.

“You love having the final say, don’t you?”

“I’m being serious, Logan. Cavities are a real issue for me.”

“You can always get new teeth.”

“But my morning breath—”

“It’ll stink anyway, and so will mine,” he responds, taking a deep breath and clearing his throat once he settles into his ideal sleep position. “Good night.”

“Night,” you murmur, nuzzling your cheek against his neck. Despite your efforts to ignore it, being cradled like this feels incredible. You can’t believe you went twenty-five years without it.

Just as you’re about to drift off, curiosity strikes. “Can you get tattoos?”

“Bub, I was actually falling asleep.”

“Oh, okay. Sorry,” you mumble, feeling a bit sheepish.

More silence.

“Logan?”

“Hmm?”

“What was the Great Depression like?”

“Fuck me,” he mutters, his voice gruff as he shifts lightly. “It was fine. Now go to sleep.”

And you do, but not for long. An abrupt coldness wakes you up, eyes wide open, feeling disoriented. It’s still pitch black outside, far quieter than when you first fell asleep. The clock on your nightstand reads it’s 3:17 am, though it feels like you’ve only been in bed for five minutes.

Then you see him—he’s twitching in his sleep on the far side of the bed, his painful grunts reaching your ears. Most of what he says is unintelligible, but there’s one word he keeps repeating over and over again without fail: “No.”

You don’t usually have nightmares. What’s the best way to wake someone from one? You’re still thinking when he starts mumbling again, his voice thick with distress, and now he’s throwing his arms in the air as if he were fighting off something—or someone—in his dreams.

Pressing your hands to his cheeks, you attempt to hold his face steady. He clenches his fists, his breath quickening the more he battles whatever’s haunting him. “Logan,” you whisper at first, subtly shaking his shoulders, but his eyebrows stay furrowed, deep in his nightmare. This time, you tighten your grip, fully sitting on top of him. “Logan. Logan! Wake up!”

Without warning, you’re on your back, pinned against the mattress. Logan’s straddling your hips, caging you in with his body, the weight of his adamantium skeleton pressing down. Your hands are trapped beneath his, and you watch as he clenches his jaw, teeth bared in a way that looks painful. His eyes are so dark and wild you barely recognize him, prominent veins throbbing in his neck with each labored breath he takes.

“Logan,” your own voice sounds unnatural, forced, as you do your best to bring him back to reality. “It’s me. You’re alright.”

That seems to get through him. Logan stares at you in disbelief, his eyes softening as they take in your terrified expression. He abruptly pulls away, retreating to the nearest wall. He’s gasping for air, slamming his eyes shut, his legs trembling. The only sound you can hear is his rapid breathing. You get up from the bed, taking a step in his direction, but you don’t manage to go any further since he stops you with a shout.

“Stay right there!” he’s growling, pointing his finger at you. “I’m serious. Don’t come any closer.”

“Logan…”

“Please, no!” his voice increases in pitch, not being able to meet your eyes. “Please. Just stay there.”

You comply, not wanting to upset him any further. Sitting back on your knees, you try to appear calm. A man so strong, capable of things you can’t even understand. A weapon turned against himself now stands before you, pushing you away as if his presence were poisonous. He slumps to the floor, the fabric of his vest soaked with sweat.

Once he’s fully conscious, you cautiously crawl toward him, watching his every move. On a random day, this might have been funny for both of you, but right now, there’s no room for laughter. Logan shakes his head, his shoulders tensing when you reach out to hug him, wrapping your arms around his broad frame. It takes him a couple of minutes, but eventually, his body sags against yours. For a while, neither of you speaks. You just thread your fingers through his hair, hoping the closeness will help soothe him. “Feeling better?” you whisper in the shell of his ear, and he pulls back to look you in the eye. You caress his cheek, his stubble rough against your skin. “Welcome back.”

“I’m sorry,” it’s the first thing he says, covering your hand with his. One by one, he kisses your knuckles, still shaking his head. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“You had a nightmare—it’s not like you could control it.”

“But I could’ve hurt you,” he says, lowering his gaze to your wrists, where his fingerprints have left their mark. “God. I’m so sorry. I have to go.”

“Wait!” you grab his arm, your mouth setting in a hard line, stopping him from leaving. “Don’t run away from me, not now. Don’t push me away, Logan.”

“I could’ve done something much worse.”

“But you didn’t. It was a nightmare, baby. You didn’t know,” you kiss his forehead, hoping to talk some sense into him. “Please, stay. Let’s try to get some more sleep.”

“What if—”

You hold his face close to yours, your noses brushing. “You won’t hurt me.”

This time, he lets you keep him close, the roles now reversed. You can see him fighting his exhaustion, not wanting to fall asleep. But the more you play with his hair, the harder it is for him to stay awake.

“I’m alright,” he says, seemingly reading your mind. It’s hard to tell whether he’s reassuring you or himself.

“I know,” you knead his shoulder, aiming to ease the tension knotted there. “You better sleep, or I might start rambling again.”

A faint, tired hum escapes him, at long last allowing his eyes to close. “I like hearing you talk,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your collarbone, drifting off soon after that.

You continue to hug him, feeling the weight of his body gradually relax against yours as his breathing evens out. The room is quiet, but your mind is far from it: a tornado of emotions swirls within you—concern, relief, love, and something else you can’t quite decipher. It isn’t until sleep finally claims you too that your brain stops going a hundred kilometers an hour.

The most surreal Sunday night of your whole life.

“So… when will you let me see Lolo again?”

Wade’s question makes you stop mid-pour, flicking your eyes between the drink and him. A few seats away, you hand a glass to Adam. Returning to where Wade’s currently sitting, you dry your hands on your apron. “Why are you even here?” you ask, raising an eyebrow, and he gives half a shrug. “Last time I checked, I wasn’t holding him against his will.”

“He’s been crashing at your place almost every night. You have your own methods, woman,” he raises one finger, then quickly adds another, pointing at your shirt. “Two methods, in fact.”

At that, you laugh mirthlessly, shaking your head with a grin. “I’m surprised anyone would willingly date you.”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he retorts, taking a tentative sip of his beer and leaning back in his chair.

You glance at him while you wipe down the bar, looking for something to occupy your hands. “He’s not my boyfriend—yet.”

Wade mimics a punch in his chest, just where his heart’s supposed to be, though you’re starting to question whether he has one. His lips form a small, exaggerated pout. “That must hurt, doll. You got yourself into a situationship with a goddamn fossil. Good luck getting out of that.”

“It’s not that bad,” you say, rolling your eyes. “We’re cool this way. There’s absolutely no need for a title.”

“Okay, let’s rehearse that one more time because you look like you’re about to cry,” he lifts an eyebrow, drawing nearer. “You want the title, right?”

“I don’t.”

He props his chin on his hand, laughing at you. “Yes, you do. You can’t fool me.”

“I said I don’t.”

“I said I don’t,” he mocks you, kicking his legs and puckering his lips.

You can’t help but throw the towel down on the counter with irritation, giving in. “Okay! Of course, I want the fucking title.”

“There she is!” he exclaims, throwing his hands up in a triumphant gesture. “Glad we’re speaking the truth now,” he tilts his head to the side, noticing your sudden silence. “Hey, drop the long face. I’m sure he’s been thinking about it. In order to understand Logan, I usually compare him to elders over ninety.”

“Why would you do that?” you ask, your tone a mix of mild annoyance and curiosity.

“Just think about it! Senior citizens didn’t date for too long in the past. They’d go straight from strangers to lovers. Take my grandparents, for example: in the span of one year, they met at a party, then got married, and had five kids. Do you really want to have a litter of Logan’s grumpy, hairy puppies?”

“Wade, that’s not even possible.”

“The point is,” he continues, finishing his beer and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “Logan’s rusty in this area, alright? I’d bet a thousand dollars he probably dated Cleopatra.”

“How did you pass History in high school?”

“I never graduated, but keep that between us,” he lifts his shoulders, shrugging. He spins the empty bottle, contemplating his next words. “You should tell him how you feel and what you want. That’s what works best for Vanessa and me. It’s easier that way—you can’t expect him to just guess.”

You wrap your arms around yourself. “I just wish he’d realize it on his own.”

“Well, sometimes you need to give the other person a bit of guidance. I’m just laying out the basics of a relationship here. Did your parents hate each other or something?”

The irony of it all. “They got divorced when I was little.”

“Oh, god,” Wade sighs, rubbing his temples before glancing at you. “Let me get this straight: Mommy and Daddy weren’t exactly the poster children for love. And you also happen to be a bartender. Anything else, honey? Please tell me you’re at least getting laid, because otherwise, I’m going to feel tremendously sorry for you and your mental health.”

Just then, you hear your name being called. Smiling at Wade, you mumble: “Saved by the bell.” Once you’re back from taking some orders, Wade jumps to his feet, coming around the counter to hug you.

“Dude, what’s the matter with you?” you ask, loosely returning the hug.

“You’re a fucking survivor,” he whispers in your ear, genuinely sounding concerned. “I don’t know how you do it—you seem so put together. I would’ve lost it by now. A life without sex sounds awful.”

“Jesus, Wade! Get off!” you stretch your arm to punch him in the back, earning a groan from him. “Back to your seat, gentleman. I certainly don’t need your pity.”

“I’m a certified sexologist. Your secret’s safe with me,” he declares with a smirk, gesturing to his empty beer. “But first, I’m gonna need more of this tasty apple juice.”

“I hope you’ve got some cash on you,” you say, getting him another beer. “Why do I get the feeling Logan would kill us if he knew we’re talking about this?”

“Isn’t that what makes it even better?”

Swaying on your feet, you scrunch your nose, momentarily lost in thought. “He won’t let me touch him. I don’t know if it’s me that does something wrong. We do have our… moments, but he takes care of himself. And usually in the bathroom.”

Wade goes white in front of you. “How long has this been going on?”

“Over a month.”

“Oh. That’s bad, like, really bad.”

“Thanks! I’ll be sleeping on the highway tonight. You can always join me.”

“Doll, it’s nothing that can’t be fixed, alright?” he waves his hand dismissively, then sets his palms flat on the counter. “I know I’m starting to sound like a broken record, but talking to him is your best bet. This isn’t something you can just brush under the carpet. You’re like a goddamn radio—put it to good use.”

Just as you’re about to reply, you spot Logan entering the bar. You raise a hand in greeting, waving at him. He meets your gaze and smiles briefly, and so your eyes drift to Wade’s, shooting him a warning look. “If you keep this to yourself, I won’t charge you for today,” you mutter through gritted teeth, to which he answers by pretending to zip his mouth closed.

Logan takes a seat next to him, ignoring his presence. Instead, he focuses entirely on you. “Hey, kid.”

“Hey, homey.”

“Hiya, Wade,” Wade greets himself with a mock cheer, patting his own back, which makes you laugh. He turns to Logan and his whole face lights up. “I’m afraid to tell you I can’t sleep when you’re not around.”

Logan rolls his eyes. “Get your shit together.”

“You’re the worst roommate ever! Can’t believe you got yourself a girl and completely forgot about your bro,” Wade murmurs under his breath, just as his phone rings. “Thank God. I’ve got to go. My love nugget’s calling,” he announces, heading for the door. Before leaving, Wade blows the two of you a kiss. “I hate you both, but I also love you. Peace out, my friends!”

Logan and you exchange glances. “He’s a funny guy, isn’t he?”

“You could say that,” he replies, leaning in to kiss you on the lips. Logan intends to deepen the kiss, but you pull away after a couple of seconds. He frowns, clearly confused. “That’s how you greet me?”

You bite your lip, trying to suppress a giggle. “My tip jar is practically empty, and I hate to say it, but it’s your fault.”

“Do you want me to say I’m sorry?”

“Oh, no.”

“Good, ‘cause I’m not,” he plants a quick kiss on your cheek, making you smile. “You have classes tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah, at 9 am,” you almost grunt, not feeling too enthusiastic about it. “I’m gonna need your help. I can’t sleep through my alarm, okay? The professor said tomorrow’s class is an important one. Midterms are right around the corner, and I can’t take the liberty of failing them.”

“That won’t happen,” he assures you, and you believe him. “I can be of help, don’t worry. You won’t oversleep.”

Oh, Logan. Sweet, lying Logan.

Turns out you ended up oversleeping. Twenty-five years on this earth, and you still haven’t learned not to trust a man, even if his puppy-dog eyes silently beg you to do otherwise. The thing is—you love them. You love men. And you’re especially fond of the one currently sleeping in your bed.

The first rays of sunshine hit your face, waking you up. You attempt to raise a hand to shield your eyes, but moving any limbs feels like a Herculean task. A warm body is pressed against your back, one veiny arm draped over your stomach. Logan remains fast asleep behind you, his steady breathing succeeding in making you feel at ease. You reach back, running your fingers through his messy hair, and he grumbles in his sleep, instinctively pulling you closer.

What a nice, domestic morning. Yep, you’re getting used to this. And nope, you don’t regret it, not even in the slightest bit.

Though there must be a mistake, because you’re preeeeetty sure you had something important to do.

Oh. You have classes. Had—past tense.

You reach for your nightstand, blindly groping for your phone. The charger is lying on the floor, the plastic of it all damaged. Perhaps Earnest had chewed on it while you were sleeping? You gently pry Logan’s arm off you, sitting up, and your bleary eyes land on something barely peeking out from under the bed.

It’s your fucking phone. The screen is completely shattered, with three distinct holes in the middle of it. Three holes, how strange! You can’t help but wonder who might have left them. Clutching your pillow, you whack Logan in the face with it. “Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty!”

He groans, trying to take the pillow away from you. “What the fuck is wrong with you, kid?”

“I wish I had a UNO reverse card because I should be the one asking you that!” you jab your finger into his chest, showing him the ruined phone. “You broke my fucking phone!”

“What?” he asks, voice laden with sleep, still disoriented. He holds the phone, carefully scrutinizing it. “I think I don’t know how to hit the snooze button.”

“No shit, Sherlock. I believe you’ve made that very clear,” you huff, tossing the phone aside as you flop back onto the mattress. The clock on your nightstand says 11:05 am, and you cover your face with your hands, taking a deep breath. “Next time, when it goes off, just wake me up and I’ll do it.”

Logan settles beside you, resting his head on his forearm as he watches you. “I’m sorry, bub. I’ll get you a new one.”

“It’s fine,” you murmur, sighing. This is your free ticket to be a menace. “I should’ve known dinosaurs and phones would never get along. My bad, pal.”

You don’t even get to see his reaction because he starts tickling you, the room filling with your laughter. Squealing, you try to wriggle away, but his fingers dig into your ribs, expertly finding your most ticklish spots. Your giggles escalate into breathless laughter, your eyes squeezed shut as you desperately attempt to push him away. He’s relentless, chuckling when his own laughter bubbles up.

“L-logan, stop!” you gasp between fits of laughter, aiming to grasp his hands.

“We dinosaurs love tickling people. Sorry, sweetheart,” he manhandles you until you’re perched on his lap, fisting the fabric of your (his) shirt. Leaning forward, he captures your mouth in a heated kiss. “I’m sorry about the phone,” he slurs the words against your cheek, his lips trailing down to your neck. You tell him that it’s okay, trying to find a comfortable position on top of him, and that’s when his thigh presses against your core, your eyes widening at the unexpected sensation. Logan’s no fool, noticing the way your breath hitches. “What’s wrong, baby? You woke up needy?”

“No, I just—” you trail off as he does it again, his strong thigh coming in contact with your clothed cunt. You search for leverage by placing your hands on his shoulders, glancing at him. “Logan.”

“I’m all ears,” he rests his back against the headboard, the tent in his boxers impossible to ignore. “You want to get off on my thigh,” he states with certainty. It’s not a question—it’s a full-on statement. He knows what you want, what you crave. “Come on then. Grind against it.”

You do as he says, not caring to think twice. You start moving, rubbing your wet pussy against his muscular thigh. The friction sends jolts of pleasure through you, and soon, you’re whimpering his name, your hands trailing down his abs. Why hadn’t you tried this before? It feels fucking amazing.

From his position, Logan stares at you, his lips slightly parted, eyes clouded with lust. Your arousal drenches your panties, soaking through them, the fabric clinging to his coarse leg hair. He glances down at the mess you’re making, his grin widening as he takes in the sight. “Goddamn, woman. I’m gonna make you clean it off, I swear to God.”

“Need your help,” you whisper, lowering your head, the heat in your cheeks intensifying. The coil tightening inside you is almost unbearable. A kiss is what you lean in for, desperate for more, though Logan appears to have other plans. He fists your hair, pulling at your nape and yanking your head back. The roughness of the movement pulls a moan from your lips, your mouth parched like a desert.

“Eyes up here, okay? You look at me when I make you come,” his raspy voice makes you feel tingly, each word sending shivers down your spine. His hands fiercely grab the flesh of your hips, guiding you, helping you grind harder against his thigh. You think you’re on the verge of drooling when you catch the way his abdomen flexes, working to push you toward that long-awaited release. “That’s it, there you go,” he rasps, relishing the sounds he’s eliciting from you, each of your gasps feeding his desire.

Time slows as the warmth in your belly finally erupts, your eyes fighting to stay open through the aftershocks of your orgasm. No actual words leave your mouth, just a string of whines and moans, some carrying Logan’s name. He swallows every single sound you make, everything you give him, grunting as your legs tremble and shake atop him.

He lets you collapse onto your back, your breathing gradually evening out. “I think I saw fireworks behind my lids,” you confess, your mouth dry, expecting Logan to flop onto the mattress beside you. But he doesn’t. Through your blurry vision, you contemplate as he positions himself between your parted legs, getting dangerously close to your cunt. “Logan, what are you— Oh, fuck,” you moan mid-sentence when you feel him pulling your panties aside to lick a slow strip through your folds, collecting your arousal. He points his tongue, dipping it into your entrance, and you wince, squirming. “Santa Claus, is that you?”

Logan grins against you, closing his mouth around clit for a moment. He then shifts until he’s eye-to-eye with you, two of his fingers sliding into you in one smooth motion. “Give me another one,” he murmurs, his other hand slipping under your shirt to play with your nipples, pinching them.

You never imagined two fingers could bring such intense pleasure. You just lie there, taking it like a good girl, as Logan sometimes call you. “Please, I need you,” you cry out, your fingernails scraping against his torso.

“I know, darlin’. I’m right here,” he rasps against your temple, moving his fingers in and out of you with more enthusiasm. But what he doesn’t understand is that you need all of him. Your hands itch to touch him, to feel the weight of his cock. The corners of his mouth turn up as he watches you struggle to find words. “Wish you could see yourself like this. Such a pretty girl, so gorgeous like this,” his fingers keep grazing that bundle of joy deep inside you, and he goes in for a kiss, the sour taste of your slick invading your taste buds. “Tightest pussy I’ve ever had. Need to stretch you real good before fucking you with my cock.”

Bingo! That last sentence does it for you, and you come for the second time in the morning, your cunt clenching and spasming around his fingers. You hide your face in his neck, mouthing at his Adam’s apple. He hasn’t trimmed his beard in days, and it shows because you can now feel a burning sensation on the soft skin of your inner thighs.

“You’re allowed to break all my phones from now on,” you suggest, only to hear Logan’s laughter in your ear. He snakes a hand through your hair, shoving it back away from your face. You feel him kiss your sweaty forehead, and as you press yourself closer to his body, something hard nudges your hipbone.

Absentmindedly, you trace the waistband of his boxers with your index finger, your eyes snapping to his face. Logan freezes on the spot, and it’s almost as if he’s stopped breathing. Without a word, he rises from the bed, his movements sudden and almost mechanical. You watch him, puzzled, as he heads toward the bathroom, the intimacy of just moments ago being abruptly replaced by a dreadful silence.

“Logan, is everything okay? Do you need something?” you ask and he pauses at the bathroom door, his back to you. For a brief second, you think he might actually open up, but when he turns around, his expression is neutral, masking whatever thoughts are running through his mind. At last, he flashes you a quick smile.

“I’m fine,” he says, his tone gentle but distant. “Just gonna take a shower. Then we can have breakfast together, right?”

You nod, his words easing the growing sense of frustration gnawing at you. He disappears into the bathroom, and the sound of running water soon follows. You sink back into the bed, staring up at the ceiling. You take your pillow and bury your face in it, letting out a muffled groan. There’s something he isn't telling you, something hidden deep beneath his usual gruff exterior. Although you try to piece together the fragments of his behavior, they don’t quite fit.

The minutes drag on, and the sound of the shower becomes a distant, constant background noise. You close your eyes, visualizing your happy place, but your thoughts keep spiraling. All you can do is wait—wait for him to come back and act as if nothing had happened.

Logan’s right there, just a few feet away—yet in moments like these, he feels miles apart. It’s one of those days in which, no matter how hard you try, you can’t seem to bridge that distance.

It had all started with you asking Logan “Have you ever watched (500) Days of Summer?”

Of course, he had refused to watch the movie at first, and of course, you had threatened him with phoning Wade to let him know that Logan wanted to have a sleepover. That had done the trick.

You had asked for a day off at the bar, and surprisingly, your boss hadn’t objected. That turn of events led to this moment: sprawled out on the couch with Logan, the two of you watching the final minutes of your favorite film. Logan takes a long drag of his cigar, eyes trained intently on the screen. He’s only wearing sweatpants, which had caused your attention to drift from the plot a few times. The fact that you managed to sit through the entire movie without needing to pause it makes you feel particularly invincible.

Hey.

You again.

Yeah. I, uh, was just wondering if maybe after this, if, um, you— you want to get some coffee or something.

Oh, I’m sorry. I’m sort of supposed to meet someone after this.

Okay.

“That poor fella,” Logan murmurs, taking a slow sip of his beer. You look up at him from where your head rests on his lap, a contented smile playing on your lips. His fingers absently stroke your hair.

“Just wait,” you say, pointing to the screen of your laptop.

Sure.

What’s that?

Why not?

Okay. Well, then I’ll just, uh— I’ll wait for you.

We— we’ll figure it out.

We’ll figure it out.

“They’ll figure it out!” you exclaim, but Logan quickly shushes you, his attention unwavering.

My name’s Tom.

Nice to meet you. I’m Autumn.

When the movie comes to an end, you’re met with Joseph Gordon-Levitt breaking the fourth wall, staring straight at the audience as if he knows he’s about to get himself into a mess with another girl named after a season. You sit up, your eyes eagerly searching for Logan’s. “So? Did you like it? I’ve watched it seven times now. Can’t understand how it gets better each time.”

Logan closes his mouth around his cigar, inhaling deeply before answering. “Yeah, it was pretty good,” he says, his hand finding your cheek, thumb brushing softly against your skin. “Summer’s a bitch, though.”

“I respectfully disagree,” you tell him, grabbing his beer and giving it a try, only to grimace at the taste. Shuddering, you set it back down. “Why don’t you like her character?”

“Well, for starters, she did Tom dirty. Played with him like he was a damn rag doll.”

You raise an eyebrow, hugging a cushion closer to your chest as you lean back into the couch. “He knew from the beginning she didn’t want to be his girlfriend. Summer was clear—Tom just though he was smart enough to change her mind.”

“They acted like boyfriend and girlfriend the whole movie,” he scorns, placing his cigar down into the ashtray with a bit more force than necessary.

Is your first argument going to be over a movie? Exciting.

“Logan, they weren’t even official.”

“But she made it seem like they were,” he insists, the frustration in his voice growing.

“They were in a situationship—the perfect example, really. That’s not the same as being a couple.”

His gaze dips to the floor, brows knitted in a deep frown. “I think you’re relying on the technicality that they never used those titles. I mean, they did everything together. Isn’t that what normal couples do?”

Lord have mercy.

“Logan, who am I to you?” you inquire, crossing your arms over your chest.

He hesitates, narrowing his eyes, the question clearly catching him off guard. “You are—what? I don’t understand. Is this some kind of mind game you’re playing?”

“It’s actually very simple: if someone were to ask you about me, what would you say? Am I a friend? A bartender?” you inch forward, holding your breath, your tone faltering slightly. Meanwhile, Logan’s hands tighten into fists at his sides. “A fling? Your girlfriend? You complain so much about Summer, yet you can’t even name what we have.”

The living room falls into a heavy silence. Logan blinks slowly, his forehead creasing as he processes your words. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“Because these are the kinds of conversations we need to have. I understand you don’t want to have them, but I do.”

“Fine. Then tell me what it is that you want,” he asks, his mouth snapping shut when he sees you snorting in response.

“I don’t— I don’t know! To know how you feel, if possible?” you stand up from the couch, taking the cushion with you. You grind your jaw, gnawing on your bottom lip. “Why is it that every time I try to touch you, you push me away?”

He scrunches up his face, mirroring your movements and rising from his seat. “Bub, can we please talk about this tomorrow—”

“No! You don’t get to make all the choices, that’s not fair. Deciphering you isn’t easy, Logan. I’m not asking you to tell me everything you’ve been through. I just wish I could know how you feel about me. I can’t stand in front of you and pretend I don’t mind where this is going, because I’m more than sure I’m falling in love with you. “

“You can’t. You shouldn’t,” he says, his expression hardening. He turns his back to you, running his hands over his face in frustration before heading to the kitchen.

“Well, what were you expecting?” you follow him into the kitchen, finding Earnest on top of the fridge, beholding the scene with a curious gaze. “You basically moved in here, gave me a free trial of what life with you might be like, and now you have the audacity to appear surprised when I tell you I’ve caught feelings?” salty tears start rolling down your cheeks, and you spread your arms wide in exasperation. “Oh, but you’re right. How could I’ve been this stupid, to fall for the damned Wolverine!” you laugh bitterly, expecting him to break eye contact, but he doesn’t. “You think you’re so bad, so broken. Guess what: you’re not, because I love you, and I couldn’t care less about your past. You may think you’re unlovable, but you’re not, you hear me?”

For a heartbeat, the world seems to pause. And so he says:

“You are the most exasperating person I know.”

“Wow. Thank you so much!” you retort, your voice dripping with sarcasm. You run a hand through your hair, infuriated. “That makes me feel better!”

“Let me do the talking now,” he says, taking long strides toward you, and the proximity makes you lower your head. “You’re not getting the final say today. Just because I’m not over-sharing my feelings all the time doesn’t mean I don’t have them! In fact, I do. I may not express them openly, but they exist. And I wish you could see inside my head! You’d be delighted at how much time I spend thinking about you,” you cackle at his words, rolling your eyes. His fingers grip your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “There hasn’t been a single moment since the day we met that I have stopped wanting you. Your voice is like a goddamn radio that, no matter what I do, I can’t turn off. It’s like I’m infected by you, and I hate it!” his eyes burn with a mix of anger and affectionpur, his pursed lips softening as he continues. “No good ever comes from caring this much about someone. So excuse me for being scared of ruining the only good thing that’s happened to me in years!”

You hit him with the cushion—not with enough force to make him hurt, but enough to make a point.

“Drop it, kid.”

“I’m—” you hit him again, “not—” and again, “stupid. I know what I’m getting myself into,” as you attempt to raise the cushion once more, Logan takes it from your hands, throwing it on the counter. Your shoulders sag, trying to find the strength to keep going. “And I know for a fact,” you add, glancing at his conflicted eyes, “that the easiest thing for me would be to walk away from you, but I can’t. It’s too fucking late.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I do! These are my feelings, okay? Mine, not yours. You don’t have the right to decide who I love and who I don’t.”

Logan’s eyes squint, scanning your face. “You’re… obnoxious.”

“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know.”

“And I—I love you,” he confesses, his nostrils flaring with emotion. Opening your mouth to say something, you close it moments later, your gaze locked on his. “You could take what you said, pretend as if I didn’t exist, and I wouldn’t say a thing, y’understand? I would move cities if you asked me, because I love you that fucking much, and I want you to be happy.”

You reach for his hand, briefly intertwining your fingers with his. Looking at him through your eyelashes, you rub your fingers over his stubble. “And what if my happiness comes from being with you?”

Logan lets out a harsh breath, his arm curling around your waist, pressing his chest to yours. “I can’t promise I’ll be the perfect boyfriend. I’ll probably makeplenty of mistakes.”

“Fine with me.”

“And you’ll be mad at me. A lot.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll make sure it’s mutual.”

Both of you laugh then, and you’re taken aback when he brushes his nose against your cheek, silently seeking permission to kiss you. His lips move hungrily against yours, trailing his hands down your spine, pulling you closer. He breaks the kiss and laughs at your eagerness when you chase after his mouth. You end up perched on his lap as he settles into one of your kitchen chairs. Logan stares into your eyes, his gaze drifting lower. “I won’t push you away this time. Not anymore.”

That’s your cue to finally do what you’ve been yearning for weeks. You fall to your knees in front of him, shaky fingers that graze the hairs on his happy trail. The bulge in his sweatpants is close to your face, and your mouth waters at the thought of having him between your lips. “Can I?” you ask, your voice a touch higher.

He draws a long breath, tilting his head slightly. “You may, baby.”

You pull at his sweatpants and boxers, sliding them down his legs just enough to free his hard cock. As you take a look at it, you find yourself at a loss for words, the sight overwhelming. Nothing could’ve prepared you for the first taste of his precum as you envelop his head between your lips, that musky scent of his hitting you.

A whimper escapes you, and Logan hisses when you run your tongue along the slit, his hands gripping the back of your neck tightly. “Fuck, darlin’. Thought about your mouth so many times, but never imagined it’d feel this good,” he cants his hips up, causing your movements to stutter. “You can take a bit more, can’t you?” his question ends with a guttural grunt, his fingers tightening on your hair. “Gotta show me how much you want this.”

Logan takes all that you give him. You lower your head further, taking in another inch of him. Sex’s supposed to feel good, but this? It feels even greater. And he’s not even inside you yet, you hear a voice murmur in your head. The hand on your nape encourages you to move faster, and you sneak a hand between your bodies, grasping him by the base. You swallow around him, eyes fluttering open when he tugs sharply at your hair..

“Thaaaat’s it, honey. Just like that, want you to choke on it,” he grumbles, running his mouth just the way you like. The tip of his cock nudges the back of your throat and tears fill your eyes. You pull away to catch your breath, still stroking him as you regain composure. Logan’s gaze is intense, and he stares into your soul, his chest heaving. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Dick got your tongue?”

You’ll definitely get back to that joke later.

“Will you—can you—”

“Come on, beautiful. I don’t have all day.”

God, you love it when he’s mean.

“Fuck my throat,” you plead, your voice barely above a whisper.

A smile dangles on the corner of his lips. “We both know you can be nicer.”

The fucker makes your pulse race. “Can you fuck my throat?” you ask again, more insistently. “Please.”

He guides himself into your mouth, smirking as he watches how your eyes roll back in pleasure. “How polite of you to say please. Some good manners you’ve got.”

You whimper around him, your body responding to the rhythm he sets, fully immersed in the intensity of the moment. And for a while, you drift away, losing your sanity with each thrust of his hips, every tug at your hair. It’s almost impossible not to compare him to your past hookups. You try to recall at least a single instance when another man made you feel this way, but no memory surfaces.

Time seems to stretch and warp. You don’t really know when it happens—he pulls you off his cock, cradling your face, examining you. “You fucking love that, don’t you?” he asks with that sweet, syrupy voice, brushing away your tears. There’s no room left for embarrassment, so you nod, closing your mouth around his thumb. Defeated, Logan shakes his head, pressing his finger against your tongue. “I was planning on coming on your mouth, but I think I’ve got a better idea.”

In the blink of an eye, you’re in your bedroom. Not even a metaphor—he picks you up and basically runs to your room, closing the door behind him. You prop yourself on your forearms, trying to process what’s about to happen. Logan, already naked, climbs onto the bed after you, He kisses you slowly, tracing the curves of your body. “You still want this?”

“I do. I’m just… nervous, that’s all,” you admit, flashing him a quick smile. “It’s been two years of celibacy for me. Will it fit?” you ask, glancing down at his cock, and Logan stares at you in confusion. “Also, how many girlfriends have you had? Just curious.”

“I don’t think this is the time for that conversation.”

“You’re right,” you agree, lying back on the mattress, bracing yourself for what’s to come. “Were they pretty?”

“Bub.”

“Yes?”

“Shut up,” he replies with a smirk. “Focus on me, okay?”

Despite your tries to crack jokes at the worst possible moment, things escalate pretty quickly. Logan’s got three fingers inside you, pumping them in and out. He’s already made you come once with his mouth—to get you more relaxed, he had said. Wanting sounds slip past your lips as he doesn’t miss the chance to hit that spot that makes you squeeze your legs together. The tip of his nose drags long lines up and down the skin of your neck, mouthing at your jaw.

“I’m ready,” you mumble after some minutes, reaching for his cock and stroking him. “Let’s break the bed.”

“You’re lucky you’re this cute,” he says, catching your lips in a kiss. “Condom?”

“Negative, Sergeant.”

“You don’t have any?”

You shake your head, biting the inside of your cheek. “I don’t want you to use one.”

The way his gaze darkens doesn’t go unnoticed by you. His hand guides your face toward his cock. “Get me wet,” he commands, and you oblige, sucking him into your mouth. You hum around him, unable to contain yourself, and you hear Logan chuckling above you. “Can’t believe this is what it takes for you to shut up. Gotta keep your mouth full all the time.”

Once he’s satisfied with the way you’ve slicked him, he positions himself over you, caging you between his arms. Logan pins you down with his body, his hot breath mingling with yours. When you stare into his eyes, all you see is pure love, and your heart swells with affection. “Will you fuck the bad jokes out of me?”

Logan laughs, rubbing his length along your folds, grazing your clit for a fleeting second. “I sure as hell will,” he assures you, lining himself up with your wet entrance. He looks into your eyes for approval. “Ready?”

“I was born rea— Fuck!” you nearly scream as his head breaches you, your eyes squeezing shut. Turns out his fingers weren’t enough. “Fucking mutant dick.”

“You’ll love it, believe me,” he husks next to your ear. His arms shake where they rest on each side of your head, seemingly as affected as you are. Logan pulls out, and then fucks into you with a little more force. “How are you still so tight? You’re killin’ me here.”

“I’ve got no idea, but you feel—amazing,” you gasp, latching onto his back, holding him close to you. His thrusts gain strength, and suddenly he’s bottoming inside you. “Oh, god. I can feel you in my stomach.”

“I know, baby, I know. Can feel it too,” he curls one of his hands around your throat, keeping you in place. From his position, he can watch the way your face contorts in pleasure. Lowering his head to envelop one of your nipples between his lips, he sucks hard. “You were desperate enough to get on your knees in the damn kitchen. You’ll be good now too, am I right?”

“Yes. Yes. I can be good,” you pant, eyes wide and pleading. “Anything you want. Just don’t stop.”

“I’m not stoppin’, princess. Don’t worry,” his mouth curves into a wicked grin as he drives into you again, this time even deeper. His hand on your throat tightens slightly, just enough to make you feel the pressure, grounding you in the moment. “That’s my girl,” he murmurs against your chest, his voice laden with need.

Each thrust has you gasping, your body arching off the bed to meet his. Logan’s grip on your neck loosens as his hand slides down to grasp your hip. He squeezes your tender flesh, pulling you harder against him, as if he can’t get close enough. The bed creaks under the intensity, but you barely notice, too far lost in the rhythm of his movements.

“You’re perfect, all I’ve ever wanted,” he slips his free hand between your bodies to find your clit, and the moment his fingers make contact with it, you can’t help but whine. “So fuckin’ perfect,” you hear him repeat, more to himself than to you, his voice stranded as he tries to hold himself back, letting you chase your own release first.

The pressure inside you builds up, tightening with every skilled flick of his fingers. You’re sure you must look like a mess, sweaty and sticky, though the way he looks at you makes you forget everything else. “Logan, I’m—” you croak, the wind being knocked out of your lungs with each relentless thrust. “I think I’m gonna come.”

He picks up speed, snapping his hips faster. “I’ve got you, let go for me. I’ll take care of you, baby, I swear,” his pace becomes erratic, digging his fingers into the softness of your thighs as the headboard keeps slamming against the wall. Your body obeys him, a shuddering release tearing through you, moaning Logan’s name and gripping him like a vice. “That’s it, fuck, that’s it,” he doesn’t stop, driving you through your orgasm. His eyes snap to your face, contemplating how wrecked you look. “Tell me where—please, sweetheart.”

“Inside.”

“What?”

“I said inside. Come inside me, Logan.”

He’s not strong enough to deny you such a thing. Logan buries himself to the hilt, groaning your name as his cock twitches and paints your walls with his thick seed. Beside your head, his claws unsheate, tearing into the pillow. He ruts against you, his body trembling and writhing against yours, already apologizing for the pillow incident while pressing his forehead to your shoulder. “Sorry, I’m sorry. That hasn’t happened in a while.”

When Logan collapses beside you, he pulls you into his arms, kissing you eagerly. You return the kiss, wincing as you feel a bit of his cum slip out of you, rolling down your thighs. He stares at your glistening cunt without an ounce of remorse, and you close your legs. “That’s private.”

“It wasn’t very private a minute ago.”

“Logan?”

“Tell me, bub.”

“Knock, knock.”

He must truly love you, because he plays along: “Who’s there?”

“Ice cream.”

“Ice cream who?”

“Ice cream for you all night long.”

“Guess I didn’t succeed in fuckin’ the bad jokes out of you,” he teases softly, letting his head fall back on the bed. “But it’s fine. I’ll just have to keep tryin’.”

This is the story of how you end up dating a man who’s two hundred years old. But it’s also the story of how that same man learns to let his guard down and open his heart. So, remember this, kids: the sky’s the limit, especially when it comes to love—and yes, even when it involves dating mutants.

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! :)

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idiopathicsmile · 4 months ago

Text

School Gymnastics: A Tragicomedy

So one day when we were in third grade, our P.E. teacher divided us into girls and boys. (I don’t remember what the boys had to do. Wrestling? Tackle football? I don’t know, probably not at age nine, but that’s not the point. Gladiatorial combat? I still don’t really understand kids’ sports.)

What matters for this story is that all the girls had to do gymnastics. Now—and I suspect this won’t surprise you if you know literally anything about me—I was always terrible at any form of school athletics. I am intensely, almost impressively uncoordinated. This doesn’t affect my life much at 36, but it was often a miserable way to be a kid. The only playground game I liked was playing pretend, because when you are playing pretend, you don’t have a bunch of people ostensibly on your side screaming in your ear, “Pretend faster! Pretend over there! Pretend with greater accuracy!”

Anyway, gymnastics and my clumsy, doughy little body. I couldn’t do a cartwheel. I couldn’t do a backwards somersault. I couldn't do any of it. We had an entire unit on this business and I literally did not learn how to even safely attempt a single move besides the log roll (lie flat and roll sideways on your belly). In retrospect, this seems like maybe it was in part a teaching problem, not a me problem, but that’s actually not the point either.

The point is, at the end of the unit, we were told to divide ourselves into little teams and choreograph a group gymnastics routine. My group, faced with my long list of limitations (more limitation than girl, really) decide my role will be to just forwards-somersault around the rest of the group as they do their moves. (This is itself kind of embarrassing but trust me, it is but the appetizer.) My friend Ashley has the Lion King soundtrack and we all agree that it is a great choice. The movie has only come out a couple of years earlier, and it of course features some funny, peppy options. 'Hakuna Matata'? 'I Just Can't Wait to Be King'? It's all coming together.

Carried on a wave of youthful enthusiasm, none of us even think to double-check which track Ashley has picked. Foreshadowing!

So the day of the performance comes. Another group goes right before us. They had picked “Wannabe” by the Spice Girls, which was a huge hit at the time. I mean, it still is because it’s a classic, but then it was big and new. They step onto the mat and immediately begin to do choreographed dance moves, which they have worked into their routine. We had not thought of this. Oops. Dance moves, of course! So they incorporate the necessary gymnastics, it goes over really well, the energy is high, and now it’s my group’s turn.

I take my place at the edge of the mat, the mat we are required to stay on for the length of the piece. Ashley cues up the track she’d chosen.

A song starts up. Instantly, I recognize it from the movie. It is the very slow instrumental music that plays when Simba realizes his dad is dead.

‘Well, this is not optimal,’ I think. I've been on this planet for nine years; I can see that much. But it’s too late to change the track, and so I tell myself, ‘It’s okay. I’m a performer. I can sell this.’ I put on an extremely solemn face and begin to execute a series of the world’s saddest somersaults.

Friends, when I say “sad” I mean it, in every possible sense of the word. Picture a nine year old with the gravest possible affect, determinedly doing somersaults to the slowest, most serious music she can imagine, in a careful ring around her friends who have actually learned any gymnastics whatsoever. Okay, now as the music starts to pick up and get more hopeful, imagine she gets real dizzy and in front of everyone, she rolls all the way directly off the mat, careening dangerously towards the assembled students.

Somehow, I roll myself back onto the mat, we survive what feels like hours of humiliation, we stagger away, and I blessedly avoid adding “puking my guts out in front of all of my peers” to my very short list of gymnastics tricks.

Later, I asked Ashley what in the world possessed her to choose that song.

“It didn’t have any words,” she said.

(There was absolutely no rule against using songs that had lyrics.)

Anyway, that’s why being an adult is better than being a kid.

I may have to do laundry and make my own dinner and wrestle with more complex existential angst, but you know what I haven’t been asked to do in like 26 years? Somersault for three minutes straight to the musical shorthand for “this cartoon lion cub has no choice but to process the weight of unimaginable grief for his dead dad.” And you know what? If I live another 50 years, I can be pretty confident nobody will ask me to do it then, either.

#what's the word for the opposite of nostalgia?

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kenananamin · 1 year ago

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Tie my tie, marry me

Summary: The moment Nanami knew he never wanted to tie his tie by himself ever again and wanted to spend the rest of his life by your side. fluffy, nanami x fem!reader, nanami already loves everything you do but something about tying his tie was so intimate and special to him

It had been a year since Nanami officially asked you to be his girlfriend, but you had just started staying over during the weekdays. If either of you would stay at each other's houses, it would only be during the weekends when you both knew the next day could be dedicated to each other. Only recently had that unspoken rule changed.

You had both gone to the mall to shop for your new professional wardrobe and Nanami asked if he could buy a few extra things for you to keep at his house. You both knew what that implied and told him he could buy it, only if you could buy some stuff for him to keep at your house. You had both never been happier to spend more time and money at a crowded mall.

Nanami woke up a bit later for work than usual because of a power outage that turned off his alarm clock and did not charge his phone. You went into work after he did so you make his coffee and pack his lunch while he took a quick shower. You run into the bathroom to let him know he had less than 15 more minutes.

He steps out of the shower and grabs his razor to shave. You reach for the hairdryer he bought for you to keep at his house and start to dry his hair as he quickly shaves. You run out and start to rummage through his closet to set his clothes on the bed. Nanami finishes shaving and follows you out to get dressed.

"Shirt first, hurry," you take the shirt off the hanger and throw it to him.

Nanami begins to button the shirt when you get in front of him and start pulling his collar up and putting his tie around his neck. He looks at you with a questioning look and you quickly explain, "My dad taught me how to tie a tie. Never thought it'd come in handy since I never knew anyone who regularly wore a tie before you." You laugh at the memory but continue what you were doing to avoid making your boyfriend late.

Nanami however... his fingers stop buttoning his shirt. He looks at you, concentration and rush covering your features, but your fingers gently grazed his skin as you looped his tie. She's the first person to ever tie it for me, Nanami thinks. He had to learn how to do it from a video and was later corrected by some older male coworkers who showed him with their own ties.

The events of that morning finally dawn on him. You jumped out of bed right after you felt him jump out and started rushing around the apartment with him. He hadn't even mentioned that he was late, but you opened your eyes and knew what to do. He could smell the coffee from the room and heard the clanking of the leftover containers being opened and slid across counters from the shower. You dried his hair knowing that his route to work was not long enough to let it dry itself, and you took out exactly what he would have worn that day while he shaved. And now... there you stood before him, helping him tie his tie so his hands could do other things.

It seemed so... small. It was so small, so truly insignificant in the scale of life, something that could not hold weight in the world or change anything in the universe. But it changed his life, it was his favorite view in the world, and it would become his universe.

You look up at him and see him staring... and his hands not moving?! You move his hands away from the buttons and rush to finish buttoning it down. He takes your face in his hands and leans down to kiss you slowly. So very slow and soft. It stops you completely and you wrap your arms around his waist, relishing in the smell of his aftershave and body wash. Nanami deepens the kiss and moves an arm around your waist to pull you in closer. As much as you love when he pulls you in, the movement pulls you out of the kiss trance.

"Oh my god, Kento, hurry!! You're late, you're late!"

You step back and shove his pants into his arms. You tell him to hurry and that you'd grab his shoes to put by the door. You start yelling across the apartment that it would rain the entire afternoon and he needed to take the umbrella.

Nanami listens as you rustle through the closet looking for the umbrella and the light thud of what might have been his lunch bag and coffee thermal on the entryway table. He walks out the room putting on his suit jacket and sees you lightly jumping while telling him to hurry with his shoes.

Nanami leans down to tie his shoes but pauses after he's done. He goes to touch your bare leg since you hadn't even gotten dressed after waking up. You only wore his large shirt and underwear. He kneels and carefully lifts one leg to kiss your knee. He looks up from his kneeling position and says, "Thank you for helping. You really didn't have to."

His loving eyes close slightly while you lean down to give him one kiss as your response. "You're late," you whisper against his lips.

Nanami stands and takes his things while waving bye to you and your bed head. He heads out the door and begins a light jog to catch his regular train.

Yeap, she's the one, Nanami thinks.

Nanami spent his lunch break at the jewelry shop looking at rings that would look beautiful on your finger. There were so many engagement rings that would look gorgeous on you, but one caught his eye as he imagined that ring slightly moving on your finger as you tied his tie.

"I like that one. Do you have a size (your ring size) in stock?"

Nanami buys the ring at that moment and texts you to ask if he could come over to your house after work. He does not plan to propose on a regular Tuesday evening with no special plans, but he wants to hug you, smell your lovely perfume, take you some flowers, and give you a special thanks for helping him. And maybe, maaaayybe (most likely), stay over at your house to help him with his tie again the next morning.

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vetyr · 7 months ago

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hi, i ireally love your work and i don't know if you've answered this before but, what kinds of studies do you do or how did you learn color theory? i wanna get better at rendering and anatomy but im having trouble TT TT

Hi! Long answer alert. Once a chatterbox, always a chatterbox.

When I started actively learning how to draw about 10 1/2 years ago, I exclusively did graphite studies in sketchbooks. Here's a few examples—I mostly stuck to doing line drawings to drill basic shapes/contours and proportions into my brain. The more rendered sketches helped me practice edge control & basic values, and they were REALLY good for learning the actual 3D structure behind what I was drawing.

I'd use reference images that I grabbed from fitness forums, Instagram, Tumblr, Pinterest, and some NSFW places, but you could find adequate ref material from figure drawing sites like Line of Action. LoA has refs for people (you can filter by clothed/unclothed, age, & gender), animals, expressions, hands/feet, and a few other useful things as well. Love them.

Learning how to render digitally was a similar story; it helped a lot that I had a pretty strong foundation for value/anatomy going in. I basically didn't touch color at all for ~2 years (except for a few attempts at bad digital or acrylic paint studies), which may not have been the best idea. I learned color from a lot of trial and error, honestly, and I'm pretty sure this process involved a lot of imitation—there were a number of digital/traditional painters whose styles I really wanted to emulate (notably their edge control, color choices, value distributions, and shape design), so I kiiind of did a mixture of that + my own experimentation.

For example, I really found Benjamin Björklund's style appealing, especially his softened/lost edges & vibrant pops of saturated color, so here's a study I did from some photograph that I'm *pretty* sure was painted with him in mind.

Learning how to detail was definitely a slow process, and like all the aforementioned things (anatomy/color/edge control/values/etc.) I'm still figuring it out. Focusing on edge control first (that is, deciding on where to place hard/soft edges for emphasizing/de-emphasizing certain areas of the image) is super useful, because you can honestly fool a viewer into thinking there's more detail in a piece than there actually is if you're very economical about where you place your hard edges.

The most important part, to me, is probably just doing this stuff over and over again. You're likely not going to see improvement in a few weeks or even a few months, so don't fret about not getting the exact results you want and just keep studying + making art. I like to think about learning art as a process where you *need* to fail and make crappy art/studies—there's literally no way around it—so you might as well fail right now. See, by making bad art you're actually moving forward—isn't that a fun prospect!!

It's useful to have a folder with art you admire, especially if you can dissect the pieces and understand why you like them so much. You can study those aspects (like, you can redraw or repaint that person's work) and break down whether this is art that you just like to look at, or if it's the kind of art that you want to *make.* There's a LOT of art out there that I love looking at, probably tens of thousands of styles/mediums, but there's a very narrow range that I want to make myself.

I've mentioned it in some ask reply in the past, but I really do think looking at other artist's work is such a cheat code for improving your own skills—the other artist does the work to filter reality/ideas for you, and this sort of allows you to contact the subject matter more directly. I can think of so many examples where an artist I admired exaggerated, like, the way sunlight rested on a face and created that orange fringe around its edge, or the greys/dull blues in a wheat field, or the bright indigo in a cast shadow, or the red along the outside of a person's eye, and it just clicked for me that this was a very available & observable aspect of reality, which had up until that point gone completely unnoticed! If you're really perceptive about the art you look at, it's shocking how much it can teach you about how to see the world (in this particular case I mean this literally, in that the art I looked at fully changed the way I visually processed the world, but of course it has had a strong effect on my worldviews/relationships/beliefs).

Thanks so much for sending in a question (& for reading, if you got this far)! I read every single ask I receive, including the kind words & compliments, which I genuinely always appreciate. Best of luck with learning, my friend :)

#answers to asks #illustration #art advice #art help #drawing #digital art

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aizenat · 1 year ago

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Funny how when I take away everything else and focus on one goal, I can get it done. It may take me hours to do something I could theoretically do in less than one hour. But knowing I have all day allows me to approach the task with a calm energy that doesn’t make me want to put it off and end up not doing it at all.

Trying to rush through everything is what had me procrastinating. All the deadlines and time constraints don’t really exist. I have all the time in the world. All of it. I don’t need to rush. I literally have nothing but time.

#like if I die rn I that’s it #all that rushing for what?#I’m going to learn how to slow down for the rest of the year #see how that affects my productivity

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slttygeto · 1 year ago

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to love you is to grow old with you - GOJO. S

synopsis: satoru learns to appreciate the little things in life thanks to you.

c.w: just tooth rotting fluff, wrote this w fem! reader on mind but there are no gendered terms, physical touch being gojo’s love language, slow mornings with pookie bear himself, he deserves all the love.

note: im on a ROLL.

to age is such a blessing and a privilege in itself, and gojo only learns how much he loves it when he notices it on you. it’s not too obvious, he never points it out to you, but over the past couple of years of dating you, he’s noticed a few changes in you, all positive.

your smile lines have gotten deeper with him around, and when he stands in front of the bathroom mirror first thing in the morning to wash his face while you were still fast asleep, he notices how his own dimples have gotten more prominent. he glances at your skin care products and although he appreciates how much you take care of yourself, he is not looking forward for the day where you start buying “anti-aging” cremes or face masks.

he wants the full experience with you, and for the very first time, gojo wants to live for a long time and is certain that he wants to die with you next to him. he doesn’t fear death, he knows it’s inevitable, but something about dying in a boring manner has always irked him—until he met you.

now he doesn’t mind if he gets sick, because he knows you will be there to take care of him. he doesn’t mind when he gets fevers because he knows you’d immediately notice based on his reddened face and would quickly but surely treat his fever and ask him to lie down and be careful, as if the man wasn’t the strongest himself.

he finds himself so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice when you start waking up from sleep and your first instinct is to look for him.

“satoru?” you call out sleepily and satoru snaps out of his thoughts and walks towards your bedroom.

“oh look who’s awake.” he grins when he sees the sleep lines on your arm and face. his hand goes towards your hair as he takes a seat at the edge of the bed and strokes it before leaning in a planting a kiss to your forehead.

“did you sleep well?” he mumbles against your forehead before planting another kiss. “any dreams of me?” another kiss to your nose. “did i look handsome in them?” and another on your cheek before going down to your neck. “were you always my pretty girl in them?” he mumbles against your pulse and you giggle at the ticklish feeling.

“satoruuu,” you whine out loud. “I just woke up,” your hand rests on top of his head when he keeps peppering kisses all over your neck.

“and plus, what were you doing in the bathroom just staring at yourself?” your fingers scratch his scalp and the man immediately melts on top of you, making you lie back down on the mattress.

“i think i changed my mind about aging,” he replies and your other hand rests on the back of his neck before sliding upwards to feel his undercut and scratch the hair there as well.

“changed your mind how?” you feel the man wrap his arms around your middle and pull you tightly towards him. he pushes his face down and plants it on your chest, enjoying the way he gets to hear your heartbeat that seems to have a nice rhythm to it.

“i wanna grow old as long as i get to do it with you,” he mumbles again and his arms unwrap from your middle and you watch as his hands push up the shirt you were wearing to kiss your stomach. “i want us to get wrinkly and ugly together,”

“you can never be ugly,” you say as you roll your eyes at your man but he strongly disagrees and pinches your sides.

“my hairline is receding.”

“please stop taking what nobara tells you so seriously,” you chuckle at how serious he is and a hand rests on his cheek. “in my eyes, you can never be ugly.”

“even when I forget to put my socks in the laundry basket and accidentally use your shower gel?”

“you’re only ugly when you do that.”

2023 ; all works belong to @ slttygeto. do not repost my works on any other platofrm.

#moon's works #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru headcanons #gojo drabble #jjk drabbles #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x reader #jjk gojo #jjk gojo satoru #jjk season 2

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livelovecucumber · 3 months ago

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BRUTALLY HONEST effects of hitting my UGW of 45 kg / 100 lbs

So as I’ve mentioned on my blog, I hit my ugw of 45kg in 2020 and since been in recovery (recently rel4psed) and wanted to list some effects of being underw3ight that I noticed.

1. Food allergies. I got sensitive to several foods and drinks while being underweight. Some of them I can consume again after years of recovery. These include: Extreme sensitivity to caffeine & coffee (feel like i’m sick, still can’t consume it and it used to be my fave). Sensitivity to raw vegetables. Lactose intolerance.

2. Heart problems. I have unexplained heart problems since being underweight. I will get suddenly get an abnormally high bpm (200+) while resting at completely random times. This is scary and extremely painful. It hurts in my entire body, feel like I can’t breathe and my jaw hurts. Can last for 5-45 min and will leave me unable to do anything in that time period. Will leave me tired for 2-3 days. Has been happening less in the last year of recovery. Not anxiety related.

3. Memory loss. I would completely forget my sentence in the middle of it. I would forget the entire day and every small detail. Been experiencing both long term and short term memory loss since being underweight. Still struggling with retaining information.

4. Speech problems. Probably related to memory loss. I spoke extremely slow and struggled with forming sentences, and I still do. I struggle with remembering words and will sometimes take a while to form a coherent sentence.

5. Less picky. Incredibly enough, I have become way less picky since being underweight as starving made me desire ANY food available. This has made me appreciate every small taste. Great for learning to eat less desirable “healthy” foods.

6. Loss of good judgement. When I was underweight I had little to no self reflection in my actions. I had my values and morals but the lines seemed to blur as my ability to think properly depleted and I started acting more unconsciously attention seeking and egocentric, without my knowledge. This was in all aspects of my life. I thought I was in complete control but regained common knowledge as soon as I recovered.

7. Constipation. When at my lowest weight, I was constantly constipated and bloated. Laxatives did not work.

8. People acted differently. People treated me completely differently and started treating me like a child and as if I was stupid. They also gave me more compliments and were nicer to me in general. I noticed other girls felt more awkward around me compared to when I was heavier.

9. Mood swings. No shocker but being underweight made my mood swing a lot. I would cry over nothing and act out incredibly when things didn’t turn out. I also acted more kind and timid towards others in general than I used to. I was more careful with hurting others and more sensitive and empathetic in general.

10. Hair growth. I didn’t really notice my hair growing faster on my body but my hair on my head got a lot longer.

Honorable mentions: Constant unexplained bruising, constant cold feeling, feeling sick almost every day, childish behaviour in general, didn’t feel mature and indulged in very childish hobbies & likes. Dumbed myself down on purpose a lot due to memory loss & speech issues.

#4norexla #⭐️rving #⭐️ve #4n@diary #4nor3xia #low cal restriction #thinspø #tw ana bløg #high cal restriction #light as a feather #light as a 🪶#tw 3d vent #tw thinspi #tw skipping meals #tw ana rant #4n0rexic #4n4blr #4n4rexia

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tpwk-formula1 · 1 month ago

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lando, gluten free, red sauce, onions, chicken, gouda cheese, mozzarella, pulled pork, kale with a sprite, black tea and green tea with dessert please <3

im imagining reader working for his team and they can't stand each other but always end up in each others beds somehow, he catches her flirting w another guy and although he usually wouldn't care for some reason he gets really jealous and has to remind her he's the only one that can have her ? do w this as you wish hehe

Lee-Lee's Pizzeria Menu

gluten-free enemies to lovers red sauce rough sex onions "I saw you being a little slut" chicken "Awe, you thought I'd let you cum that easy?" gouda “Slow down? You just told me to speed up, make up your mind silly girl” mozzarella “All you ever do is bitch and complain, just fucking take it” pulled pork "God, I love when I fuck the attitude out of you" kale "I love knowing I ruined you so good you can only cum when I make you" sprite size kink black tea choking green tea doggy dessert yes served by Lando Norris

Lando x fem! reader

TW - MEAN ASF Lando, crying, choking, 2 ass slaps, creampie, ROUGH sex, honestly just all the warnings :) MDNI 18+

WC 3000+ (sorry I got really into this one!)

Y/N POV

"Lando, you have filming for Quadrant today," I remind Lando softly making him roll his eyes.

"i know my own damn schedule," Lando snapped making me roll my eyes back at him.

"Then why do you need a fucking assistant," I say while throwing my hands up in defeat.

"I don't fucking know. I thought it would be a good idea, instead, I got stuck with you," Lando snapped back making me roll my eyes and get everything together that Lando would need for the Quadrant video.

"I love to see you try and live a week without me hounding on your ass," I snap back while placing Lando's backpack by the front door so he didn't forget it while also getting his lunch together knowing he would leave without eating if I didn't do it.

"I'm a grown man, I can take care of myself," Lando snapped back making me roll my eyes.

"Okay, give me the rest of the week off. I'll be back Monday morning and if you survived then I'll quit no questions asked, but if you don't then you will learn how to respect me and not be an absolute dick to me," I tell him while pulling his food back down onto the counter no longer preparing him food.

"Deal. It's Thursday which means I only have to survive 4 days, I can manage," Lando replied back making me smile and head to the front door to leave.

"Bye, don't be scared to call when you inevitably need help," I say while exiting and heading back to my own apartment.

I spent the rest of my day relaxing and enjoying my time away from Lando knowing tomorrow was gonna be a new day and he was probably gonna call tomorrow when he realized my job wasn't useless like he always liked to claim.

It was Friday at noon and by now I would normally be with Lando planning what his next week would look like but instead, I'm laying out on a yacht with Oscar.

Oscar and I had always been close. We both started the same year and both bonded over being so young working for McLaren and further bonded when I would rant to him about how Lando was treating me.

"Hold on I'm getting a call," I sit up softly picking up my phone to see who was calling.

I showed Oscar the caller ID making both of us smirk and laugh softly.

"Couldn't even go 24 hours," Oscar mutters making me laugh a little harder before I answer the call.

"Why are you with him," Lando seethed the second I answered my phone.

"Oh, quit it Lando. Do you need me or are you just interrupting my weekend off," I snap back at him having no patience for his jealous ass.

"Get your ass back to my apartment," Lando snapped back making me roll my eyes.

"Lando if this isn't for work related issues then I will not be coming over until I am done hanging out with my friend," I reply back emphasizing the word friend.

"Y/N I swear to God if you don't get you ass to my apartment in the next hour you will lose your job," Lando said back.

"And you're gonna tell Zak what exactly? 'I want her removed from my team cause she was hanging out with Oscar and I was a jealous twat who couldn't get my dick wet.' Sounds real mature Lando Norris. I will come over later tonight," I tell him finalizing my plan before hanging up on him before he could say anything else.

"I don't understand why you won't make it official," Oscar says with a raised brow making me raise my brow mirroring his actions.

"He's inmature and doesn't know what he wants," I tell Oscar softly climbing back onto the couch so Oscar and I can continue soaking up the sun.

"I just know he's call Max to use his yacht right now to track your ass down," Oscar says with a smirk making me laugh.

"Probably," I reply honestly.

"You ever gonna put him out of his misery and become his?" Oscar asks making me think hard before answering.

"I don't know. Definitely not until he starts respecting my work," I tell Oscar softly making him nod his head.

"I think that's fair. Maybe this weekend will open his eyes to realize how much you do for him. Going above and beyond what is in your job description," Oscar replies back making me smile, happy he understands.

"Hell, I too wouldn't want to share you if you prepared my lunches, made sure I had time allotted for a break, and spent the night in my bed," Oscar says smirking at the last part making me roll my eyes.

Oscar and I had a teasing relationship closer to siblings than lovers and it was refreshing to be close with someone in this crazy life we both live.

"You're an ass for that, Piastri," I say while laughing softly.

We spent the rest of the afternoon tanning and enjoying each others calm presence before we decided to dock and head back to our individual apartments.

"Better not find out I'm gonna be an uncle in 4 to 6 weeks," Oscar says with a smirk across his face making me roll my eyes and close the door to my apartment while Oscar walks the rest of the way to his.

Lando, Oscar and I all live in the same building making it easy to have group dinners or see each other when we are getting bored or lonely.

I hadn't even been back to my own room for 5 minutes when I hear a pounding on my front door making me roll my eyes knowing it could only be one person making such a scene.

"Open the door," I hear Lando say in a sing-song voice being far more menacing than I would prefer.

"What is your damn problem," I snap when I swing open the door making Lando shove his way through the door before taking my neck into his big hands and squeezing choking me slightly while he pushes me against the door.

"I saw you being a little slut. All cuddled up with Oscar in the middle of the water," Lando says getting closer to my face and showing me just how upset he is.

"You know damn well it's not like that," I snap back getting just as angry at him.

"Do I know that though? Cause between fans spying on yall and your own snap story it looks like you were dressed into next to nothing cuddled right up to Oscar's side," Lando scoffs back squeezing my throat a bit tighter making it more difficult to breathe.

"You're ridiculous you know that," I say while gripping his wrist trying to pry his grip off of me. Lando finally releases my neck but quickly grips my hard into a death grip and yanks me through my apartment where he dumps me near the bed.

I was on the floor when Lando situates me onto my knees before he quickly pulls his pants down with his briefs leaving his hard cock to bounce freely between us.

"Don't make me fucking tell you want to do," Lando snaps when I make no move to take him into my mouth,

"You're pathetic," I mutter softly before I take Lando into my mouth. I knew he heard me when his hands were on the back of my head again pushing his whole length into my throat making me gag and instantly start to tear up.

"I'm fucking pathetic? You're the one crying on my cock less than 10 seconds after giving it to you. Bet your fucking pussy is weeping too," Lando says while holding my head in place and brutally fucking into my mouth making me repetitively take him into my mouth. Once Lando has fucked my face for a few seconds he shoves his whole length into my mouth and holding me on his cock for several seconds making me gag and cry around his cock hitting his hips trying to get away from his brutal attack.

Once Lando pulls out of my mouth I yank my head away best as possible while I gasp and cough for air.

"Not so rough," I whisper softly through my hoarse voice.

Lando just pulls me back onto his cock and starts fucking my face again. Still rough but nowhere near as rough as he had been.

“All you ever do is bitch and complain, just fucking take it,” Lando grunts while still pumping his cock into my mouth. I can feel my tears have completely soaked my cheeks and my own spit in starting to trail down the front of my neck making me look like a proper used-up whore.

"God, I love destroying you," Lando says smirking when he pulled me off his cock leaving me to heave in heavy breaths while he stared down at my ruined face.

"Look most beautiful when you're wrapped around my cock," Lando whispers with a smirk before softly biting my earlobe making me whimper at the feeling.

Lando helps me to my feet where he quickly pulls the swim suit cover I was wear off leaving me in my bikini I had been wearing. I cringed slightly when Lando was eyeing my bikini.

"Turn around," Lando says roughly making me turn in curiousity. When Lando got a view of my ass he instantly slapped it leaving a large hand print behind.

"For someone who says Oscar and you aren't more than friends you're leaving far too little for his imagination. You think sweet little Oscar could destroy your pussy even half as good as me," Lando says stepping closer to my back making me rest softly against him.

"No Lando, only you. You literally fucking ruined me for anyone else," I cry out in confession. It had been true, ever since Lando and I got involved I hadn't been able to finish with anyone but Lando. Even my trusted vibrator was now useless.

"Oh is that true?" Lando says clearly a smirk laced in his voice.

"Yes, I literally can't even make myself cum anyone," I confess in pure annoyance at the situation.

"I love knowing I ruined you so good you can only cum when I make you," Lando says while turning me back around so I can see his face.

"I hate you," I whisper back.

"That's a fucking lie and we both know it," Lando whispered back getting closer to my mouth before finishing his sentence by kissing my lips.

I whimper into the rough kiss when I feel Lando start pulling at the strings of my bikini leaving me completely bare for Lando's rough hands to continue to explore my body.

When I feel Lando's large hands grip my ass I whimper out that quickly turns into a strangled cry when he roughly lands a slap on my ass.

"That side was jealous," Lando says smirking against my lips.

Lando roughly pulls his shirt off leaving him completely naked before he roughly throws me onto the bed where I bounce a couple times before Lando is gripping onto my foot and pulling me into him where he is kneeling on the ground next to the bed.

My pussy was now at face level with Lando who wastes absolutely no time to pull my clit into his mouth and start eating me out like a starved man.

"Oh fuck Lan," I moan softly when I feel Lando slowly slip two fingers into my pussy.

"Fuck, so fucking sweet," Lando groans before standing up and towering over my body and spitting into my mouth making me gasp in shock.

"Fuck I love when you're like this," Lando groans getting back onto his knees and continuing to eat my pussy out like a starved man. When he puts his fingers back into my pussy he's not nearly as gentle this time. He quickly shoves them in finding my G-spot with no trouble and attacking it.

"Oh my god Lando," I scream out and clench around him in preparation for the orgasm I can feel building in the pit of my stomach.

"Please Lan," I moan when I can feel myself on the edge of cumming. But instead of Lando giving me permission like I thought he would he rips his fingers and mouth away ripping my orgasm away with them.

"Lando what the actual fuck," I heave sitting up slightly only to be pushed back down.

"Awe, you thought I'd let you cum that easy?" Lando says with a smirk making me want to slap him across the face. Instead I just clench my hands at my side.

"Lando please," I finally beg out when I calmed down. Lando didn't say anything he just roughly flipped me onto my stomach before he pulled me onto all fours and pushed his dick into me.

Lando gave me no time to adjust, he just quickly started fucking into my tight pussy making me whimper.

"Too big," I gasp when I finally find my voice making Lando speed up his actions on my pussy.

"You can fucking take it," Lando says snapping his hips into mine making me whimper at the hard thrusts.

Lando pulls me up by me hair so he was still fucking into me but my back was now pressed against his chest where he moves his hand from my hair to my neck and giving it a hard squeeze making my eyes tear up again from the choking.

"Close," I gasp in a stranged moan not being able to breathe fully.

"Cum on my cock," Lando roughly states making me instatly start cumming all over his cock.

"Fuck Lando," I moan through my orgasm while Lando squeezes hard on my throat completely cutting my airflow off as I'm cumming only making it that much more intense. When my orgasm ended only then did Lando release my throat making me gasp for air.

"Lando," I scream when he continues to fuck into me as I fall out of his arms and back into doggy position.

"Please Lan, it's too much," I whine losing all fight I once had in my body.

"You can take it, love," Lando tells me softly while slowing his thrusts to let me catch my breath for a second.

"So pretty all fucked out," Lando mumbles before speeding his thrusts up and continuing to fuck into my overused pussy.

"Faster," I beg when I feel another orgasm starting to build up again. This one coming in far faster and stronger than the previous one.

"Cum for me," Lando grunts when he can feel my pussy clenching for another release. I instantly cum all over his cock again barely able to hold my body up anymore. I would have completely fallen into the bed had Lando not been holding me up by the hips.

Lando continues his hard and fast thrusts even after I have come down from my orgasm making me cry out again in overstimulation.

"Slow down," I scream out only making Lando speed up.

“Slow down? You just told me to speed up, make up your mind silly girl,” Lando grunts out before sending one final thrust into my pussy before I feel his hot cum start splashing my walls letting me know Lando was cumming deep into my pussy.

"Oh Lan," I gasp and fall half onto the bed while my legs dangle over the side. When Lando was slipping out of my pussy he made sure to pull out slowly to make sure to not overstimulate me further.

"Don't leave," I gasp when I watch Lando start retreating into the bathroom making him turn around and lock eyes with me.

"I'm gonna leave you. I'm just gonna grab something to clean you up," Lando tells me softly before disappearing into my bathroom and grabbing a rag before coming back into my room and cleaning my sore pussy up softly.

"Hurts Lan," I whine when he brushes against my sensitive clit with the rough rag.

"I'm sorry," Lando mumbles sheepishly.

I feel Lando observing me while I slowly climb into bed properly getting under my covers and pulling my blanket up to my chin as I watch Lando throw on his boxers before picking up his shirt and softly placing it on me.

"Thanks," I reply softly as Lando climbs into the bed next to me.

"God, I love when I fuck the attitude out of you. Now you're sitting here all pretty and blissed out," Lando tells me softly making me smile up at him.

"I don't like the way you dismiss my work," I tell him softly finally opening up about my feelings.

"I could barely survive today, please come to work with me tomorrow," Lando says turning his body towards me so I can look at him.

"Fine, but you better start having some respect for me all the time, not just during post nut clarity," I tell him back making him blush just thinking about what just transpired between us.

"And you owe me a plan B I promised Osc he wouldn't become an uncle in 4 to 6 weeks," I tell Lando making the both of us start laughing.

"Deal, and I promise from now on I promise I'll stop being condescending and undermining you. I realized how much you really do for me. I didn't eat until dinner cause I forgot about a meeting and had no time to grab anything," Lando confesses making me smile and laugh lightly.

"Didn't even realize I was such a pain that you were feeding me too," Lando admits hiding his face in my neck due to embarrassment.

"And I wanna work on us. I wanna build a better friendship between us so one day I can make you mine," Lando says once he pulls his face from my neck.

"I would like that Lando," I admit softly before pulling his face close to mine and giving him a soft kiss.

"I wanna keep doing this though and maybe sometimes not so rough," I tell Lando making him break out into a blushing smile.

"Deal. I would love to spend my time worshipping your body," Lando tells me softly making me turn red.

562 notes · View notes

ahundredtimesover · 10 months ago

Text

I Want You to Stay (01) | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: boss!JK x assistant!reader; idiot strangers to lovers; slow slow burn; k-drama feels; angst, drama, fluff, smut

Chapter (Series) Warnings: foul/explicit language; alcohol consumption & passing out, unhealthy coping mechanisms; family drama; minor injuries; power dynamics (JK starts off as a jerk); work-related anxiety, feelings of helplessness, insecurities; childhood traumatic experiences, nightmares; sexual harassment, prior incidence of domestic violence (PLS PLS BE CAREFUL WHEN READING); arts and business/property devt talk that’s probably inaccurate; commitment issues & emotionally constipated characters; cold and detached JK; explicit sexual content (specific warnings stated per chapter) (18+)

Chapter Word count: 12k

Series Masterlist

Status: Ongoing

Series summary: Working for Jungkook isn’t the same as working for Hoseok. For starters, Jungkook doesn’t smile, he doesn’t appreciate you, and he gives you too much work. It doesn’t help that he’s incredibly handsome and has women at his beck and call. But as the tension grows, it becomes impossible to resist him. You’ve dedicated yourself to your job for 8 years so when you finally decide to put yourself first, he asks you to reconsider. And while you know that leaving is difficult, you learn that when it comes to Jungkook, staying is always so much harder.

Playlist 🎶: on the way home

A/N: Happy 2024, everyone! 🎉 Dropping this tonight as a welcome to the new year and the start of the wild journey that is this story. It's a different JK that I'm used to writing. It's also a different arrangement for me as the story is still being written, so just a heads up that updates won't be as regular compared to before, but they'll definitely come (pls don't come at me hehe 😁)! This is also a painfully slow build-up with lots of details and office talk so please be patient! I don’t know how this will turn out and be revived but I hope you enjoy! 💕

Also my biggest thanks to @wonwoonlight as always 🥰

Jung Hoseok’s smile is like a ray of sunshine - warm on cool mornings, radiant on sunny afternoons. It’s light and infectious, but more than anything, it’s genuine. There’s comfort in the way his entire face beams and how the rest of his body follows; there’s this sense of openness that makes it easy to be around him, that makes it easy to work for him.

It was 10 years ago when you first encountered that smile - bright and encouraging as he welcomed you and the rest of the interns to his family’s company. It slowly dissolved the anxiety you were feeling over being 1 of 12 chosen students to work for one of the leading real estate and property development corporations in the country. You’d see it again two years later as an employee, and you recall how he perked up at the sight of you, having remembered those eight weeks you spent preparing the conference room for their meetings and serving the executives their coffee.

You wouldn’t have expected that five years after that, you’d be seeing that smile everyday as his executive assistant, and it was one of the things that made the job bearable. Despite the long hours and the amount of work you had to do and events you had to accompany him to, working for Hoseok always felt worth it. Despite the insane amount of pressure he was put under and the stress he had to endure, Hoseok somehow always managed to smile.

He was serious when he had to be, but there was joy in how he did things. He allowed himself moments of calm, of time to check in on his support team for a few laughs. He’d spare himself a few minutes a day to sway to the soft music he plays in his office, he’d preside over meetings with vigor, and he’d start and end every interaction with anyone with that smile - the same smile that assures you that all your hard work is appreciated and which encourages you to keep learning.

It’s that same smile that he has on right now, as he hands you a custom-made cake with ‘you worked hard’ written on it. He says the words as your eyes turn to him in surprise.

“Thank you for all that you’ve done,” Hoseok says. “I know you were new to the role just like I was but you made everything so easy for me. I’m gonna have to get used to being without your brilliance, Ms. Cho. I hope you never doubt yourself ever again.”

Your astonished face turns into a pout, as it dawns on you that it’s Friday, the first unofficial day of you no longer being Hoseok’s executive assistant, given his appointment as President not long ago. Yet despite the big change he’ll be experiencing starting next week, he’s the one affirming and comforting you, something that’s rare for someone of his stature and something you’ll definitely miss.

“You know I don’t cry, but I just might,” you respond, earning you a chuckle. “But really, I… I can’t thank you enough for taking a chance on me. I know my credentials weren’t like the others but—”

“Ms. Cho,” he interjects. “The only credentials those other applicants had were the universities they went to, but none of them matched your level of skill and dedication to the role. I can assure you that none of them would’ve managed the past three years like you did. I should be thanking you for dealing with all the craziness with me.”

“You’re a good boss, it’s that simple,” you return the compliment now. “You were patient with me and challenged me to be better without putting me down. That does a lot for a person’s confidence, you know?”

“I know that now,” he smiles again. “But really, I don’t think I could’ve asked for a more competent right-hand woman. Jungkook’s lucky he’s taking my position with the most capable assistant to help him out.”

At the mention of the man’s name, your face sours, something that Hoseok picks up, earning you another laugh.

“Not a fan of him, I see,” he eyes you curiously.

“I don’t mean any disrespect, Mr. Jung, but your cousin is not you,” you explain. “I may have only seen him a handful of times but those are enough to let me know that he does not smile.”

“Yes, I do confirm that,” Hoseok chuckles. “Jungkook’s quite the perfectionist and very much a workaholic. But he’s brilliant and creative and you’ll learn a lot from him, too. He’s being primed to co-lead the company with me and he needs a strong support for that and I think that’s you. His father thinks that’s you, and for the CEO to think so means a lot, ___. Uncle has seen how you work and was adamant that you remain in this role, especially with his son assuming the Vice President position.”

You know that Hoseok means to reassure you, but you suppose your insecurities over having this role and even being in this company won’t ever really go away. You didn’t graduate from a prestigious university in Seoul like most employees here did, and in this society, that usually means everything. You’re thankful for the trust that you’ve been given and you agree that you worked hard for it, too, but it will always be overwhelming; even then, it sometimes still feels undeserved.

At your silence, Hoseok speaks again. “___, as your former boss and as your friend, I’m here to back you up. Jungkook’s family but if he, for some reason, acts like a hard-headed jerk, you let me know, okay?”

He turns serious now, as he silently asks for you to promise him that you’ll speak out if you need to. Hoseok knows what you went through under Mrs. Byun, the former manager who abused her power over you until her own slip-up caused her downfall years later, and he doesn’t want you to go through that again.

“Okay. But I didn’t mean to imply that he’s a jerk just because he doesn’t smile,” you clarify. “I guess I meant to say that… I’ll miss working for you. That’s all. We somehow always got a laugh in, no matter how stressful things were. I’ll miss being with A-yeong, too.”

“I know you also meant to say that I’m the best boss you’ve ever had,” Hoseok chuckles, though you don’t miss the sadness in his eyes, too. “But I’ll just be two floors above you. You’ll still see me everywhere. And A-yeong’s gonna miss you, too, that’s why she can’t let you go without having dinner out, that I’m apparently not invited to.”

“We’re just gonna gossip about you, don’t worry,” you tease, appreciative of the fact that his wife has been kind to you all these years, apologizing to you on his behalf during the rare times he’s cranky, and gifting you little things from their trips abroad. “But thank you again, Hoseok,” you continue, dropping the formalities when you mean to speak to him as a friend, because that’s what he is, and it’s a rarity in this industry where those in power tend to take advantage of those below them. “You’ve treated me well, and I’ll never forget that.”

“Thank you, ___,” he smiles once more. “I’ll finish setting up my new office now. I’ll see you there in 30 minutes, okay? I know Jungkook officially starts on Monday but he wanted to get all the administrative stuff out of the way as soon as possible and since my old room is being sanitized, he’ll be staying at mine the whole morning. HR has everything he needs to sign so please get those documents from them before heading to my office.”

“Oh, so he’s coming today?” You ask, unable to hide the mix of surprise and disappointment in your voice. You’re clearly uninformed about this. “Didn’t he just arrive last night?”

“Yes, he did. I thought he’d at least spend today resting but no, he called me an hour ago to say he’ll drop by this morning so he can get straight to business on his first day,” Hoseok explains, shaking his head at the thought of his cousin wanting to get straight to work. “I know it’s short notice so you don’t need to brief him or anything yet. You’ve been buried in organizing all my files this past week after all.”

“Okay, but I’ve got everything organized for him already anyway in case he wants to start,” you say, having prepared all the documents he’d need to ease into his role more smoothly, knowing it’s your job to help him with that.

“Of course you have,” Hoseok chuckles, impressed as always with how on top you are of everything. “I’ll see you in half an hour.”

You sulk in your seat once he’s out of view, whining internally because much as your files are ready for your new boss, you’re the one who isn’t. You’d held off on mentally preparing yourself for meeting the Jeon Jungkook, second son of the current CEO of Jeon Corporation and the new Vice President, thinking you’d have the entire weekend for that, so you’re caught off guard at having to face him today. It’s one thing to move on from no longer having Jung Hoseok as your boss - that itself took you months to process and accept; it’s another to have to get used to assisting someone else, someone you know is completely different in attitude and approach to his work.

Jungkook used to be an executive in the Singapore office, the Southeast Asian headquarters of the company. In your three years as Hoseok’s assistant, you’d only seen Jungkook a few times, such as when he’d fly to Seoul for an official visit or a family gathering but you never interacted, as you didn’t really have a reason to, especially since you were always busy with making sure the event was running smoothly.

But you’d definitely noticed him, partly because the female staff always talked about him when he was around, and partly because next to his parents and his cousins, who are all personable in their own ways, Jungkook sticks out like a sore thumb. You’re not exaggerating when you say that you’ve never seen him smile - not for the pictures and not when he’s talking to the other executives and employees, a contrast to his father’s infectious charm and his mother’s youthful energy.

You’ve gotten used to Hoseok’s passion balanced with his thoughtfulness and joy - you always enjoyed the videos that A-yeong would show you of their weekends doing ballroom dancing because it’s what he loved to do with her. You’re unsure how you’ll manage assisting someone who’s the complete opposite. You’ve heard of Jungkook’s abilities though; his father always spoke of them with pride. Creative and innovative, he’d say of his son, but he always lived in his head, too, and perhaps that’s why even if he can socialize with others, he prefers not to, given that you’d always seen him at the bar after said events, drinking on his own.

You didn’t think those times that you’d one day be having him as your boss. You didn’t expect the appointments to come this soon, nor did you expect to still be in the company by the time they happened. But here you are, about to meet him and hoping to the heavens that whatever preconceived notions you have of him based on what very little you know would be proven wrong.

Wanting to calm yourself down before meeting him, you head to the management support team’s office for a cup of tea in the pantry, but you’re stopped by Do-hyun, one of the project assistants.

She hugs you like she always does, even if you rarely ever return it, and she whines like you expect her to, given her unusually pouty face.

“It’s only been an hour but I already miss Mr. Jung,” she laments. “Why did they appoint him as President so soon? They could’ve waited for another year or so, or at least let him take us with him!”

You find yourself being the reasonable one this time, as you pull her away from you so you could talk to her properly.

“We always knew he was going to be President, Do-hyun. But then the Board decided to make Ji-woo head of the Singapore office after their uncle stepped down, and that meant Hoseok had to take his sister’s place,” you explain, knowing how generational corporations like this work, with family members rotating in the executive positions. “And much as he’d like to take us with him, the position already comes with its own team. He’s just two floors above us, though. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if we popped in every once in a while to say hi.”

“No, I’m bitter,” she pouts again, earning her a laugh from you.

“Well, at least the new Vice President isn’t a stranger,” Manager Lee chimes in.

“I heard the CEO’s son doesn’t smile,” Do-hyun counters. “How do we go from assisting someone who literally gives all of us the energy to work each day, to someone who doesn’t think there’s anything worth being happy about? I also heard he’s a workaholic, so what if he demands that we can’t leave the office until he does? And that he’s kind of a fuck boy, so what if he has a scandal that we have to—”

“Yah! Those are just hearsay, and we don’t listen to those,” you warn her, not wanting the team to start on a bad note because of some rumors about your new boss that may or may not be true.

And if those are, it’s your job to make sure that those are handled properly and that there’s no friction between the management support team and the Vice President. The thought suddenly hits you and you feel nauseous. You’ve never had these worries with Hoseok because he always prioritized the team - he made sure that tasks were properly delegated, that you all took your well-deserved break, that you weren’t burnt out, that you all knew he got your back the way you all got his.

But then again, it’s natural to be anxious about change, especially when what you had was already the best it could’ve been. And much as you were the one worrying about this earlier, you’re now the one who has to reassure the team, especially the younger members, that things are going to be okay.

“You’ll meet him soon, and I’ll make sure he’s properly oriented with everything before he sits down with you all,” you say. “Let’s just be optimistic about this, okay? Manager Lee has been here a while and he can guide all of us when it comes to adapting to changes like this.”

The rest of the team nods, voicing their agreement about being open and welcoming to your new boss.

“Okay, good. Now let me get my tea before I combust,” you chuckle, heading towards the adjacent room.

You’re busy taking breaths in between sips of your hot drink when you see a familiar face in the room through the glass window, prompting you to head back outside.

“Mr. Ri,” you greet, causing the man before you to turn towards you. “What are you doing here? Does Mr. Jeon need anything?”

Knowing you’re referring to the elder Jeon, Mr. Ri shakes his head.

“I’m here as Jungkook’s chauffeur and bodyguard, actually. His father appointed me, wanting people he trusts to help his son,” he clarifies. “I’ve just driven him from his penthouse.”

“Oh,” you say, unable to control the way your face falls a little. “So, he’s here.”

“He is. He said he wanted to get things done today so he doesn’t waste his time when he starts next week. He’s at Hoseok’s office right now. I believe he’s supposed to sign some documents?”

“Oh shit,” you blurt out, immediately setting down your half-finished tea and rushing out the door to speed-walk to your desk, ignoring Mr. Ri’s demand for you to slow down.

With what little you know of your new boss, he seems like the type to not excuse tardiness, so you take your files, head to HR to retrieve some documents, and then proceed to Hoseok’s office. You try to catch your breath as you head towards the door, which opens before you get to knock, revealing Bitna, the President’s assistant, who greets you with a sweet smile.

“Hi, ___. I was just about to call you,” she says. “CEO Jeon is inside as well. Just walk in, they’re waiting for you.”

You cross the small hallway as the door gently closes, and you stop in your tracks the moment you hear Jungkook’s voice.

“I still prefer my old assistant,” he says, obviously displeased. “He was very organized, highly educated, and well-traveled. While this Ms. Cho didn’t even study in a top university in Seoul. And Hoseok says she doesn’t know any other foreign languages when that’s one of my requirements.”

“Son, you’re being too harsh,” CEO Jeon chides. “Ms. Cho is a top performing employee, very hardworking and dedicated. She’s worked here for eight years and she imbibes all our values; she knows the company culture and knows the ins and outs of things with how she’s been exposed to them. Ask your cousin; Hoseok speaks highly of her.”

“___ is great, Kook. She’s incredibly organized and highly analytical and observant. She doesn’t need a Seoul education to be good at what we need her to be good at,” Hoseok argues.

“I still want my old assistant. It’s more convenient that way. Lucas already knows how I work and what I require of him,” Jungkook insists. “I’m just saying that I need things to be efficient and she and I can’t be adjusting to each other when there are multiple projects that I’d much rather give my attention to.”

“And I’m saying that Ms. Cho probably knows more than you do when it comes to these projects,” the elder Jeon counters. “Plus, your old assistant would have to adjust to life in Seoul and that’s harder. It’s just not practical, especially since you’re due to start in a few days. You have other things to worry about. ___ is there to make your life easier. Give her that chance to do her job.”

“But I—”

“Good morning, gentlemen,” you greet, not wanting to hear whatever unfounded things that Jungkook has to say, even if you have your own preconceived notions about him which, you remind yourself, are partly founded. Barely five minutes in and you already can’t stand his judgmental and entitled ass.

You walk towards the middle of the room where they’re congregated on the couches, with the elder Mr. Jeon and Hoseok smiling at you while Jungkook merely glances at you, his jaw clenched, perhaps irritated at the fact that you’d overheard him completely misjudge and undermine your abilities without even knowing who you are.

“Good morning, Ms. Cho,” CEO Jeon says. “I know you’ve seen him a few times but I’d like you to officially meet my son and the new Vice President, Jungkook.”

Jungkook turns to you with a disinterested look but he doesn’t meet your eyes. You bow as a sign of respect, even if it’s the last thing you think he deserves.

“My pleasure, Mr. Jeon,” you respond. “I was told that you’d like to proceed with administrative matters this morning. I have all the documents with me and I can explain each one to you before you sign them. I’ve also consolidated all the things you need to know prior to your meetings next week,” you add, handing him an iPad. “This has the resumes of each member of your management support team, including their professional and development goals. Mine are there as well, so you can read about my credentials and achievements in this company the past eight years, which I think have tremendously helped me in performing my duties satisfactorily. There’s also a folder of team profiles of each of the departments you’re overseeing. You’ll also find closure reports of completed projects from the past five years, progress reports of ongoing projects, and approved and working proposals of upcoming ones. I’ve included summaries and key figures for each of them. You may read them prior to your meetings, and if there’s anything missing that you’d like me to include, I can have them ready by the end of the day.”

“Hmm,” Jungkook hums, as he scrolls through all the folders you’ve prepared for him.

In your periphery, you can see the other two men holding in smiles as you seemingly render the younger man speechless, but while he assesses all that you’ve provided to him, you’re given time to observe the man seated before you. Other than his slightly longer hair, not much has changed from when you saw Jungkook in last year’s gala.

As he drags his tongue across the inside of his cheek with his scrunched eyebrows in judgment, you’re reminded that this is the first time you’ve seen him up close. And even from his angle, you can tell.

He’s unfairly handsome.

He’s got dark expressive eyes, soft-looking pink lips, and a sharp jawline that complement his lean figure. You understand why the staff are enamored by him even from afar and - if the rumors about him are true - why women would shoot their shot with him at clubs, in hopes they’d be the lucky one he’d choose to be with for the night.

The illusion breaks, though, as he turns to you with a hardened gaze.

“I’m sure I’ll find something that’s missing,” he states.

“If they’re relevant and necessary, I can have the files ready by today,” you respond, knowing full well that you’ve included every possible document that would be of use to him.

“I’ll be the judge of what’s relevant and necessary, Ms. Cho,” he counters.

“Of course, Mr. Jeon,” you say, conceding. “Whatever it is, then I’ll make sure to have them ready for you as soon as possible.”

Jungkook hums in response, turning his attention to the HR documents this time, breezing through the text and ignoring your brief explanations of the contents before signing at the bottom of the pages. You inform him of sections he’s missed, and he groans at having been corrected but you don’t mind. He’s the one who chose to do all this now and in here, in front of his father and his cousin.

Once he’s done, he hands you the signed files and holds your gaze. “Is there anything else, Ms. Cho?”

“I suppose that is all, Mr. Jeon. Unless there are other things you want to assess, or people you want to ensure are qualified to assist you with your functions,” you say.

Jungkook huffs in displeasure. You can sense the tension build, as irritation paints his face. It’s at that moment that his father chimes in, suggesting that you introduce him to his team.

“You can maybe also orient him on the current projects and partnerships,” the older man says.

“That can wait. I’ve had enough of engaging for today,” Jungkook responds, his voice cold, detached.

“In that case, let me lead you to your floor, Mr. Jeon.”

You step back and wait for him to walk ahead, before you excuse yourself from the older men. You don’t miss the sorry looks on their faces, and you give them a smile as if to say that it’s fine, that Jungkook’s someone you can handle, and his obvious displeasure towards having you as his assistant doesn’t faze you. It doesn’t change the fact that you wish he wasn’t your boss though, or at least, that he wasn’t such a jerk like what he’s being right now.

Walking behind him as you both head towards the elevator, you see the way he carries himself - hands in the pockets of his sleek black trousers, his eyes focused straight ahead, nothing like Hoseok who was always gesticulating as he spoke to you every time you walked side-by-side from one place to another.

Jungkook stands in front of the doors, seemingly waiting for you to press the buttons and you do it before he could even express his annoyance. You stand in front this time, then make sure you hold the doors open for him to exit, and you resume your spot behind him as you walk down the hallway.

“On the left are two small meeting rooms and one conference room,” you start, thankful that there’s not much to tour him around on this floor, given that everything is exclusive to the Vice President. “On the right is a seating room, and up ahead is an archive room. Down the—”

“I’ve been here before, Ms. Cho,” Jungkook interjects as he looks at you blankly. “This is my family’s building; I’m very much aware of how the floors look like.”

Not rattled by his disruption, you nod and smile, wanting to show him that whatever intimidation or humiliation he’s trying to make you feel isn’t gonna work on you. You know if you show any sign of frustration, that will just give him a reason to have you replaced and despite your clear dislike for the man, you need this job, especially this position that allows you to pay your rent in a safe part of town and send money to your family every month. At this point, that’s the only thing that will keep you going.

Approaching the management support office, you walk faster and make sure to enter the room before he does, signaling the team with your eyes that their new boss is coming, your silently frantic gaze telling them to be on their best behavior because their usual antics won’t work on Jungkook the way they did with Hoseok.

Once Jungkook appears, everyone bows and greets him, and you can sense them holding their breaths as they look up, taking him all in. You see him eye each person, and you can tell he’s already assessing them individually. You take it upon yourself to introduce each one, stating their name, where they studied and what course they took, describing their primary role in the team and their specific strengths. You see him follow your words, nodding and humming as you go, and you think he’s processing the information and making sure he remembers them.

There are no pleasantries; Jungkook just goes straight to the point.

“I’m sure you have concerns about having a new boss and the changes that come along with it. But I’m here to tell you now that you should get over whatever those are, as I’d like the adjustment period to be as short as possible,” he starts. “My cousin is brilliant at his job and so am I, but we work very differently, so whatever you got used to doing with and for him, don’t expect the same with me. I demand excellence and efficiency from each one of you because that’s what I commit myself to and that’s the only way that this team will be able to do its job. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir,” the team answers in unison.

“We commit to those as well, Mr. Jeon,” Manager Lee says. “As the head of your support team, I will make sure that all our deliverables are of high quality and that things will run smoothly so that we may properly do our job of assisting you.”

“That’s good, and that’s what I expect,” Jungkook says, nodding at everyone before walking out the door to head to his office, with you trailing him from behind.

“Is my room still being sanitized?” He turns to you.

“Yes, sir.”

“Why did it need to be sanitized? And why today?”

“It’s protocol, sir. We also had a sendoff for Mr. Jung yesterday so the room smelled of food. And he instructed for this to be done today so that I don’t need to come here tomorrow, as he doesn’t like any of his staff working during the weekend,” you reply. “This should be finished this afternoon. I’ve also purchased the oil for your diffusers. The room will be ready for you by Monday.”

Jungkook merely hums and looks around, specifically at your designated area with your desk and shelves at the back, then takes a call before turning to you again to say that he’s heading out to meet his friends.

“Is there anything else you need, Mr. Jeon?” You ask, thankful that you don’t have to deal with him for the rest of the day.

“No.”

“Okay then, sir. I’ll meet you at your apartment at 6:30 AM on Monday. Is that time alright?”

“Sure,” he responds, then turns around and starts walking out. “Just keep your phone on. I work during the weekend.”

He’s gone before you can even respond, and you rush to the support office once you’ve heard the elevator ding that indicates that he’s gone. When you get there, you’re greeted with everyone’s frowns, with Do-hyun close to tears.

“I don’t like him, ___. He looks so unapproachable and too serious!” She complains. “I miss Mr. Jung. Is there an opening in his team? Should I just resign?”

“Aish!” You reprimand her. “Don’t speak like that. And don’t let those few minutes determine everything for you.”

“Well, those few minutes are enough to tell me that I don’t like him. No matter how good-looking he is,” Chin-sun says.

“He is, right!” Do-hyun chirps now, a complete 180 from seconds ago. “I’ve seen him around but I didn’t think he’d be even more handsome up close! It just sucks that he’s a grinch and that makes all the difference. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t have a girlfriend! He’s probably too snobby and—”

“Yah! You really need to stop it with those rumors,” you scold her this time. “That’s your boss. His personal life is none of our business. Where do you even hear these things?”

“Every washroom in this building, basically. Staff are always gossiping there, you know?” Do-hyun responds.

“And since when do we listen to gossip,” you scowl at her. “Sure, he’s not our favorite person right now but we don’t have the right to make claims about aspects of his life. And where are people even getting those ideas!”

“People talk, I guess,” she shrugs. “And he’s often spotted in clubs with those Kim brothers so maybe they see things. I’m not saying they’re all accurate… just that rumors often have some truth to them, you know?”

“No, I don’t, and we shouldn’t be sticking our noses in places where they shouldn’t be,” you say.

“Fine, but it’s just a heads up,” Do-hyun says, turning serious now. “You’re his executive assistant, and you have no choice but to stick your nose in places because personal and professional lines are often blurred in your situation, and that’s just how our world’s set up.”

“She’s right,” Chin-sun chimes in. “I mean, you need to know his personal schedule, go to his apartment, do errands if you need to, maybe buy a box of condoms if he runs out… You just got lucky that Mr. Jung’s pretty chill and has a wife who’s even nicer than he is. Your only problem was that he was damn scared of everything that moved and wasn't human.”

You’d laugh at the last statement if you could, but you know they’re both right. Hoseok wasn’t perfect, and neither was his marriage, but it never reached a point where you had to be put in a compromising position because you were his assistant who, by nature of your work, had to be privy to some of his personal matters. The most involved you were was when he and A-yeong had an argument and they used you as their messenger, but even that was more of a miscommunication issue than anything serious. They apologized to you after and promised to never put you in that kind of situation again.

But with Jungkook as a single man, you’re unsure what personal business you’d end up being involved in. You just wish it wasn’t something that would test your principles and cause you to lose your job. Regardless, whatever that would be isn’t something you can even really talk about with others.

“Well, I don’t wanna think about any of that right now,” you sigh, knowing you’ve got enough to worry about, such as how you’re going to start surviving everyday assisting a man who clearly doesn’t want you around.

But if he’s gonna be a hard-head about it, then you’re just going to have to match him. You got to where you are because you’re determined to prove yourself constantly, and you’ll just show him that he needs you, and he doesn’t really have a choice unless he wants to argue with his father.

You try to encourage your team once more and give Do-hyun that rare hug in comfort before going back to your desk, intent on finishing all the presentations for your briefing with Jungkook next week. You begin setting up his room by mid-afternoon, using a photo of his Singapore office as a basis since you were told that he prefers a certain style for his furniture and decor. You’re no stylist but over an hour after you finish, you think you did pretty good. You were so into designing the space that you didn’t notice the time fly by; before you know it, it’s 6PM, because you can hear A-yeong right outside calling for you.

“Hi,” she chirps, hugging you in greeting. “Are you ready?”

“I’ll just pack my things,” you say, walking to your desk.

A-yeong takes a peek at the room and praises your efforts. “This looks so different from how it used to be. And that’s good because those cousins have such different tastes. But I think Jungkook will like this. He’s into the masculine and moody vibe, so good job, ___.”

You know that despite her kindness, she wouldn’t lie, and you could only hope that she’s right. You think it looks nice, but it’s what he thinks that matters; you’ll just have to wait until Monday to find out.

As you’re about to leave, Hoseok appears in the hallway and asks how you are. Your scowl pretty much gives you away.

“I’m sorry about Jungkook, ___. He’s stubborn and a hot-head sometimes but he isn’t always like that, and this isn’t me making excuses for him,” your former boss says.

“Why, what did he do?” A-yeong asks worriedly.

“Basically implied that I’m not qualified for this role, among other things,” you respond. “But it’s okay. Not like I haven’t heard that before.”

“And you know that’s not true,” Hoseok comforts you. “He’s not good with change, that’s all, and you know how these appointments were all pretty short notice and he’s just been frustrated ever since. But whatever it is he said, don’t take them to heart. He’ll get a word from me, and he’ll definitely get one from his father.”

You want to say that it’s not easy to just disregard what Jungkook said; he’s your boss after all, and all that matters is what he thinks about you. But you’re not one to air out these feelings to Hoseok now that you’ve experienced a bit of what it’s like, so you just shake your head and ask the older man to let it go.

“He’s probably just tired,” you make an excuse this time, not wanting to discuss further with Hoseok. “And he had that assistant for over five years. I can understand wanting that familiarity and convenience. I’m just gonna have to adjust; there are a lot of things going on right now and he’ll need to focus on the projects, not his compatibility with his assistant.”

“But that matters though,” Hoseok insists. “I got things done because we worked well together. He’s gonna have to meet you in the middle with this one. And I’ll make sure that he does.”

“I know you said you want to look out for me but I don’t think it’s a good idea if you intervene this time, Mr. Jung,” you say, letting him know you’re serious and you mean business. “I’ll be okay, don’t worry about me.”

You give him a comforting smile, and you hope it’s enough to quell Hoseok’s own worries and it works this time. He returns it before letting you and his wife go, and it’s the Thai dinner and incredible desserts that somehow make up for your not-so-great day.

You think the weekend will give you the peace you need to face your dreaded week - you do your errands and chores on Saturday and go to the market and watch a movie by yourself in the cinema the next day.

All it took was a text from Jungkook that Sunday evening, asking for copies of certain policies and disapproved proposals from the last five years, that just had to ruin it, as you spend the entire evening consolidating the files, making you already wish it was Friday.

Jungkook’s apartment building is one of the Jeon properties that you haven’t been to yet, as it’s one of the newer massive residential structures that they built three years ago. You enter the sleek-looking lobby then submit your documents at the reception in exchange for your own access, and you internally marvel at how luxurious everything looks.

You get to the 42nd floor, and it seems that there are only two units here. You walk towards the one on the right, choosing to be on the safe side by ringing the doorbell. It’s Monday, after all, and it’s your first time here; you don’t want to just enter without him permitting you to do so.

You’re about to press the button again after a minute of no response, when the door opens and you take a moment to process the sight before you.

There, standing just a few feet away, is Jungkook with nothing but a pair of black gym shorts on, his taut chest glistening in sweat, and his entire right arm covered in black and colored ink. His hair is damp and ruffled, and it’s probably due to the boxing he’d just done, as evidenced by the wraps on his knuckles and the way he’s panting heavily.

You get your senses back and look away, not wanting to look affected by his half-naked form, even if you’re the one who has to catch her breath this time because much as you dislike the man, you can’t deny that his body is something that definitely deserves to be praised.

“You’re here,” he speaks first, surprise laced in his voice as he takes in your obviously flustered form.

“I asked if 6:30 AM was a good time to come, Mr. Jeon,” you answer, glancing at him before looking at whatever you could behind him. “Perhaps I misheard your confirmation. I can wait downstairs if you’re not yet done with your exercise. My apologies for coming in early.”

You don’t actually have anything to be sorry for; he did confirm the time, and he’s the one who decided that working out at this hour was a good idea, knowing that his assistant’s scheduled to come. You would’ve appreciated it if he says you don’t need to apologize, but he doesn’t.

“It’s fine, I just finished,” he huffs.

He leaves the door open for you to enter then heads straight to the large room on the right, which looks to be an indoor gym. You allow yourself a few seconds to look at his retreating form, quietly gasping as his broad shoulders and slender waist blind you a little, then scolding yourself for doing so. You stay rooted by the kitchen and look around the spacious penthouse as you wait for him to return. He exits the gym wearing a loose white shirt now, combing his hair with his fingers as he drinks a bottle of water.

“So, Mr. Jeon, uh, I would prepare Mr. Jung’s outfits for the week and then help his house staff make his breakfast. I run down his schedule as he eats. Are you okay with the same arrangement?”

“Sure. I just don’t have any staff with me so you’re on your own. I’m fine with anything though. I’m not usually hungry in the morning,” he says before walking to the other side of the apartment.

You follow him, careful not to enter spaces you’re not given permission to, which is why you stand by his bedroom door before asking to come in.

“How will you prepare my clothes from there?” He huffs. “Of course you can enter. Just be done before I finish taking a shower.”

You nod shyly and then head to the walk-in closet that thankfully has a separate door from the bathroom. He’s already unpacked his clothes, although not everything has been organized. You spot a few suits that are ready to wear, and you fix those first, taking note of asking him if there are things he wants dry cleaned or pressed.

You leave his bedroom in time, hearing him slide open the door as you make it out, and proceed to make his breakfast. There’s really not much you can create with what little he has, so you make do with eggs and toast and whatever spread you find in his cupboard.

Jungkook walks into the kitchen not long after, the dark gray suit looking immaculate on him as you expected. Spotting his crooked necktie, you immediately walk up to him to fix it, unaware of how he holds his breath with how close you are. Noticing his body stiffen, you step back right away, apologizing for not asking permission first.

He looks away and says it’s fine, then sits on the spot at the dining table where you’ve set up his meal. He stares at it for a good few seconds, prompting you to explain yourself.

“That’s… that’s all I could make with what you have, Mr. Jeon,” you say. “I can arrange for online groceries for you, as well as dry clean and pressing for your clothes and—”

“I’m having someone come in to clean my place and do all of that,” he says, as he takes a bite of his food. “So, what’s my week like?”

You start to enumerate the conference and lunch meetings he’ll be having this week, including who they’ll be with and their purpose. They’re mostly with the department leads to discuss updates on processes and current projects, and you’re thankful that Hoseok involved you as much as he did, given that Jungkook’s questions are more specific than you expected.

Sure, he’s a Jeon and obviously works in the same company, but the Southeast Asian projects are different from the ones being implemented in South Korea, and while he used to oversee overall compliance to design standards, he’ll now be in-charge of setting those very standards this time. As Vice President, he’ll be involved in crafting policies; he’s also free to manage his own construction projects, and that’s what the support team is for. Given his much more expansive role this time, there are more departments and projects to oversee, and definitely more executive decisions to make.

You suppose it’s why his questions don’t stop, even after he’s cleaned up and you both find yourselves in the backseat of the car and on the way to the office. He looks through the iPad with all the files you gave him, and you see the notes he’s made on them as you turn to him to answer his queries. Even if you know that he’s also still assessing you - perhaps on your knowledge and attention to detail - you can’t help but admire his thoroughness. You may have also cursed him in frustration for making you work on a Sunday, but he seems to have done way more than you, given that he went through all the documents over the weekend. You suddenly don’t feel too annoyed.

But of course, he has to ruin it again.

“I need these annotated versions of the project and departmental documents ready before my meetings with the respective teams,” Jungkook says, his voice low and stern. “And I expect progress reports to be as detailed as possible, so make sure to check them first before they get to me. The ones you gave need revisions. I believe you’re trained enough to know immediately that these are lacking.”

“Yes, sir,” you respond, noting his instructions on your notebook while internally yelling, given that you’re unsure of the need for them before the meetings.

Surely, he could give you some time to work on them, but with a meeting with one team in the afternoon and seven more the rest of the week, and on top of the other things you need to do for him, you already know you’ll be cramming to get everything done.

You try to manage your breathing. Somehow, your habit of pressing your nails against your palm when you're stressed has miraculously come back today. It was something you developed while working under Mrs. Byun, which you eventually got over after working for Hoseok. You feel the anxiety build up, especially as you look at the half crescent marks on your skin, and it’s times like this that you wish your best friends were based in Seoul instead of Busan, so you’d at least have people to comfort you when things are a little tough.

It’s not to say that work wasn’t overwhelming before. It definitely was, but Hoseok always found a way to make everything bearable and he was always reasonable with what he demanded of you. Now you’re stuck with a man who already makes you feel like your hard work isn’t enough.

You make it to the office with no other words said and a thick tension in the air. It follows you to the elevator and into Jungkook’s room, where he dismisses you so he can prepare for the first meeting of the day. You rush to your desk and get on with your tasks, making sure to work on the annotated project file that he needs by the afternoon.

It’s an hour later when you find yourself in the conference room for the meeting with the management support team. You prepped them just 10 minutes earlier, and while you tried to hide your frustration, your unusual lack of energy told them enough that it wasn’t exactly a good start of the day.

They come in one by one, and you take the time to prepare Jungkook’s coffee, remembering from his former assistant’s notes how he wants it. He’d put it off earlier, given that he prefers to drink his protein shake after his workout, so this is the first time you’re doing it for him.

His eyes flit from the coffee in front of him to you as you place it on the table.

“Two espresso shots and half teaspoon each of milk and sugar,” you state, wanting to confirm that you got it right.

He merely takes a sip, places it down again, and then starts the meeting.

How bold of you to assume that he’d thank you or even acknowledge it, as if he’d shown you even the tiniest amount of gratitude for anything you've done for him since Friday. Which he hasn’t.

You let it go and proceed to sit next to him, your eyes and ears ready for what you already predict is gonna be a long meeting.

It ends over three hours later. As you expected, he had a lot of questions. He made sure that each member had time to explain their current tasks and how they will monitor the projects assigned to them. You didn’t miss the way he’d acknowledged them with “good” and “well done,” and thanked them after they finished. He only nodded at you after your turn, with his eyes barely meeting yours, and for all the confidence you built over the past three years, you can’t process how it’s his non-acknowledgment that’s just going to undo all that. And quite frankly, you’re unsure if that’s on him or if that’s on you.

Half of the meeting was spent discussing the big project that he wants to take on as Vice President. There’s a property they recently acquired - a non-operational arts center that he wants to revive by adding a performance hall, small theaters, a grand library, function rooms, and a permanent exhibition presenting the buildings that his family had developed over the years to showcase their architectural designs.

You saw the excitement in your team members’ faces. Hoseok took over with several unfinished projects so you all had to focus on those. Aside from Manager Lee, this is the first time that you’re all handling something new and different. Even you felt the excitement creep in, a welcome emotion given how your day’s been going, but that shattered once he said that he wants it done by June of next year in time for an International Media Festival happening in August. The 12-month period he’s giving is too short with everything he wants to do, and you saw that the team felt the same.

You go to them after Jungkook leaves for a lunch meeting, and their sighs and pouty faces tell you enough. Mr. Lee does his job of encouraging the team, and you add that you’re all gonna be supporting each other through it all. Sure, you’d have to match Jungkook’s ambition and thoroughness, but you should all take it as a challenge.

You’re clearly not convinced yourself as the words come out of your mouth, but you don’t have time to debrief with them, as you still have that meeting with the design department that you have to prepare for. You take two biscuits and a cup of tea, and you decide that this is enough to last you throughout lunch, given that you’ll be spending the entirety of it working on the files.

You don’t realize that an hour and a half have passed until you hear footsteps and see Jungkook’s form appear in the hallway. You stand to greet him, with him asking if you’re done with the annotated documents.

“I’ll send it in five minutes, sir,” you say, hoping he’ll at least give you that.

“Okay,” he responds. “Come to my office after you’ve sent it.”

“Yes, sir,” you say, quickly finishing the last two pages once he closes the door.

You rush to get everything done and click send, then you head to his office and prepare yourself for more questions. It’s quiet inside as you watch him behind the desk, with his legs crossed and his eyebrows furrowed as he reads the document. You answer one of his questions and it’s at that moment when your very empty stomach decides to make itself known.

You freeze on your spot, as the grumbling sound starts low, getting louder for a few beats before it temporarily stops. Your eyes widen in embarrassment, and you press your belly so hard with your fingers in hopes that that would do anything, even if you’re too far gone at this point. Your only hope is that it was all in your head, but Jungkook’s eyes flitting to you tells you otherwise. The only other sound in his room is the air purifier, but it’s not remotely loud enough to drown out your intense hunger.

It goes again, and all you can do is look away; humiliating yourself was definitely not the plan for your first day as Jeon Jungkook’s assistant.

“Do you need to step away, Ms. Cho?” He asks, not meeting your eyes.

“Oh, it’s not… uh,” a bowel emergency or something, you want to say. “I just had a busy lunch break.”

You settle for that, a hint that you’d spent its entirety doing something in such a short notice. Hoseok would always be apologetic whenever he had you do something during your break; he always made up for it with a nice meal as thanks. You doubt you’d get anything close to that from this man.

Jungkook hums and surprisingly doesn’t ask for anything else. He dismisses you and orders you to go ahead and prepare the conference room for the next meeting, and you do just that, dropping by the pantry for a muffin that you eat in four bites, in hopes that it would be enough to shut your stomach for the next three hours.

Right as you exit, Jungkook picks up his phone to make a call. And then another one.

“Mr. Ri, please pick up the pastries that Ms. Cho ordered at the food hall,” he instructs his chauffeur. “She’s too busy right now.”

“Will do, Mr. Jeon.”

Taking minutes of a meeting when you’re starving is not a good thing. You know this because you’ve done this so many times, like during monthly executive meetings and the quarterly board meetings that have you spread out thin. It’s also not rare to miss out on lunch because there’s a report to finish or a site to visit; during events, you go on a day with having barely eaten anything.

But just because you’re used to it, it doesn’t mean that your body has fully adapted, because here you are, eyeing the croissants in front of you, your mouth watering at the gloss and softness of the pastry. They’re so tempting and also out of reach, given that you need to be entirely focused on the discussion that you’re documenting, and munching on something is out of the question. You don’t even know where this is from and you think maybe the design department called for snacks but it’s really not helping your concentration.

You hope the way you’re nibbling your lips doesn’t give you away, but Yoongi from across the table picks it up, as you get a notification of his message.

[From: Min Yoongi] you didn’t have lunch, did you?

You ignore the prompt on your laptop and respond to him with a look instead. You know your pouty lips will give him his answer, and he merely shakes his head at the confirmation.

You do your best to shut out the sight and scent of the food before you, absorbing instead the discussion so you can note this down properly with just minimal edits needed. You have a lot of documents to work on for the next few days after all, and that’s on top of the file reorganization that Jungkook asked you to do.

It works after you hang on by a thread for two and a half hours, a little earlier than you expected to finish. All you want is to sneak out that croissant and maybe some tarts, too, but your heart breaks when you look up and find the boxes empty.

You let out a sigh, relieved that your boss didn’t hear you because he’s already on the phone and heading out the door. But it’s that same time that a plate of food appears in front of you, and it feels like the gates of heaven have opened. You’re not surprised anymore to find out who it’s from.

“Eat,” Yoongi says from next to you. “I could see your hands shaking from across the table.”

“What about you?” You ask, your lips in a pout once more.

“You know I don’t eat these things,” he shrugs.

He doesn’t, and you know this, too. You also know he called dibs on these earlier, seeing as his staff were quick to get them, and he’d saved these so he could give them to you.

“Ten years later and you’re still trying to make sure I eat, huh?” You say, nudging him with your hips to tease.

“If I don’t, who would?” He responds, walking out of the conference room with you. “You have a bad habit of not doing that.”

“Well, duty calls. What can I do?”

“Take care of yourself even if it’s hard,” he replies.

“Says the man who rarely does it himself,” you chuckle.

“You know, the best advice I give are the ones I don’t actually follow, so disregard the fact that I don’t even do what I say because they apparently work,” he says. “But I mean it, ___. Eat this now.”

“Thanks, Yoongi,” you smile, taking a piece of pastry and eating it in two bites.

Your puffed out cheeks cause him to laugh, and despite still being hungry after this, you suppose it’s enough to not make you faint at this moment.

“And eat a proper dinner, okay?” He follows up.

“I’ll be off late, so I’ll just grab something from the convenience store,” you say. “That’s as proper as I can afford tonight.”

“Aish, fine,” he shakes his head. “But let me get you coffee at least. Those tarts won’t taste as good without one.”

“That would be life-saving,” you dramatically say. “What did I do to deserve a friend like you?”

“Don’t know. I mean, I’m not that great,” he shrugs.

You playfully roll your eyes. “I’ll save the compliments once I have the coffee.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he feigns annoyance, gesturing for you to get back to your desk then walking the other direction.

You take your seat and clean up the document, deciding that you’ll just review the meeting minutes tomorrow so you can get on with other pressing matters. It’s 20 minutes later when Yoongi returns, a tall cup of coffee on one hand and a banana loaf on the other.

“This is all they have left,” he says. “I hope it can last you until tonight.”

“It will,” you smile. “Thank you again. No one looks out for me here as much as you do. And that means a lot, more than you know. I don’t think I would’ve survived all these years without you.”

“Wow, all because of coffee and snacks,” he laughs, teasing.

“It’s a fair trade. You feed me during my greatest need, I boost your ego,” you tease back.

“Yeah, whatever,” Yoongi huffs in submission, but you know he enjoys it.

You’re thankful that after everything that’s happened, you’re still able to maintain the friendship that you created when you were a mere intern and he was just starting out his career.

“Anyway, I’m quickly meeting Jungkook and I need the portfolio of the contemporary arts institution joint project from 2019. It was VP-led so I assume it’s still here? Unless it’s in the archive room,” he continues.

“It’s within five years so it should be here,” you say, turning to the shelf behind you to confirm.

You spot what you need and make the attempt to pull it out but your fingers barely even touch the rack.

“Need help?” Yoongi asks.

“And what help could you give, huh?” You tease again, earning you a playful groan.

“You brat.”

You laugh and pull out the small stool you keep for times like this.

“Just make sure I don’t fall and embarrass myself further today,” you say, climbing up the steps then pulling out the heavy folder.

You feel Yoongi’s arm move from where it was near your waist to over your head, as he lightens the load. You both try to balance it and laugh at your distorted faces in the process, and it’s moments of relief like this one that you’re glad you’re afforded after a long day like today.

From inside the room, Jungkook sees you through the window, your eyes crinkling as you laugh along with Yoongi, head of the design department and one of his very few friends in the company. It catches him off guard, as he realizes that since meeting you last Friday, he’s never seen you laugh, much less smile or even have an expression that isn’t agitated or serious.

He knows that that’s probably on him. He’d spoken ill of you after all, something he regretted once he saw the frustration on your face when you made it known that you were in the room with them and had definitely heard everything he said. But he’d been tired and HR confirmed that he could bring Lucas over as his assistant; CEO Jeon was the one who vetoed that decision.

Jungkook had already mentally prepared himself for the ease of his transition, knowing that he’d be assisted by someone who knows how he works and the quality of outputs he expects, only to come here and be told by his father that the current staff will stay, and that you - someone he’d only heard of as Hoseok’s assistant - will be the one assisting him from now on. Your resume didn’t even impress him.

Jungkook doesn’t like change and when he has to undergo it, he needs as much of what was familiar and convenient to remain; that’s the only bit of control he can have and he hates not being in control of things. You just happened to unluckily be at the receiving end of his anger.

But unlike what he expected, you stood up to him in the subtle ways you could. He’s been so used to people just following him, partly because his way is always the best but also because he commands that respect, and he knows his capabilities enough to know that he deserves it as well. So when you answered back, he felt rattled and just a little bit uneasy. He was unable to backtrack after, but he didn’t really plan to.

That doesn’t mean that he didn’t plan on being a bit of a jerk today, too. He’d been exhausted working over the weekend after going through all the files you gave him that he snoozed his alarm so many times and ended up doing his workout later than he intended. When you rang the doorbell and stood by his door with your skirt and satin top, he suddenly felt lightheaded.

He mentally smacked himself once the thought that your pastel colored outfit brought out your eyes more than the monochrome ensemble from last week floated in his head. He just hated that not only are you thorough with your work, you have to be beautiful, too. He’d never admit to anyone that both of those things make him nervous, and it’s the only reason why he thinks he needs to establish his authority so that he doesn’t get rattled the next time you counter him.

That’s why he demanded more work, which he didn’t intend to take up so much of your time, like your lunch break. He’d seen how your hands shook while you were taking notes during the meeting, prompting him to end the meeting early so you can have something to eat of what he’d bought but he’d left before he could find out if there was anything left for you.

Maybe there wasn’t enough, as he also witnessed Yoongi hand you what seemed like food with coffee that the man also got for you just minutes ago. The smile you gave him was bright and sincere. Jungkook doesn’t think he’d ever see that directed at him, considering how he’d been to you on his first day, but maybe that’s also good; that could be his defense. Maybe it’d help quell that initial attraction that he doesn’t want and cannot allow at all to grow.

It doesn’t mean it doesn’t agitate him to see you a bit too close with his friend, because with the way you seem so comfortable and with the way that Yoongi sports that rare smile, it almost feels like there’s something there.

Jungkook is the son of the CEO, and having personal relationships within the company isn’t exactly advisable, but he’d gone to university with Yoongi and their introverted personalities instantly clicked. The older man is perhaps the only non-relative company employee that Jungkook kept in touch with when he was in Singapore, not that he even really talked much to his family outside of work anyway.

But in all the years of their friendship, his friend never mentioned any relationship - nor the makings of one - with another staff member. Jungkook hates how his curiosity is slowly getting to him. Maybe a few more moments would tell him more, but something about the scene happening outside his room is making him nervous and uneasy, so he decides to step in.

“Hey, Yoon,” he says as he opens the door. “Can we discuss now? I have to meet my parents for dinner in an hour.”

Your bubble with Yoongi bursts at the sound of Jungkook’s voice, and you immediately return to your seat. Your friend nods at you then enters the room, leaving you the peace and quiet you need to plop down on the floor for a quick snack of your loaf before going back to work, glancing inside every once in a while to see how the two are going, and perhaps confirm the friendship that you didn’t expect the two would have.

“This building is a good starting point,” Yoongi agrees with Jungkook. “If this is the general feel you want for the Arts Center, I can look into other projects and designs and come up with ideas. I’ll just ask ___ for the files I need.”

“You two seem close,” Jungkook says too quickly.

Leaning back against the chair, Yoongi processes the question that he didn’t expect he’d hear. More than that, he tries to read what’s underneath it, knowing that his friend’s tone of voice and feigned stoic expression mean something more.

“You could say that,” Yoongi replies. “She did say that no one’s looked out for her here as much as I have. And that she wouldn’t have survived all these years without me.”

“So you’re actually friends?”

“Yes.”

“Were you more?”

Yoongi chuckles, the question giving him the answer he’s looking for. Jungkook may often be too serious but he can be transparent sometimes, too.

“Does it matter?” The older man asks.

“Just don’t want to be surprised, that’s all,” Jungkook shrugs. “If there’s an employee relationship happening under my nose, I should at least know.”

“It happens here a lot,” Yoongi responds. “I mean, it gives people something to gossip about but it’s how things are - work sucks sometimes and we want someone to hold at the end of a terrible day.”

Feeling like he won’t get an answer to a question that Jungkook doesn’t know why he felt the need to ask in the first place, he just shakes his head to concede.

But it’s what prompts Yoongi to reply.

“We met when she was just an intern,” he says. “We used to take the same bus then found out we both came from Daegu. Then she was employed and we were both on the logistics team before I was reassigned and she got the EA role.”

Jungkook merely hums, taking in the information.

“I also asked her out before,” Yoongi continues, earning him a surprised look from the younger man. “You just can’t help what you feel sometimes, you know? But she turned me down, said she didn’t want to lead me on because she didn’t feel anything more. She also doesn’t like being involved with a co-worker, so yeah.”

“How are you still friends?”

“Asks the guy who’s still friends with his ex,” Yoongi laughs.

“Chaerin and I are civil, there’s a difference. And we haven’t spoken in years.”

“You loved her, though,” Yoongi counters. “I never got to that point.”

“This isn’t about me,” Jungkook huffs.

Knowing it’s a topic that his friend doesn’t like talking about, Yoongi relents. “I moved on. That was years ago,” he says. “And it seemed like she needed someone. I mean, she’s not from here and her friends aren’t here, either. She appreciated the friendship even if she said she didn’t think she deserved it. I guess that made me really get over her, you know? That’s all she wanted and needed from me; it was better than not having her around.”

“How brave,” Jungkook remarks.

“You mean mature?” Yoongi corrects. “Yes, that’s what I am, and it’s the best I could be for her. Especially since she’s got a boss who makes her miss lunch because somehow, there’s just so much to do for your first day on the job.”

“Don’t remind me,” Jungkook groans.

“I will. Only so you could feel bad.”

“I already do. That’s why I…”

“Bought the pastries,” Yoongi finishes. “I mean, I didn’t order them.”

“Was any even left for her?” Jungkook sighs, remembering how he was internally screaming for you to just get from the box and he’d been the jerk to not offer you some even if it was technically for you.

“Sort of. I put some aside for myself so I could give them to her.”

“You sure you don’t like her anymore?” Jungkook cocks an eyebrow, an attempt to hide his uneasiness over something he doesn’t understand. He finds you attractive, that’s it. He doesn’t know why his mind searches for more answers.

“You don’t have to like someone romantically to be nice to them, you know?” Yoongi responds. “And she needed it. Heavens know the support she’d need now that she has to deal with your rude ass.”

Jungkook sighs, but the remark is a welcome one because he did tell Yoongi not to treat him differently just because he’s the Vice President now. He also partly agrees. But he sees the effort; his friend wouldn’t call him out for how he does things, so the most he would do is offer help to you. And Jungkook could maybe take advantage of that, as Yoongi stands up to leave.

“Hey, could you, uh, grab dinner for her at the food hall? And not say it’s from me?”

“The food hall’s closed,” Yoongi says.

“The cafe down the street, then?”

“You can’t be fucking serious,” the older man groans.

But Yoongi knows his friend, knows the distance he creates from the people around him, knows his need to have control over everything, including his feelings, and knows the walls he builds because it’s easier to keep others out rather than do the hard task of letting them into a space that’s become comfortable because he’s been the only one inside for so long.

So Yoongi does as he’s asked. He takes the money then heads to the cafe to order pork cutlets and curry. He returns and sets them on your desk to your surprise, and you ask what it’s for.

“Just thought you deserve more than just convenience store instant noodles and gimbap given the day you’ve had,” he says.

“Hey, those are delicious,” you pout, but wanting to melt at how good the rice bowl smells. “But thank you, again. I owe you a lot, Yoongi. I mean it.”

“Just make sure to eat on time so I don’t have to buy your dinner again,” he teases. “I mean it. You have to stay healthy, okay?”

“Okay,” you smile brightly. “Get home safe tonight.”

Jungkook glances out the window and holds back a smile himself at how innocent and genuinely happy you look. There’s this joy that you seem to enjoy to yourself and he sees that, he understands that. And somehow that’s enough to lessen the guilt for now.

He still doesn’t know if he’ll ever see that smile directed at him or if he’d ever want that because of how disarming it is. But seeing it from afar is enough; it’s trivial and short enough to let him bask in it without having to climb out of his walls. He’ll watch you from behind, he thinks. He just wishes he doesn’t push you away in the process.

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screams-of-the-damned84 · 3 months ago

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(flops on stage) i now present to you my very silly swap au,,,

essentially jasper is now the co-leader of the society who was bitten by a werewolf and is trying to hide it, jekyll is the uni student who got kicked out due to his experiments and then picked up off the streets, etc. jasper and rachel can’t communicate and jekyll and lanyon are living the world’s weirdest horror romcom you’ve ever seen. more info under cut hehe (feat. bad explanations and doodles)

in simpler terms, jekyll and lanyon swap narrative positions (?? is that the right term) with jasper and rachel respectively. (lanyons and rachels swap doesn’t technically work as well as Jekyll’s and jaspers does but shhhhh). Frankenstein becomes the mad scientist that attacks the society and moreau becomes jaspers idol.

longer explanation but WARNING!! it is 3am when i am typing this and i am terrible at explaining. it may be slightly incomprehensible.

so like jasper and rachel founded the society after jasper publishes his research and gets semi famous. two years before current events jasper is out on a research venture and gets bitten by a werewolf. he doesn’t want to scare rachel or the lodgers so he keeps it a secret (to his own detriment). flash forward to now and jasper gets a call to investigate a “creature” terrorizing the streets of london only to find hyde.

before jasper can process the dumpster man he is looking at hyde transforms back into jekyll. jekyll explains that while trying to prove his theory of spiritual alchemy at his university he may or may not have split his own soul. and got kicked out. and is now living on the streets.

jasper, not really knowing what else to do and kinda relating to the poor guy, takes him back to the society. he introduces his co-leader rachel, who pretty much keeps this entire thing up and running. (rachel and jekyll still become friends but she especially takes to hyde. that little brother shaped hole in her heart is still very much present!) then theres the lodgers (idk how they all swap) and then there’s lanyon, a university student at the society because it was mandatory for one of his courses. he is not enjoying it and would very much rather be breaking boy’s hearts back at school. lucky for him tho, there’s jekyll!

this goes about as well as you would expect. lanyon then spends the rest of his stay at the society trying to understand (and woo) the conundrum that is jekyll and hyde. it’s very fluffy and they learn to communicate like jasper and rachel in canon (yippee!)

unfortunately for jasper and rachel, they have been playing the “just friends” game for the last decade. im having a bit of trouble trying to flesh out swap rachel so i don’t really know if she’s in a lavender marriage like canon lanyon is or is estranged/divorced or just single but whatever the case is she likes jasper but thinks he just sees her as a friend while jasper is madly in love with her and is too scared to tell her. this problem has only worsened since jasper got bitten. everyone else tho is aware of how they feel about each other and are stuck witnessing their tortuously long slow burn.

(hyde and lanyon at some point probably come up with a scheme to try and get them to confess. it goes horribly wrong.)

so yeah. this au has been floating around in my head ever since i read the comic for the first time. it mainly came to be because of how well jasper and jekyll parallel each other and because i wanted to draw stupid fluff and older jasper lol.

if anyone has any ideas/questions/etc TELL ME!!!!! this is just a rough idea if you have a better concept go for it awhdvgevd

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hgfictionwriter · 19 days ago

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Discovery: Part Six

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Summary: With another revelation behind you, Jessie and you continue your exploration of one another and learn even more about each other.

Warnings: G!P content. Smut. A lot of smut. Penetrative sex, risky sex, breeding/preg kink, possessive sex and language, final lingering themes of rejection.

A/N: I've been absolutely blown away by the interest in this fic. Thank you so much everyone - I hope it's met your expectations. If not - message me, maybe something can be done. And again, thank you to @hoe4sports for the original prompt. Rest of the series is here.

"So...condoms," you finally said.

"Yeah...," Jessie replied slowly as she looked up at you, worry plain on her face. "I'm sorry," she added in a low voice.

You frowned in return. "What for?"

"Um," Jessie's gaze flicked away momentarily before returning to meet yours. "For making things even more difficult." Your face screwed up further.

"There's nothing to apologize for," you assured her as you removed one of her hands from your hips and brought it up to your lips to kiss. "I mean, that would be the equivalent of you telling me I need to apologize for having periods or ovaries," you finished with a faint smirk. Jessie was slow to respond, but eventually allowed a half smile to form on her face.

"I suppose that's true," she finally conceded.

You released her hand, Jessie letting it fall to your thigh and caressing you idly there as you held your chin in thought. Before she could inquire, you swung your leg over her and got off the bed to rummage in the back of your nightstand drawer.

Jessie's brow furrowed in curiosity as she watched you. She was about to inquire when you spoke abruptly, surprising her.

"Oh my God! I knew I there must've been some reason I kept this," you said as you suddenly revealed a condom to her. "My ex used them on her strap," you explained. "I guess it's probably about a year old?"

"Oh," Jessie replied as she reached out for it. "Well, that works." She had to laugh internally. Here you were looking thrilled and here she was trying not to imagine you with some ex getting pounded into the mattress.

"So, you still want to keep going?" She asked one more time.

"Yeah," you answered as if she'd asked something ridiculous. "Do you?"

Jessie gave a light laugh as she glanced down at her still-swollen cock. "Yeah, I'd say I'm still good to go."

You chuckled in approval and she smirked as she brought the package up to her mouth and tore off the top with her teeth. You climbed onto the bed and knelt next to her as she slid the condom over the tip of her cock and rolled it down.

Once it was in place, she looked to you. "So, uh, do you want to be on top again? Then you can, you know, set the pace and such, if you want..."

While she felt confident not even 10 minutes ago, the weight of what you two were about to do was suddenly back upon her. If her sudden uncertainty irked you, you didn't show it.

"Sure," you said, unbothered, as you straddled her once more.

Jessie held her cock for you and you reached down to grasp it as well. She let go right away.

"Oh, yeah, go ahead," she said as she pulled her hand back and rest it on your thigh. You smiled at her and adjusted your position above her.

Jessie bit back a moan as the tip of her cock, though sheathed, pressed against your wet and luscious folds before you settled her at your entrance. She could feel the immense heat through the condom already and exhaled steadily through her nose. Her eyes were locked on how you held her length, poised at your entrance before you started to slowly sink down.

She exhaled through her mouth subtly as she felt you start to stretch around the head of her cock. The way your hot core wrapped around her already felt astounding, combined with the visual of her member ever so slowly slipping inside of you had her blood pumping.

You were tight - so tight - she wanted to groan, to toss her head back, but instead she settled with simply squeezing your thigh and tightening her jaw.

You paused, just the tip of Jessie inside of you at this point. She looked up at you.

"Are you okay? Is this alright?" She asked.

"Yeah," you said in a breathy voice and offered her a smile. "You're just...," your eyes flit away sheepishly, "bigger, than what I normally play with."

"Oh," Jessie said, her face starting to burn hot immediately.

"I also don't typically do much in the way of penetration," you added.

"Oh, well, we don't have to," she offered right away - though the thought of pulling out and ending this now was the last thing she wanted. "Or, you know, take your time - take all the time you need. Is there anything I can do?"

"Jess," you chided mildly through a soft laugh. "I want this. I really do. I'm just taking a moment to adjust. But believe me, I'm jealous of the view you have right now. I'd love to see you sinking inside of me."

"Ffff," Jessie nearly cursed, her hands kneading your thighs once more and you smiled triumphantly at her reaction.

She was going to say something, but you sunk down further onto her. Again, Jessie fought the urge to react to how blissful it felt to feel your walls swallow her, soft and oh so warm, fluttering around her as you breathed and moved. This time, your mouth fell open and your eyes shut as she filled you up and it was did nothing but encourage her.

You hadn't sunk down all the way, but you lifted yourself back up until just her tip was inside of your tight entrance. The movement, your tunnel gripping her and trying to keep her inside of you as you lifted yourself, felt beyond incredible.

This time when you sunk down, you did so quicker and sunk down further - almost to the hilt, but not quite. Jessie exhaled through her lips as she moved her hands to your hips.

You rose up once more, again, taking all of Jessie's concentration to not get lost in the feeling before you sank down - all the way this time, bottoming out and resting on her hips.

"Oh shit," you breathed, your hands gripping her forearms. She was about to ask if you were okay when you rose up and sank down again. "Oh my gosh, you are stretching me out. It's good," you added quickly, holding out a hand in defense, anticipating her line of questions with a laugh. "It's," you gave a cock of your head, "really good." You came to in a way and looked at her. "Are you okay? I didn't even ask."

"Oh. I'm good," she said, trying not to laugh. As if she'd be anything but good.

"Okay," you chuckled as you raised an eyebrow, teasing. "Well. How about we get you to something better than 'good'."

"I don't think you need to worry about that," she told you and any further thoughts ceased as you leaned forward, placing your hands on her shoulders and allowing your hips to move forward enough that she nearly slipped out before you dropped your hips once more.

"Oh, and I should say, same as before," you said softly, "if I'm doing anything you don't like or if there's something else you want me to do, just say so."

Jessie shook her head, slow to pull her eyes away from how your hips were moving. She cleared her throat and looked you in the eyes. "I love everything you're doing. And same - tell me if you don't like anything or want something else."

You nodded rapidly, but didn't seem that focused on her words. Your eyes were now closed again as you rolled your hips against hers.

Soon, your tentative movements were long gone and you were steadily riding her cock, rocking up and down, your mouth agape and eyes closed as you moaned now and then, your head falling back and your breasts swaying. Jessie reached up and grasped both of your breasts in her palms, massaging them and gently pinching your nipples. You moaned further, your hands coming up to hers and encouraging her to knead them even harder.

In time, Jessie found herself subconsciously flexing her hips to meet yours as you fell back to her. The heady moan you released the first time she did it encouraged her and she grasped your hips and continued to meet your gyrations.

"Oh fuck, that's so good, Jess," you praised as she pumped up into you. She bit back a smile at how the sound of your skin on hers started to fill the room. She could hear how wet you were; though it was never a question as she slid in and out of you with ease despite how you gripped every inch of her.

Jessie's stamina was usually one of her strong suits. However, no matter what, given how long it'd been since she'd been with someone, tonight was going to be a challenge. Never mind the fact that she was in love with you, you loved her back, and despite what she'd been expecting this morning, here you were on top of her, making love to her and you looked at her with warmth and want.

Despite the reprieve your earlier blowjob had given her, she wasn't going to last long. She had to make sure you came.

She reached inward with one hand to rest her thumb on your clit and began to circle it gently. Your jaw dropped further and you let a small cry, opening your eyes briefly to look at her with a look somewhere between disbelieving and appreciative.

"Oh my God," you panted. "You're making me feel so good. And God you feel so good inside of me."

Jessie exhaled heavily again as she tried to remain focused. Your walls were flexing around her even tighter than before and it was driving her crazy.

"Mm," you grunted, biting your lower lip as you bounced up and down on her, "I think I'm going to cum soon."

Jessie continued to play with your clit, but nodded rapidly.

"Me too."

You moaned deep in your throat. "That's so hot," you said as you leaned down to capture Jessie's lips with your own. The shift in position made it difficult for her to reach your clit, but you didn't seem fazed at all as you kissed her hungrily, moaning into it. You rode her harder and Jessie had to break off the kiss, gritting her teeth harshly as she did everything she could to stave off her climax.

"Go ahead," you whispered into her ear. "Fuck me harder. And cum for me. I want you to." You gasped in her ear as you continued to ride her and it nearly sent her over the edge.

Jessie exhaled audibly as she gripped your hips tightly. She was so close. Where she was simply meeting your thrusts before, she now held you in place and began to slam her hips up into you, causing cries of pleasure to fall from your lips and she felt you tense up and begin to pulse around her cock.

"Oh fuck, Jess," you said, your voice shuddering as you came, your back arching into her as she continue to pump into you from below. She wrapped her arms around the small of your back and rut into you with enough force that the headboard of the bed began to bang against the wall. Renewed cries from you echoes off the walls and Jessie's vision began to narrow.

A few thrusts in, a blinding heat went through her and all the tension and pleasure she'd held back came over her. A muffled moan came out of her as she began spurting jets of cum into the condom, her hips pushed flush against your heat as she held herself in place as her cock twitched inside of you.

When she finally was drained, her body fell back to the mattress, sinking in and you collapsed on top of her. She held you in her arms and you both breathed heavily, Jessie only belatedly realizing the sheen of sweat on both your bodies.

As she regained her senses, she slowly ran her fingers lightly up and down the curve of your back as you lay spent on top of her. Jessie softened inside of you and at one point you shifted and she felt herself pop out of you. You chuckled and kissed her collarbone.

"Holy fuck," you breathed. "That was amazing."

Jessie chuckled. "You did all the work."

You snickered. "Well, the hottest part was the very end. Holy Christ. That was," you lifted yourself up, bracing yourself on her shoulders as you looked down at her with a crooked grin. "unexpected. But amazing."

"I thought you asked me to." Jessie began to blush.

"I did! And it...exceeded expectations. Let's put it that way," you said as you leaned down once more began to kiss her. She grinned into the kiss initially, but soon it deepened and both your hands and hers began to wander once more.

You began to subtly rock your body against hers as you kissed her sensually and she felt herself began to grow hard yet again.

"Shit," she muttered into the kiss, now distracted by the wasted condom on her hardening cock. "Hold on."

You made room for her as she got up and disposed of the condom. She was partially hard when she returned and she caught the gleam in your eye.

"You wouldn't happen to have another condom in your drawer, would you?" She asked.

You shook your head and Jessie hung hers in disappointment before mustering up a smile for you.

"Well, I'm grateful we got to do anything at all," she said. "I'm happy to do...other things for you. Or if you're done, that's totally fine too."

She watched you intently and saw the wheels in your head turning.

"But what if I want to continue?" You asked as you pulled her back down onto you in a kiss, which she readily met. "What if I want you inside me again?"

Jessie felt herself twitch at your words, her kiss stalling as a wave of arousal went through her. She smiled with a disbelieving shake of her head before kissing you again.

"That's pretty risky, isn't it?" She said, though her hands and yours were beginning to wander once more. She felt you shrug.

"The timing isn't that horrible for me right now. I know there's no such thing as an actual 'safe' time, but it's not the worst. And I can go get Plan B in the morning."

Jessie's mind rattled as you gave your proposition. This was a lot. She would've never entertained the thought with other girls.

"I love you, and I've wanted you for so long now. And I know we just had sex, but...all that's done is make me want you more."

She should say 'no'.

"I can come with you in the morning," she said instead. Another pulse went through her as you moaned softly into the kiss.

"Is that a 'yes'?" You asked as you rolled your hips up into her. She shifted, rubbing her hardening cock between the top of your pussy lips and across your clit. You mewled, head collapsing back into the pillow and she took the opportunity to kiss your neck. You gasped and began running your fingers through her hair, pulling her tighter to you.

"That's a 'yes'," she confirmed as she drew her hips back and rubbed her cock across your clit once more.

She pulled back to look at you and kissed your lips slowly. She spoke in earnest. "I trust you." You kissed her deeply, both hands cupping her face now.

"I trust you, too."

Jessie couldn't believe how all of this was unfolding. It was all too good to be true.

She continued to tease your clit with her cock, relishing the way you writhed beneath her and the way your hands caressed her body, hungry and searching. She eventually reached down to feel you and a shiver shot through her as her fingers were met with a pool of wetness at your entrance.

"God, baby, you're so wet," she said in reverie.

"Jess," you said as she kissed your neck while she held herself above you.

"Yeah?" She asked, stilling her movement, your lips hugging her cock as it rest on your clit.

"This is probably not the time, but, you've opened up so much today. So I can't help but think I should be open too."

She frowned as she lifted her head up to look at you.

"I-," you paused. Your cheeks were red; Jessie assumed from arousal and exertion, but she wasn't sure. "I think...," you trailed off. You exhaled and restarted, holding her gaze. "I think I have a bit of a kink."

That was not what she was expecting.

"O-oh," she said. She waited a couple of seconds for you to carry on, but you didn't. "What kind of kink?"

You inhaled deeply, eyes darting away this time.

"Um. Probably seems a bit counter-intuitive since I've only been with girls for years, but...um. Okay-" you looked back at her "-when you told me you had a cock. I mean, I was of course grateful that you were honest with me and you felt safe telling me. But...it's also. Really hot. Like, maybe you can tell," you laughed, "by the fact that I'm on my back, legs spread for you, but I think it's really sexy. And, um, the fact that you can get me pregnant - not that I want to get pregnant right now," you added adamantly, "makes it even sexier." Your cheeks were bright pink now. "I'm not trying to scare you, I swear. Like, the thought that you can get me pregnant, is outrageously hot to me."

Jessie was about to speak, but you went on in a rush.

"Again, I really don't want to get pregnant right now. So please don't think that's where this is going. I very much know that's a joint decision, much, much further into a relationship. That's why I say it's...well, a kink. The idea is turning me on - so much. I don't want it to be a reality, but the idea, the thought of it, the vision of it, it's making me very wet."

Though Jessie's mind was struggling to keep up, her cock standing tall and strong, aching for more said enough. She'd never really allowed herself to indulge in those thoughts, but what you just described made her throb.

"I'm really sorry if-"

She cut off your apology with a hard kiss as she rolled her hips against your clit once more, eliciting a low moan from you as you wrapped your arms around her shoulders.

She didn't say anything further, instead she reached down, positioning her rock hard cock at your dripping entrance and gently moving her hips to push inside you, an even easier task than before with how aroused you were.

Your fingers dug into her shoulders as you moaned and Jessie's back arched up into your touch as your warmth hugged her tightly, that first sensation of slipping in sending goosebumps across her skin.

"Oh fuck, Jess," you breathed. "God, you feel so fucking good in me. I love the way you fill me up."

Jessie swallowed a deep moan and drew back her hips before she slid home once more, her stroke firm, but gentle. Your hands clawed at her back already and she felt a frenzy starting to build inside of her.

She began to build a steady pace, pumping into you and angling her hips to make sure to hit your g-spot.

"Oh my God," you panted as you spread your legs wider for her, and she suppressed a primal growl at the gesture.

Your fingers began running through her hair, digging into her crown now and then as your pleasure mounted.

"Jess," you breathed. "I want to hear you. Please," you pleaded as one leg wrapped around her waist and your other heel dug into the mattress as you continued to writhe beneath her.

Tension sat in her shoulders as she processed your request. Your fingers dug into her crown again and she allowed a faint moan to escape her throat.

"Mm, yes, just like that," you said as you massaged her scalp and opened yourself up even further; she latched onto your neck and began kissing and sucking on the sensitive skin there as she continued to pump in and out of you.

"Oh God, Jess. You fuck me so good," you praised and Jessie grunted in approval of your words, her pace quickening and beginning to suck harder on your neck.

You panted, your hands still caressing her as you spoke, "You can mark me if you want."

At this, Jessie finally let out a growl. She widened her stance, using her thighs to push your legs further apart, one hand tightening your leg around her waist and holding you as she started to bounce her hips off of yours. The sound of her strong thrusts, amplified by her bare cock slipping in and out of your soaking pussy filled her ears and caused the hairs on the back of her neck to rise.

She latched onto your neck and sucked hard to enough to leave a mark. You gasped and she groaned into the kiss.

"Be careful with what you say," Jessie found herself confessing. "If you tell me you're mine, I don't know if I'll be able to let go."

"Oh fuck," you moaned as your brought your fingers to her back and dug your nails in. "It should be me warning you. If you make me yours I'm going to make you do it again and again."

"Oh shit, Y/N," Jessie panted as she began to thrust into you with greater fervour. She pulled her head back enough to examine her work, sure enough there was a bruise forming where she'd just kissed you. She grinned wickedly. "I'm gonna make you mine. Make sure everyone knows you're taken."

You whimpered under her and she grit her teeth with a groan as your dragged your nails across her skin.

"Fuck. Make me yours, Jess. Please," you begged and she began marking up your chest.

The way you moved beneath her, the sounds you were making, the words you were speaking, the it felt to be buried inside of you, it was driving her wild in a way that was entirely new to her. Your earlier words rang in her head and left her wanting more.

"All I can think about is cumming inside of you," she said as she returned to your mouth and bit your lower lip. "The thought of you taking my cum is so sexy."

"Oh Jesus," you panted as you clutched her to you. "I can feel myself dripping onto the bed. I've never been so turned on. I want your cum so bad. I want to feel you cumming inside of me. Makes me yours in a whole other way."

Jessie groaned in your ear and began to really roll her hips, her knees and feet digging into the bed for leverage as she began to pump into you forcefully enough that the bed began to shift and bang against the wall again.

"I'm gonna make you mine," she panted. "I want my cum deep inside of you. Spilling out of you. And fuck, maybe one day it'll take."

"Oh God. Jess, I'm going to cum," you said as you covered your face with your hands, helpless to do anything else as she not only fucked you, but talked you towards your orgasm.

Jessie continued to thrust into you, pressing your body into the mattress with every stroke. Your heat felt like bliss around her and she felt you tightening around her.

"I'm gonna cum," she warned you.

"Please baby," you gasped as you wrapped your legs tightly around her waist. "Cum inside me."

Sweat was beading on her forehead as that tightness between her legs mounted ever more. You cried her name and began to convulse around her, your nails now scratching up her back. She grunted as she thrust into you deeply and coated the inside of your core with ropes of hot cum. She groaned as she poured herself into you, digging her feet into the mattress as she buried herself as deep into you as she could.

You might high and desperate in her ear and she let out a few more guttural moans as she drained herself inside of you.

"Oh my God," you finally panted after Jessie fell slack on top of you, shifting to the side slightly to not put her entire weight on you.

Jessie's mind and body was still in a daze and it was several more seconds before she finally became aware of you idly stroking her hair.

"Are you okay?" She asked, as she lifted herself to look at you.

"Um," you chuckled lightly, bringing a hand up to rub your face, "I'm, um, a little concerned that that is the only kind of sex I'm going to want from now on."

Jessie exhaled into a laugh as she kissed your neck, already pulling another soft moan out of you.

"Shit, me too," she chuckled. "So you liked it?" She asked as her eyebrows rose in question.

You gave her a disbelieving look. "Are you serious? I have never orgasmed like that in my life. Oh my gosh. But I guess you wouldn't know that. I'm sure if you check the sheets you'll see evidence of how much I enjoyed it."

Maybe you were being facetious, but Jessie couldn't help herself and she pulled herself up onto her knees and looked down. Her cock drew out of you to the tip and her jaw dropped at the sight of her length coated in sticky, white cum from both of you and, sure enough, cum dripping down your cheeks onto the soaked sheets.

"Holy fuck, babe," she said as she shifted your legs outward just to even better appreciate the view. "Fuck, it's going to make me hard again."

Her jaw fell further as you reached out and began to stroke her length between your fingers, rubbing your cum all along her.

"That wouldn't be so bad," you teased. Jessie's chest rumbled as she gave you a look of warning.

"Jesus," she breathed as she felt herself hardening yet again and she pushed herself slowly back inside of you, adoring the way your lips wrapped around her and how a ring of cum formed at her base. She looked up when you moaned to see your head falling back into the pillows once more.

"Oh, baby," she said once more as she took in the sight before her. "You look so gorgeous with your legs spread for me."

"Oh God," you said as you dug your head further back into the pillow and ran your fingers through your own hair, shifting restlessly beneath her.

Her thrusts, though slow, still sounded wet and messy. You looked down your body at her devilishly.

"I can hear how much cum you pumped inside of me."

"Mmm," Jessie groaned as she sunk into you, pausing as she held herself deep inside. "How do you know exactly what I want to hear?"

You placed a hand on the back of her neck and pulled her in for a kiss. "I think we're a good match for a reason." She moaned into the kiss and began to pump into you with stronger movements.

"God, I can't tell you how full you make me feel," you gasped as you broke off the kiss, guiding her lips back down to your neck.

"And you feel so fucking good around me. I can barely think," she said.

"Mm, well," you trailed a finger down her spine, sending a shiver through her, "this pussy is all yours. I want you to claim it."

Another primal rush coursed through Jessie's veins at your words. It felt like her skin was prickling - pins and needles - like she was itching to let go and find release. She grunted as she grabbed your legs and pushed them forward, pressing you further into the mattress and resting your ankles on her shoulders. You let out a cry of pleasure as she began to move into you with swift, strong thrusts that left the mattress creaking below you.

Jessie grinned as you whimpered and moaned with every stroke, your nails clawing at her flexed biceps.

"Oh fuck, that's so good, Jess. Oh God, don't stop," you begged.

"Your neighbours are going to know this pussy is mine, too," she declared. "They're going to blush anytime they see you because all they'll picture is you calling out my name."

You released another shuddering moan and Jessie continued to work you over, letting out months of pent up frustrations and leaning into untapped, dormant instincts as she made sure that even if you wanted to move on, no one else would compare.

She continued to pump into you, headboard now certainly leaving dents in your wall before you eventually pushed lightly against her shoulders.

"I have to move," you told her gently and she pulled back right away.

"Sorry," she said and you immediately cut her off.

"Do not be sorry. I'm fucking dripping wet. I just need to shift. How about...," you trailed off and pushed her back a bit again to give you room to climb up onto your hands and knees, presenting your cum-filled pussy for her.

"Holy fuck, you're a vision," she said as she ran her fingers through your folds, adoring the sound and look. You peeked over your shoulder at her with a grin.

Jessie stroked herself a couple of times as she settled in behind you.

"God, you are incredible," she breathed as she took her time watching how your entrance stretched out around her head to accommodate her. She exhaled, her mouth in an 'o' as she watched her cock disappear inside of you.

"Oh fuck, baby," you moaned as you immediately dropped from your hands to your forearms. Your back arched deliciously in front of Jessie and she immediately ran her palms along from your ass to your shoulders and drawing a needy mewl from you. "Fuck me, Jess."

You didn't need to ask twice. She drew her hips back, purposefully withdrawing from you altogether and smiling as you groaned in disappointment before she slipped back in and to the hilt; her bottoming out punctuated by a high moan from you.

She started off slow and steady, teasing you to some degree before she picked up her pace and was soon thrusting in and out of you more rapidly.

Her hands settled on your waist to balance herself as she fucked you, but eventually she shifted one hand down to rest on the lower part of your stomach.

"Jess," you moaned as you reached a hand back to lace your fingers together on your stomach.

An image flashed through her mind of you round and heavy with her baby and she blinked it away for now. That could be something she indulged in far more later. Still, she pressed her fingers into your stomach, caressing you and you moaned deeply, pushing your hips back into hers.

She moved her hand down further and began rubbing your clit. It wasn't long before your legs began to quiver.

This time you gave no notice and you began to spasm and clench around her as you buried your face into the bed, your scream muffled by the mattress.

With your tunnel gripping and massaging her the way it was, it only took a few seconds for her to cum with you. She groaned and her left hand dug into your hip as she pushed herself inside of you, climbing further over you to get as deep as possible as she spilled her seed into your waiting heat once more. She could feel herself pulsing inside of you and she let her head fall back, eyes blinking up at the ceiling as pleasure overtook her entire body.

"Fuck," she panted as she slowly rut into you a couple more times as the final spurts of cum drained from her cock into your waiting pussy.

You collapsed beneath her, her falling to the mattress with you and remaining sheathed inside of your warmth.

Neither of you spoke for what felt like several minutes, though Jessie laid the odd kiss on your shoulder as you both recovered. Finally, she lifted herself off of you, withdrawing as she did so. You groaned in disappointment.

"I liked having you in me and on top of me," you complained.

Jessie was entirely distracted by the cum that overflowed out of you and onto the sheets instead.

"God, I wish you could see this," she said.

You rolled over and reached down. Jessie's cock twitched as she watched you dip your fingers inside of you before pulling out, a thick string of cum bridging from your entrance to your fingers. Your jaw dropped and your eyes flicked up to her.

"Wow," is all you managed to say at first as you examined the cum on your fingers, spreading your digits and seeing the cum stretch between them. "You really did a number on me," you teased and she couldn't help but blush lightly.

You wrapped your mouth around your fingers and sucked her cum off of them. Jessie wore a lopsided grin as she watched you in awe.

"I'm going to be thinking of this night for a very long time," you chuckled as you relaxed into the bed and Jessie came up to lay next to you. You cuddled into her and she kissed the top of your head.

"Oh my God. If the quality of sex alone could get a girl pregnant, fuck, I'm a goner for sure," you told her.

Jessie chuckled. "Well, let's get you that Plan B sooner rather than later, then."

"Seriously," you laughed. "So much for us taking it slow."

As you rest in Jessie's arms, her mind raced to reconcile everything that had just occurred. It was even better than anything she'd dreamt of. You sighed contentedly and snuggled your head further into her shoulder.

She was nearly overwhelmed with emotion as she held you. She'd made girls cum before, numerous times; they'd made her cum, too. But having someone she loved, and someone who loved her, sleeping in her arms after the fact is something that was new to her. Something she'd wanted for so long, but felt easier to dismiss and forget about than to risk being disappointed and hurt.

Yet, here you were in her arms. She squeezed you and kissed your head once more. She didn't want to fall asleep. She wanted this moment to last.

-----

She had no idea what time it was when she fell asleep, but her sleep was both great and restless. It felt astounding to fall asleep with you, but despite everything, she woke up several times, some lingering vigilance preventing her from fully relaxing.

She knew this reaction wasn't logical with you. Everything you'd just shared today and been building over the past few months should assure her otherwise, but she was used to waking up to a cold bed, a girl making an excuse to leave, or even being handed her clothes with an impersonal goodbye.

She woke once as you shifted and got out of bed. Her heart immediately raced as she quietly watched you leave the room. She heard you in the bathroom and you came back a few minutes later and climbed back in next to her.

"Are you alright?" Jessie asked.

"Oh, sorry, babe. I didn't mean to wake you," you whispered as you cuddled into her. "I'm fine. Are you okay?"

Jessie calmed immediately as she felt your warm skin upon hers. "I'm okay."

You sighed quietly and kissed her shoulder. "I love you," you said as you settled in further and quickly fell asleep once more. Jessie was soon to follow.

-----

When she woke next, the sun filtered into the bedroom and illuminated her surroundings. She glanced over to see you in bed next to her still fast asleep.

She exhaled quietly, giving herself permission to remain relaxed and calm. Still, a faint spark of apprehension threatened to burn brighter in her chest. She couldn't shake this old feeling that she was going to be asked to leave. It didn't make any sense; there was no reason for her to expect you to do that, but she couldn't fully snuff out the worry.

When you stirred from your sleep a while later, you immediately smiled upon seeing her and kissed her arm.

"Morning, baby," you greeted.

"Good morning," Jessie smiled.

You asked her how she slept, how she was feeling and Jessie did her best, still, eventually you frowned lightly at her.

"Are you okay?" You asked. "You seem a bit...off."

"I'm okay," she tried to reassure you. You rose up onto your elbow and continued.

"Well, I can understand if you have a lot on your mind. We," you chuckled slightly, a wry smirk on your face, "covered a lot of ground last night. It's okay if you're, I don't know, having second thoughts or concerned. And don't worry - I'm going to the pharmacy as soon as I drag myself out of bed."

Jessie's M.O. was to just clam up and deflect. But, as she looked at you watching her with love and concern, she didn't want to this time. She couldn't.

"I don't know," she started shyly. "I guess, I don't know, some stupid part of me is still expecting to be kicked out. Like, okay, you got what you wanted and now I'm not needed. I know what we have is so much more than that and you're not like that at all, but I guess I can't fully block it out."

Your mouth fell into a frown and you cupped her cheek to kiss her.

"That is not the case at all, baby. I hate that you've been discarded like that. You never deserved to be treated that way," you said softly. "I want you to stay. Very much so."

Jessie managed a smile for you and you kissed her sweetly once more.

"And thank you for telling me. I really appreciate you being open," you added.

She cracked a smirk. "Well, if I want you to keep me, I've gotta communicate a bit better. Make it a little easier for you to stick around."

You shook your head at her with the most adoring look.

"I’m not going anywhere.”

Tag requests: @multifandomlesbianic @marvelwomen-simp @kathleenmikaelson

#jessie fleming #jessie fleming x reader #woso x reader #canwnt x reader #woso imagine #woso smut

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makethemmilky · 2 months ago

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It was the end of May, and the first truly good beach weekend of the year. That was perfect timing for you, because at 8.5 months pregnant it was probably going to be your and only chance to hit the beach before your little bundle of joy arrived. Your wonderful husband had loaded up the car, and then superstar that he was, had dropped you off for some solo beach time while he took the rest of your little ones for a playdate with their cousins. This had become a little tradition of yours, and he was more than happy to give you the little break you deserved.

Once upon a time you had been modest about showing off your transformed body too much in public, but those days were long past. For this excursion you had deliberately crammed yourself into a bikini at the very frontier of respectability, your tiny bottoms stretched scandalously tight over an ass and hips that had gained way too many inches to be covered properly anymore, and the undersized top doing nothing to stop the wobbling of your milk-filled boobs as you strolled along the sand. But more than anything, it was your bump that was most prominently displayed, and you felt all eyes being drawn to it as you slowly waddled up and down the beach looking for the right spot to put down your chair and towel. As a mom of four already you had learned the hard way to avoid being pregnant during the hottest months of the year, but still, all of these shocked/envious/lustful gazes definitely made you fantasize about getting this kind of attention all summer long.

For a while you're content to just sit back in your comfy chair and sip your iced tea while you soak in the sun's gentle warmth against your heavy body. At this point, when you're at your biggest, you are now constantly aware of the size and weight you've become, and it feels delightful to just experience the caress of sun and sea breeze against all of your curves. Through your sunglasses you stare at the beautiful ocean, the perfect blue of the sky, and of course, do a bit of people watching as well. There are plenty of handsome men here, and more than a few women, and the sight of them all is a reminder that you didn't need of how your preggo hormones make you most horny in your final trimester. You make a mental note to mention this to hubby as servicing those needs later tonight.

And then, you see her.

She was young, definitely only in the first couple years of university. You hadn't initially paid attention to her because she'd been lying on her back getting a tan, one more blonde in a pack of college girls taking a post-finals trip to celebrate. But when a group of them, including her, got up to wade into the ocean, your eyes immediately spotted it. Her midsection had a bulge to it, for now still only slightly out of place on her slender frame, but unmistakable to you. You could tell by the ever-so-slight waddle and the way she was unconsciously adjusting her bikini bottom as she moved. Four months along, four and a half at the most, you're certain of it.

For the next 20 minutes you watch as the group of girls goof around in the ocean, their laughter and shouts audible even from your beach chair. But she's not enjoying herself as much, and you can spot the forced nature of her smile. You didn't know the full story and you never will, but you know enough. As you stare at her through your sunglasses, you remember your first pregnancy and how awkward you'd felt before you'd understood the joys and fulfillment in growing life inside of you.

Well, today's her lucky day, you think. Your nipples are poking through the flimsy bikini material at just the thought.

You wait until the girls are done swimming, and your new friend is making her way towards one of the beach showers to wash off sand. With a heave, you pull your heavy frame out of your chair and follow up in hot, but slow, pursuit. At the shower station her back is to you, giving you the element of surprise.

"Oh my! It''s almost too hot out here for me today!" you say. The girl wheels, eyes widening at she takes in how much of you there is. You smile confidently; your instincts were right.

"But it's worth it to be in the water, you know? Being out there really takes the weight off my back," you continue.

"Um, yeah," the girl says, awkwardly. You pay her no mind.

"Right now you're still pretty small so you probably don't need to worry about that. But by the end of the summer…you definitely will want to be floating out there a lot."

Her eyes drop to her slight bump, her face a look of confusion and disappointment. She' upset that you were able to notice. But you also notice that her hands instinctively drop to touch the bump; another good sign.

"Is this your first one?" you asked. She nods.

"Congratulations! You're positively glowing, my dear."

"Thanks, I guess," she replied.

"I mean it!" you continue, stepping closer, your huge dome only inches from her slight bump. "Pregnancy really suits you. Your husband must be thrilled."

"Uh, boyfriend, actually. And it was kind of unplanned, you know?"

"Oh sweetie! Don't you worry about that. I remember my first time, I was barely older than you are now. I promise you'll be just fine! Being a mom is the best, I promise you."

"Really?"

"Absolutely! Why do you think I'm almost done with my fifth here?" you say, rubbing your midsection for emphasis.

"Wow, five kids!" she says, her expression starting to soften a bit. "I can't imagine going through this five times."

"That's funny, I said the same thing! And now look at me. Trust me, once you get a bit bigger, you'll start to understand."

"Understand what?"

"How good it feels to be pregnant. To be able to grow a life inside you. It makes me feel so powerful. Like a fertility goddess."

The girl is giving you an odd look, so you decide to escalate a bit.

"Can you feel any kicking yet?" you ask. The girl shakes her head. "Well, come here then" you say, and grab her hand. Before she can respond, it's pressed firmly against the side of your massive belly. Her eyes light up in exhilaration.

"Is that what it really feels like?"

"Yes! But somehow it feels even better when it's inside you. I can't quite explain it, but you'll understand soon enough."

"Thanks,"the girl says. "Actually I'm glad to hear that. This has all been kind of stressful. My friends have been trying to cheer me up, but they don't really understand." You notice that her hand still hasn't left your bump.

"Of course they don't, they're e still girls, and you're a woman now. You've moved onto a bigger and better stage of your life."

"i've actually been feeling that recently. Like they don't know what I'm going through, or how important it is."

"Like what? Once you've been pregnant with a whole basketball team like I have, you've seen and done it all."

"I'm sure it's nothing interesting for you. Just stuff like gaining weight, eating a lot, feeling my body change, you know."

"Of course I know! But just remember, all of this is happening for a very good reason. You're growing a life inside of you! That's a beautiful thing, and it makes you beautiful!"

"I don't feel beautiful," she replies, a sad look on her face.

"Nonsense! You're fucking gorgeous," you smile. "I meant what I said before, you're glowing and pregnancy really does suit you. I bet your boyfriend is all over you!"

The girl blushes and smiles awkwardly. "Actually, kind of! He says he loves how big my boobs are getting. But…I'm um, kind of too much for him. Like I wear him out and he falls asleep and I still want more. My gosh! I can't t believe I said that!"

"Don't worry, your secret is safe with me! My husband is wonderful, but at this point he knows he can't keep up with me when I'm this big. There's s no shame in getting some extra help, mechanical or otherwise."

The girl's eyes suddenly get very wide." "What do you mean by 'otherwise'" she asks, quietly.

You take one last step closer, and now your bumps are at last touching. For a long moment you say nothing, and then you reach out to take the younger girl's arm. With a gentle tug, you pull her towards an empty changing room.

"Here, let me show you."

#pregnancy #pregnant #pregblr #preggo kink #big pregnant belly #sexy preggo #preg k!nk #sexy pregnant

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forlix · 10 months ago

Text

‧ ❆ ˚ 𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐲 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝・h.j.

— stars flare brightest in the absence of light, and you see his clearer than day.

words・6.4k

pairing・han jisung x female reader

genres・college!au, friends with benefits to lovers, snowed in trope, smut, MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS THAT INTERACT WILL BE BLOCKED, angst, ANGST, you have been warned, hurt/comfort, i can't write normal fluff to save my life, happy ending!!!, semi-slow burn

warnings・depictions of insomnia, recurring nightmares, graphic violence, character death (in the nightmare), fears of abandonment and falling in love, alcohol consumption, humans helping each other heal. smut warnings under the cut

playlist・stay - acoustic by jonah baker・all of me by big gigantic・babydoll (speed) by ari abdul・oasis by exo・volcano by han

a/n・hi, here's my second installment of winter falls. writing this was immensely challenging and twice as meaningful, so feedback would be greatly appreciated. thank you to my may for being so fucking instrumental in piecing together this rollercoaster—this one is for you, i love you. thanks to my sahar for everything, always and forever. and thanks to all of you for being here. happy new year ♡

smut warnings・spitplay, unprotected piv, please practice safe sex!!!, car sex, dirty talk, jisung's dick game is kinda crazy, squirting, lots of aftercare

Every time Jisung closes his eyes, he sees somebody’s back.

It’s leaving. Traipsing somewhere he can’t follow. He tries to chase it—he always does, he never learns—but the premise doesn’t so much as surface before the ghosts circling around his ankles go for his throat instead. They snare him by the shoulders, force him to his knees, slam his forehead into the permafrost hard enough to break bone. They make sure the next time he tries to move will be the last.

So he remains, keeled over in the cold, until tearwater clings to his lower lashes in small icicles. Until bloodstained snow coats his lips like the manifestation of a curse. Until the back has disappeared.

Who does it belong to? He’s left to wonder. Where is it going?

Why can’t I follow?

Then he wakes up.

No longer does he lay awake for hours afterwards, scouring the dream’s every frame for his answers.

Now, he tosses and turns in clammy sheets until his exhaustion wins.

Now, he welcomes sleep like a miracle granted by some pitying god.

You see him.

Through a living room packed with red-faced partygoers and dissected by oscillating strobe lights, albeit, but you see him anyways.

Jisung can barely make out the rest of your face—he blames the lighting, or the soju, or both—but your eyes alone turn him to glass. Not a fancy vase through which the world distorts, but a simple pane that puts him and his ghosts on full display.

He hopes you like horror movies.

Felix knows you, because of course he does, and Jisung has never been happier to call the extroverted Australian his friend than when you come over to say hi. You stumble out of the crowd all smudged makeup and sweaty skin, your figure hugged by a short black dress with two diamond-shaped openings just above your hips, your glossy lips curved in a drunken smile. Jisung immediately wants it against his mouth.

Instead, it disappears behind his friend as you pull him into a quick hug. A few wisps of your hair dust over Jisung’s arm, momentarily replacing the smells of grease and vodka with cherry blossoms and vanilla.

“Lix, hey!”

“Darling, it’s good to see you! Feels like it’s been ages.”

“I know, right? How are you? How is everything?”

“Good, thank you. Just happy the semester’s over.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Then you go to lift your drink and discover thin air in its place. “Or I won’t. Whoops.”

This prompts Jisung’s first contribution to the conversation—and his first effortless laugh in a long while.

“Eventful night, huh?”

He meets your gaze from all of two feet away this time, and his knees buckle under him. That gaze, fuck. So clear and true, like a prism of glass refracting light into a rainbow. He would let you refract him a thousand times over if he had any light to give.

“Maybe,” you giggle. “Seems I’m a little too happy the semester’s over.”

“Wanna not get a drink to celebrate?”

Your expression flickers. Not in a bad way, more like you hadn’t expected him to ask so soon—or for yourself to have your answer so quickly.

A strobe light catches right under your eye and refracts the color in your blushing face. A rainbow.

“I’d like that.”

He tilts his head towards the kitchen. You give Felix’s elbow a light squeeze before moving past him; he gives Felix a glimpse of his growing smile before falling into step behind you. The blonde shakes his head, throws back the rest of his beer, then swivels at the sound of someone calling his name from across the foyer.

Felix will get drunk enough to forget the sight of you leading Jisung up the stairs, two bottles of pink lemonade tucked under your arm. Nothing stronger, as promised.

Jisung asks his question an entire minute after he intends to. “Where are we going, by the way?”

“Somewhere I can see your pretty face without having to squint,” you reply, and his stomach tumbles like a schoolboy with a valentine.

You don’t stop at the second floor. Instead, you nudge open a door Jisung swears just materialized to his left and emerge into the night air.

It’s warm for December, but he’s still met with chilly winds licking down the sides of his neck. That’s not the only reason he shudders, though. Below his feet, he finds a metal platform akin to that of a fire escape. Above his head, a staircase that looks one forceful step away from dropping off the side of the building.

You turn towards it.

In a hurry, he sputters, “I’m, uh—I’m not sure about this.”

A beat passes. Your hold on his wrist loosens, not to let go, just to trace wordless reassurance down the back of his hand. Your fingers feel perfect sliding into the spaces between his, like drops of honey in the craters of soufflé pancakes.

“It’s safer than it looks, I promise.”

Jisung heaves a sigh. It seems saying no to you is an impossible task.

You’re right, though. The iron rungs are surprisingly rigid beneath his feet, and the two of you make it to the roof with no trouble. He does stumble when you pull him up onto the gravel, but it’s intentional, a purposeful blunder to have you closer. To snag another glimpse of that blush, another trace of that floral vanilla.

“Sorry,” he whispers almost directly upon your lips. And that earns him all three.

The next hour evades him for the most part, and Jisung is pissed about it. He’s with the woman of his dreams under a sky so clear it’s almost lustrous and he’s too shitfaced to recollect when he gave you his hoodie to wear; what you said that made his lungs capsize with how hard he laughed; how you ended up so close to each other, your legs strewn over his lap, his hands tracing over your thighs.

Thankfully, he remembers a few things. He remembers how frighteningly easy you are to talk to; he remembers your habit of smacking his stomach when you get flustered; he remembers you getting flustered a lot. He remembers the timbres of your different laughs and how your stunning features crinkle with each. He remembers feeling like a pane of glass in front of you, just like he had downstairs, and he remembers liking it, somehow. Liking the way you see through him, the way you allow him to just exist as he is. Liking the way you acknowledge his ghosts with such nonchalance, inviting them over for tea and biscuits.

He wants to remember everything about you.

It’s not often he wants to remember anything.

Eventually, your conversation comes to a natural close. In its absence, Jisung notices that the alcoholic sludge in his brain has largely diffused; with it, the rumbling bass of the party below. The full moon hangs at its highest point, blanketing the two of you with anticipatory silence, nudging you towards the only topic you’ve yet to breach.

He meets your gaze again, from all of two inches away this time, and his insides twist.

“You’re still drunk, aren’t you?”

You blink at him, not following. Then he leans his forehead against yours, lets his eyes flicker to your mouth with such unbridled want that you’re instantly dizzy—and no longer confused.

Regret pools in your eyes moments before they close. “Yes, I think so.”

Your lips are so, so close that he can feel the air shift between you when they move, can feel the soft warmth emanating from them. Jisung pulls away before he does anything stupid.

You do the stupid thing for him.

You push his shoulders to the plaster behind him, push yourself onto his lap with a swing of your body and a slotting of your legs on either side of him.

The plush of your thighs hugging his hips, the curves of your breasts pressed against his chest, Jisung tries to stare up at you, perplexed, aroused. But you’re so close that he can’t, so he settles with whispering upon the underside of your chin, “what are you—”

“Gimme your lemonade.”

The authoritative words come out in a slurred haze, and he all but hastens to oblige.

You pluck the plastic bottle from his wavering grasp. His empty hand hovers as if uncertain where to go. But matters as trivial as hand placement drop off his mind’s precipice as he watches you unscrew the cap, the slope of your neck illuminated by spindly moonlight, and without thinking he pushes his hands beneath the hem of your—his—hoodie.

The skin of your waist is warm and smooth where his fingertips are cold and calloused, the juxtaposition unimportant in your reciprocal desires to touch and be touched.

“Open,” you murmur.

His jaw goes slack, firstly from pure disbelief. Then, obedience. The dark locks that obstruct his vision of you fall away as his head meets the brick half-wall behind him, as if the midnight breeze itself mandated their removal.

You pour some of the pink liquid past Jisung’s parted lips. Stray rivulets slip down his cheek and vanish beneath his neckline. You break eye contact to follow their path with dilated pupils and fluttering lashes. With unadulterated desire.

He swallows, gently, and feels the sweet substance surround his tonsils.

He swallows, forcefully, when you wrap your lips around the bottle, the plastic still slathered in his spit.

The swig you take is long, deep. Your throat bobs and your eyes close as if you’re savoring a finely-aged nectar. Then your lips are popping off the opening with a soft thwock, leaving a thick strand of saliva to suspend, suspend, suspend until the very second it’s about to drop, which is when you collect the residue with a deft swipe of your tongue.

“A placeholder,” you breathe, and Jisung’s head careens. A shared bottle. An indirect kiss.

“You’re a monster,” he croaks.

You giggle and lean down, curling a hand around his cheek, pressing a wet kiss to his Adam’s apple.

“Tomorrow, if we’re both sober…”

One, two, three pecks up the length of his jaw.

“...and you still remember my address…”

A suckle to the lobe of his ear.

“...you can kiss me, for real.”

A trembling breath.

“And then some.”

Jisung moans, loudly.

Thankfully, he remembers a few things.

He shows up at your place shortly after sunset the next day. You swing open the door, your face already alight with your world-ending smile.

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

Then he’s kissing you like a man famished.

Jisung learns to love your back, that night. He loves its dips and curves, loves its rise and fall. Loves how it arches into him, how it looks drenched in his cum. It’s the back of his dreams.

The back in his dreams keeps walking.

Jisung has never liked winter.

He has never liked its winds, whispering woefully as if mourning something unnamed and unseen. He has never liked its palette, whitewashing the world as if refracting a rainbow in reverse.

He has never liked cracking open his eyes and seeing the scenery of his nightmare outside his window. Nor does he like trudging over the sleet as if weighed down by the same ghosts that break him time and time again in his dreamscape. They love winter.

And this winter, he swears, is the bitterest yet. On the nights when he’s allowed to sleep, the nightmare comes in such sharp relief that he thinks he’d rather anything else, the ghosts meaner, the blood redder, the silhouette slower. It’s an act of mercy when he’s still awake by the time bleached sunlight perforates the curtains, resting upon his salted cheeks and balled fists.

This winter, it is not just dislike that he feels towards the gray winds—it’s hatred. A maelstrom of loathing so large and dark that Jisung no longer knows where it’s headed or what it’s directed to. Or who.

When winter break comes to an end, he’s probably the only person who’s happy about it.

His friends certainly aren’t, looking like a line of angry nutcrackers with their folded arms and thunderous faces standing outside Greem Cafe.

Jisung calls out a greeting as he jogs towards them, and cue the grumbling.

“What is there to smile about? Enlighten us.” That’s Hyunjin. “I have to deal with four finals and three essays in the next five days and this guy is smiling.”

“He’s accepted his fate, I reckon.” That’s Felix. “We should do the same, boys. Let ourselves down easy, y’know?”

“No, no, he’s smiling because he remembered to bring me his chem notes.” That’s Jeongin. “You did, right? Please say you did.”

Jisung is stunned into silence. “Can I not be happy to see my friends?”

“No,” Hyunjin and Felix reply in unison.

“My bad,” he sighs.

“My notes,” Jeongin repeats.

“I have them, dude. Let’s sit down first.”

The younger boy shouts an impassioned “THANK YOU” at the sky like the clouds just saved his GPA. Jisung reaches for the door to the café, then stops at the sound of Felix’s voice.

“We’re waiting on one more person.”

He turns towards the blonde with puzzled eyes. He’d been under the impression the study session would comprise just them four.

“Who?”

Felix’s response falters on his tongue when he catches sight of something in the distance, and his face changes in a way Jisung’s seen before.

“Look behind you.” Felix shuffles past him, raising his voice to shout, “yo!”

Jisung glances away from the newcomer as quickly as he sees her. It’s not until his eyes pivot to the fire hydrant across the street that he processes her identity.

In one second flat, his mind clutters full. He thinks back to that party, when all it took was the sight of your smile for him to theorize you were the most exquisite thing ever made. He thinks back to the next evening, when he kissed you and verified his hypothesis. He thinks back to what followed and would continue to follow in the few days that remained before break: entwined tongues and emblazoned hickeys, whitened knuckles and whiny praise, snapping hips and shaking bedframes.

This winter, Jisung swears, is the bitterest yet.

But seeing you, the scarf wound multiple times around your neck doing nothing to hide your gorgeous smile, feels like catching a fragment of summer in his frozen hands.

“Thank god,” Felix groans before embracing you. Collapsing on you, more like. “I’m saved.”

You reach around to pat the boy on the back, your eyes brimming with laughter. “Lower your expectations, please. I did well on one exam.”

“You aced the midterm. That automatically makes you a rocket scientist,” Felix corrects, his voice muffled into the shoulder of your coat. A few beats of silence pass. Then, “this is comfy.”

“Okay, okay, let’s go get some caffeine in you,” you giggle. “We have a lot of ground to cover today.”

Felix straightens up sleepily. And sadly. “Superb.”

Jisung hangs back as you introduce yourself to Hyunjin and Jeongin. He doesn’t even notice his growing smile until you’re standing directly in front of him and for the first time in three weeks there’s the smell of cherry blossoms in the air and a rainbow shining on his face again.

“Hi,” he offers.

“Hey,” you reply.

Hyunjin is the one to shatter the prolonged silence that follows. “Are you guys betrothed?”

Felix and Jeongin stalk into the café snickering. You and Jisung trail behind with flaming cheeks.

It takes Jisung two and a half hours to talk to you again. At that point in the afternoon, Felix is napping on the second practice test you’ve given him; Hyunjin has downed three shots of pure espresso and is currently viewing his screen with concerning intensity; Jeongin is at another table on a quiet Zoom call with his chemistry T.A., Jisung’s notes clutched to his chest like a life vest. And you’re leaning back against your seat opposite to him, scrolling through your phone in what he presumes to be a well-deserved study break. As good a time as any.

He opens up his texts with you. His fingers fly across the keyboard.

Jisung: do you have plans after this?

Your eyes stutter to the top of your screen, linger there for a moment, and lock onto Jisung’s from across the table.

He presses his lips into a thin line to suppress his smile. You let yours spill over in full form, and with it comes a soft giggle that would be worth getting his number fucking blocked just to hear one more time.

Three gray dots appear before elongating into a prompt response.

Y/N: I was gonna ask you the same thing…

He’s the one who laughs this time. Fuck, you’re cute. You’re so cute.

Jisung: can i take you to dinner? Y/N: Yes, I’d love that :) Y/N: When should we leave? Jisung: 9? Y/N: Sounds good~ Jisung: cool Jisung: it’s a date Y/N: It’s a date! Y/N: Excited 💛

With that, you put your phone face down and return to work, though your lips remain privately upturned. Jisung wants to kiss them again.

He also wants to turn you into a mess on his cock again.

Or both.

He doesn’t get much studying done after that thought surfaces.

Jisung: me too <3

When nine o’clock rolls around, you and Jisung begin cleaning up your work stations in near-perfect simultaneity. There’s confusion written all over Hyunjin’s and Jeongin’s faces as they watch you swing your backpacks over your shoulders—but Felix’s expression is a blank slate as he sips from his macchiato. Your ingenuity isn’t the only reason he invited you today.

As you make your way out of the café, your shoulders brush once, twice, and then Jisung drops his hand into the space between the two of you without uttering a word. You scoop it up in your own without missing a beat.

He steps into the freezing night feeling warm all over.

“You know what I realized?” You say as you walk towards his SUV.

“What did you realize?”

“We’ve never had a sober conversation before. Can we change that tonight?”

Jisung has broken hearts before.

There’s no euphemistic way to describe his tendency to abuse the sensitive organs, to wring them out and throw them away like irrelevant trash. To juggle and drop them with a sheepish laugh like they’re nothing more than props in a circus act.

He doesn’t do it to save himself or his partners from getting hurt or any self-ingratiating bullshit like that. It’s for himself, all for himself. All to unload his balls and his mind for fifteen blissful seconds.

There’s blood on his hands. He never cared to wash it off.

Except you are the one asking for his heart this time around, a dash of hope in your smile as you do so, and he thinks it would be his life’s greatest honor to be discarded by you.

“Sure,” he answers.

He doesn’t even last until he’s inside the car.

Your back meets the door to the passenger’s seat, guided there by his hands on your hips. From millimeters away he watches your surprise morph into understanding, then darken into lust.

“I like when we don’t talk, though.”

It’s the most annoying thing in the world to remove so many layers in such a cramped space.

Combined, your clothing forms a tower high enough to block out the driver’s window completely. An unnecessary blockade.

The glass fogs up anyways.

“Fuck, Ji, yes, right there, oh my god.”

You have your legs spread open and the back of your neck digging into the cupholder on the door. It’s not comfortable. You’re too busy getting fucked open to care.

Jisung detaches his lips from your neck to ask, “here, baby?”

The head of his cock hits that gummy spot again, harder, sweeter. You convulse, your hand scrambling for purchase in his raven locks.

“Yes, yes, yes, don’t stop, please.”

Please. The word plays over in his fuzzy mind.

It seems saying no to you is an impossible task.

His cock slips out of you and you lament the loss of contact with a high wail.

“W-why’d—where’d you go?”

He can’t help but chuckle at how incoherent you’ve become. He cradles the back of your head with a tender hand and lowers your upper body onto the leather seat, adjusting himself to your new elevation.

“Right here, beautiful. Didn’t go anywhere—promise—”

He expels the final word through gritted teeth as he slams into you again, and the new angle is glorious. Your bodies keen in flawless harmony. Profanities tumble from his lips in a steady stream before they turn back into syllables.

“Would never go anywhere. Would never leave without making this pretty pussy cream like it deserves—holy fucking shit, baby.”

You clench around him at his words and then he’s setting a new, relentless rhythm, rocking the whole vehicle with every hearty smack of his hips against yours, your wet walls squeezing him so dreamily he thinks he sees nirvana with every thrust.

You’re enjoying it just as much, if the bubbles of spit in the corner of your mouth are any indication, and Jisung is viciously proud to be the cause. Unbelievably lucky to feel your breasts jiggling under his chest and your nails digging into the back of his neck.

“Good?” He whispers, and you nod blissfully.

“So—good, Ji, so fucking good. Your cock is perfect, fuck, I can’t even—can’t even think.”

“You’re the perfect one. Can’t believe how well your cunt takes me, shit. It’s like it was fucking made for this.”

“It was,” you breathe, and he nearly shoots his load into you at this alone. “It was, it was—oh, god, I think—think I’m gonna come—”

“Do it,” he rasps. “Come for me. Come on this cock and it’s yours.”

“R-really?”

“Really.”

“Then, I will. I’ll come on your cock—make it mine. Need it so fucking bad, I’m so fucking close, oh—please—”

He anchors himself in place with a hand against the windowsill and the other travels down your body to rub fast, tight circles into your clit. You let out a wanton, prolonged moan, tilt your head back to expose him to your fluttering throat. And then you’re pulling his lips onto yours again, and the following kiss is sloppy beyond belief, the kind that can only antedate the happiest of endings.

“My cock,” you sigh into his mouth. “Mine.”

“Forever,” is the breathy response he doesn’t know if he means, the response he gives you anyways.

And then you curl your fingers in his hair. Clamp your teeth around his lower lip. Clench your thighs around his waist. There’s liquid everywhere. Tearwater spilling down the sides of your face. Release gushing all over his dick and pelvis and backseat.

He catches up the moment he realizes what’s just happened. Pulls out of you. Presses his head against the roof of his car. Spits on his hand. Pumps his pulsating cock. Sends himself over the edge you’ve just finished tripping over.

Eventually, he regains feeling in his limbs.

He opens his eyes, surveys the damage, and grins.

Your stomach is covered in ropes of white, your expression hidden behind your hands. You start shaking your head in profuse embarrassment the moment you feel his eyes on you.

“You squirted,” he says.

“I know,” you almost yell, and his grin erupts into a laugh.

He lowers himself back over you, takes your wrists, and removes them from your blushing face. He doesn’t think he’s seen you so flustered before and it has him palpitating in ways he never thought feasible.

Maybe he did mean the damn thing after all.

He pushes off the strands of hair clinging to your damp forehead and replaces them with a gentle kiss. “It was sexy as fuck and you’re everything.”

There’s a certain softness in your eyes when he pulls away. He hopes, for your sake, it’s all in his head.

His car is in need of aftercare most of all. You shrug on your clothes with considerable effort and get to work, all while sharing comfortable chatter and easy laughter.

Those things persist during your dinner date at a nearby Chinese restaurant and the drive back to your place, which Jisung knows well enough to no longer need his GPS. Those things persist until he kisses you goodbye on your doorstep, because he would have to be fucking crazy not to after you gave him the best night he’s had in so long.

After you reminded him that he’s still capable of comfort and ease, in spite of it all.

Snow comes a few weeks into the new year.

This winter, it falls late, and it falls hard, like a gust of breath expelled from drawn lungs at the very last minute. Held there as if lying in wait for something unnamed and unseen.

The gust of breath is too quiet to be heard over the one Jisung lets out against the shell of your ear. “Wait here.”

He goes to roll off you. You don’t let him just yet, darting your hand around his wrist and bringing his face back within centimeters of yours.

Han Jisung is beautiful. You knew it for the first time at that houseparty and you’ve known it every hour of every day since. But it’s always clearest to you in the afterglow, when his bare skin is golden and sticky and his delicate lips bitten to bright fuchsia.

When his irises have gone black and you see stars, flaring in the absence of light.

You close the distance that remains between you. Your lips part with a content sigh. Your hands drift over the slant of his neck; his find home in the dips above your waist.

He breaks away once you’re both out of breath, and the pad of his thumb wipes lightly at your lower lip.

“Everything okay?”

“Yes,” you reply shyly. “I couldn’t help myself.”

The smile this brings to his face reminds you of a candle’s flame. Soft on the eyes and scalding to the touch when he presses it back against your lips. Once, twice.

“Can you wipe your cum off me now?” You whisper, and he laughs straight into your mouth.

The mattress lifts. His footsteps grow quieter. You shiver in his absence.

Only then do you notice the blizzard.

You stumble off the bed to throw your curtains aside. Snow descends from the sky like spools of unraveling yarn. The streetlights have been reduced to foggy specks, the parked cars to blurry heaps. Every sidewalk and rooftop in sight has already been slathered in ivory.

Jisung announces his return with a disbelieving whistle.

“Am I dreaming?” You murmur.

“When did that happen?”

“I have no idea.”

You don’t even notice the wild smile on your face until you turn to him and catch his reaction to it. He looks like he’s asking himself the same question.

“C’mere,” he hums, and you oblige.

He laves the warm towel over your breasts and stomach, as well as the places his release has trickled since you flung yourself to your feet. All while supporting the small of your back with a touch fatally careful, an expression wholly adoring. All evidence of just how blurry the line between sexual escapade and lover has become in two short months.

Your ribcage fucking throbs.

“You don’t seem excited,” you say.

He finishes cleaning you off. You give him a distracted thank you, noticing the sudden shadow draped over his face like a netted veil.

“I’m not,” he answers, not unkindly.

“You don’t like snow?”

“Not really.”

“Why?”

He circles around the bed to get dressed. You bend to pick up the clothes tossed aside earlier and drop them into your hamper, then slip into a clean pair of underwear and sweatpants.

“It’s a long story.”

Just as you reach for a top, a bundle of cloth travels in an arc across your bedroom and hooks itself around the crook of your arm. His T-shirt.

You glance at Jisung. He’s already looking elsewhere, but his private smile makes its way onto your face as you slip it on.

“Well, I have time.” You sink into your mattress, now surrounded by his muted musk, his papyrus and petrichor. “We’ll be stuck here a while, after all.”

“Stuck?” Jisung repeats, the lanyard of his car keys dangling from the pocket of his hoodie, his feet turned towards the door.

A pregnant pause commences. His intentions dawn, and you gape.

“You’re not driving right now.”

He breaks eye contact.

“Right?”

That was the plan, you read in his expression.

You know better than trying to reverse a river’s current by kicking up rocks. You know better than trying to curtail the flight of an albatross by clipping its wings.

You know better than asking someone who thinks he was made to leave to stay.

And you won’t.

“I have somewhere to be early tomorrow morning,” he stammers, the lines terribly rehearsed. “The snow’s not heavy, I’ll be—”

“Stay.”

You’re not asking.

Jisung looks at you, startled, as you glide across the bed. You place your feet on the hardwood and circle your arms around his waist. Lace your fingers upon the hollow of his back. His pulse goes uneven at your abrupt proximity.

Akin to the drag of a feather, you mouth at his cheek, then the side of his neck.

“You can stay, Jisung.”

He shudders at your words, and you’ve got him.

It’s oddly normal, the sight of him clambering into your bed in your clothing—a pair of old sweatpants and your favorite crewneck—like this isn’t the first time you’re sleeping together in your two months of sleeping together.

In fact, the only indication of anything unordinary is the floaty feeling in your stomach when your head hits the pillow and discover Jisung’s face only inches away. He drapes an arm over your waist, gathering you close. You nuzzle into the crook of his neck.

The inevitable question follows.

“Can I save the story for another time?”

“Sure,” you return, keeping your voice small. He doesn’t hear your disappointment this way. “Should we go to sleep, then?”

“We should.”

Your foreheads touch. Your noses bump together. Your eyes cross, watching the adoration pull at his. You dimly register your hand threading in his fluffy locks, his thumb running over your cheekbone. Your lashes narrowly miss the surface of his eyes, and then he tips your face up by millimeters.

You don’t remember when you fall asleep. You only recall the hour beforehand that you spend with Jisung’s lips traversing yours, like you are the ocean and he’s uncovering new waters with every bruise he prints against your throat, every suckle he leaves around your tongue.

In your dream, the roles reverse and you are the one exploring him, mapping out his constellations with wide-eyed wonder.

You wake to a black hole.

For the first five seconds, you see nothing. You hear nothing. You feel nothing. You only blink in the darkness, your mind kicking into groggy gear to ask the very good question of why you’re conscious again.

Instinct moves your hand across the mattress. Empty space greets you where Jisung should be. Unfounded dread shoves your back off the bed. You gasp, the sound seeming to echo in the cavernous silence.

Your eyes adjust enough to discern light in the crack beneath your door, and you’re wide awake.

The following events go by in a blur. You stumble out of bed and into your closet, fastening your fingers around the thickest piece of fabric you find. You fly into the living room, where the lamp by the couch is left on and the pair of worn black Converse on your doormat have gone missing.

The front door is cracked open, and through the narrow inches you spot someone hunched on the stairs outside, his dark hair dyed platinum by the awning light’s fluorescence.

Your heart stills in relief, then quickens with anxiety.

You’ve tried wearing this crewneck in January enough times to know you can’t. In fact, you suspect that it somehow soaks up the temperature, lets it seep in between its every seam until it becomes one with the bitter winds.

But he isn’t shivering, you notice as you take a seat next to him, draping the puffer over both of your shoulders on your way down. He’s simply staring off into the bleak storm, snowflakes sitting atop his head like a coating of ash, their color matching that of his frozen skin. He’s becoming one with the bitter winds.

At first, you don’t recognize the man in front of you.

You’re well familiar with those ring-laden hands and the whetted jawline thrown into shadow, those remnants of cologne clinging to his frame. But you have never seen that gaze before, bloodshot and bleak and belonging to somebody new. Somebody who isn’t completely here, straddling the partition between the realms of people and phantoms.

Then he lifts his eyes and you see stars, flaring in the absence of light. Your stars.

And you recognize him for the first time ever.

You drop your hand to your hip, and his fingers feel stiff and cold and perfect, sliding into the spaces between yours.

“Why don’t you like snow?” You ask.

Jisung’s eyes return to the swirling sleet, but he moves your interlocked hands to rest on his thigh, and you know that he’s with you.

He’s been having this nightmare.

It takes place in a small clearing. It’s winter, and everything is covered in snow. Not the gentle kind that you can catch on your tongue, but the unyielding kind that’s hard and dense and covered in cracks, like a lake newly frozen over.

Somebody is in front of him, walking away. He can only see their back. He wants to chase after them. He doesn’t want to be left behind. But there are ghosts nearby, and they’ll split his skull open on the permafrost and tie his windpipe into a pretty bow if he so much as dreams of pursuit. He always does. He doesn’t know how not to.

Normally, the back leaves, and he can do nothing but remain. He can direct his loathing only to the snow into which he bleeds.

Normally, he waits for the dream to end with something bordering on boredom. He’s seen this movie too many times. He fucking hates how it ends.

This time, though, the snow tastes like something.

After the flavors deliquesce upon his tongue, his head shoots up, his eyes blowing wide as they latch onto the retreating figure. He knows who it is.

His feet scrabbles against the ice with his attempts to rise to them. He lunges forward with frenzied resolve, and that is when the ghosts snap his neck.

He wakes up.

“Cherry blossoms and vanilla.”

You blink, tearwater streaking from your eyes in silent, steaming trails.

“That’s—”

My shampoo.

A broken sob escapes you in lieu of the rest of your sentence, and Jisung laughs, a flimsy facade that crumbles when he lifts his hand to dab at your moistened cheeks and it’s trembling.

“Silly,” he murmurs. “I’m used to it now.”

“I don’t want you to be.”

“I don’t want you to cry for me.”

“You died.”

“And I would do it again.”

This response comes without an shred of hesitation.

You first realized you had something to confess, that night in the the back of Jisung’s SUV. You’ve kept it locked away for your sake and his, even moreso. You see how fear clings to him like an unshakeable wraith, and you refuse to feed the parasite.

Now, your confession explodes from its fortress in the center of your soul and rises up your larynx. You panic like an inept security guard letting their only prisoner bolt free. Is it really the right time? Do you know what to say? Have you really thought this through?

Too late. It’s rushing to the point of your tongue already. You suppose you’ll find out.

He saves you the trouble.

“Honestly?”

Your confession stills.

“I don’t know if I’m okay, and I won’t try to convince you otherwise. You’d call my bluff. You’re good at that.

“But everything feels okay when I’m with you. You see me. You allow me just to exist as I am. You make me feel human again—you make me want to feel human again. You empty my mind.”

You feel as if you’ve been ejected into space naked, griping for air where there is none.

“I never believed in having somebody to lose,” he utters, gently leaning his forehead against yours. “But I would rather disappear than watch you go.”

You cradle his jaw with shaking fingers, trying and failing to quell the violence of your emotion.

“Don’t go,” he exhales.

You kiss him.

It should feel the same as before. You reach for the slant of his neck, him the dips above your waist. You sigh into him, parting your lips, and he moves into you deeper, harder, dipping into your mouth with his tongue’s pliant swipe. But there’s something new in the way you hold each other, in the seal of your mouth against his.

The line between sexual escapade and lover vanishes as if swept off the sand and into the sea. His stars come out of hiding at last and they bathe you in their residue, light your heart aglow.

Your confession resurfaces. It wants to stargaze also.

“I love you too,” you breathe.

The night comes and goes.

The two of you spend it entangling, sweating, your lips glued the expanse of his neck and the arcs of his shoulders, writing over the ghosts’ injuries with bruises of your making.

Only when the winds have faltered outside do you attempt to rest again. You are curled up in balmy bliss, utterly depleted. Jisung’s arms around your middle and legs threaded among yours bring you that much closer to slumber’s cusp.

You attribute it to your exhaustion when he mumbles something against you, and you have no idea what it means: “Thank you for refracting me.”

Your confusion is palpable in your silence. His laugh hits the nape of your neck with a gentle puff, and he kisses the spot just beneath your ear. “Never mind.”

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hoseoksluna · 2 months ago

Text

LIFE | jhs

pairing: military!hobi x f. reader (ft. namjoon)

genre: slow burn ; tension ; converse high trope / smut, tiny fluff

word count: 8.6k

summary: hoseok has always had a secret thing for you and once he learns you're single, he doesn't waste time and knocks on your door.

pinterest board: life / playlist: listen / taglist: join / discord: join

warnings: mutual pining, hobi is a feet guy, mentions of a partner giving you a cold shoulder and silent treatment, strong tension, praise kink, petting, nipple play, oral sex (f. receiving), overstimulation, slight dd/lg, raw and rough sex, size kink.

note: SHE'S BACK. HOSEOKSLUNA IS BACCKKKKKKKK. HELLO, MY BABIES. I MISSED YOU ALLLLL SOOOO MUCH AND I MISSED WRITING SO MUCH THAT THIS IS SOMETHING I WROTE IN MY YEARNING TOWARDS THE END OF MY HIATUS. fuck, this is way too hot. and i, again, had to take breaks to do something :D actually, i was inspired to write this at 4 am when i landed in my country after my vacation in dubai and got the weverse notification from hobi. :) yep. he ruined me, destroyed me, and i had to start writing. ENJOY THIS FILTHHHHHH. i missed writing abt dd/lg, too.... hehe. let me know what you think. and if you mayhappsss want part two? I LOVE YOU, MY BABIES. MWAH.

Hoseok, at your doorstep bringing in the moonlight before the midnight hour, was not something you quite expected to see when you heard the bell ring. You were lounging around on your couch, clothed in your new silky pajamas that you bought to heal your wounded heart a little, along with a peachy Korean face mask, a banana vape and a vanilla candle that you lit up as soon as you exited the shower. The creamy white sheet is what you were still wearing on the planes on your face when you stood there, taken aback because the man, clad in his military uniform, was certainly not your friend that visited you often.

Hoseok was a mutual friend. A friend of your best friend Karina… and a friend of your now ex-boyfriend Namjoon. A friend that hated your guts—a friend that could not stand you.

A friend that would let his eyes linger a little while longer on you upon seeing you on regular night outs and then ignore you for the rest of the event. A friend that would lock his gaze on your intertwined hand with Namjoon’s before narrowing it and scoffing in a private way that you invariably saw through.

You weren’t stupid. You knew what his deal was—it’s only that you couldn’t do anything about it. You were Namjoon’s for eight wonderful months that were splotchy with the depth of poetry. Words from his heart that would give your life meaning, keep your head up above the surface. You needed those words as you spent your whole girlhood drowning in the sea of FOMO, rowing your arms through the waves of life that never got you anywhere. Seeing the little beauty of day and night of Seoul with your friends paled in comparison with what Namjoon showed you. You always believed that your life would begin with a man by your side—you prayed for it, you waited for it and it became reality.

But it was not the reality that your body sought in the long run.

Yes, the sex was great. Significant to your mental development, especially to your female one as you truly did become a woman in his hands, letting the lush girlish version of you die in his palms. As well as the museums, the hikes, the dinner dates that let you in on the complexity of Namjoon’s intellect that you found so profound and full of beauty.

But as you nearly reached a year with him, your body began to seek more. The flowers beyond the box of your relationship with him—and you knew that those petals carried the scent of Hoseok.

He liked you. You saw it in the extremity of his purposeful ignorance towards you, in the forced hatefulness he put across, and in the distance he set as a boundary. You saw it, too, in the way he would entertain other women in the bars and glance at you every now and then to make sure you’re seeing what he wants you to see. And it excited you, his interest in you that he kept at bay.

It was a forbidden fruit that you smelt and smelt, but could never bite into—and it drove you insane. And when he got enlisted in the military, it drove you off a cliff.

Missing him made you search for him. Not in Namjoon, but in other men. Privately, in your soul. And it cost you your relationship.

Namjoon was a jealous, possessive man. He would fight with you if you looked at a guy for a beat longer than is necessary and if a half of a smile crept up upon the corner of your lips, he would give you the cold shoulder. An action that cut through you deep enough to make you bleed and you had to put a stop to it.

You thought talking to him about it like an adult would straighten the road you were walking upon, but like the intelligent man Namjoon is—he knew that what he was giving to you was no longer what you needed. He threw it back at you, using the poetry of his words, and all you could do was be honest with him. Nod your head, tell him he was right, that you were seeking something more. And what surprised you was that Namjoon wasn’t willing to go the extra mile.

He didn’t consider it. Didn’t mention it.

He nodded his head, too. And you parted your ways as friends who loved each other and lived an artistic life together.

And at that moment, a door to your mind opened and Hoseok stepped in. Made a bed, fluffed the pillows, and rested.

It seems now he has awoken. Rang your doorbell, bashed his fist against the wood and narrowed his eyes at you in his normal fashion.

An action that weaves a rhythm into that flat, bruised heart of yours.

His military jacket is slung over his arm. His two black dog tags, hung by a silver chain around his long neck, rattles as the breath of the fresh, autumn evening breezes past, scattering goosebumps along your chocolate-buttered skin. You notice, within the brief silence while you look at each other and exchange words long overdue, that his hair is way shorter. Not buzzed anymore like Namjoon showed you on Hoseok’s first day in the military six months ago, but tousled and sticking out in different directions as if he raked his fingers through the strands a million times over. Your own itch, wrapped around your vape, his beauty heightened by his evident newly-gained manliness washing over you like an icy stream of water.

You shiver, blaming it internally on the wind, and not on the lightness of the attraction that you feel sinking beneath your skin, overpowering you.

And that small movement of your body propels Hoseok to speak, at last.

“I come home to find you single,” he scoffs, his voice deep and raspy, marked possibly by his job in the military. And you feel it marking you just the same, opening windows in the house of your body for that wind to blow in and exhilarate you, help you breathe. “He’s drunk out of his mind, crawling on Jungkook’s lap and you’re here. In your pajamas with a fucking face mask on.”

Briefly, you furrow your brows, not understanding the meaning of his words. Is he bashing you for not crying your heart out? Or is he bashing his brother for doing whatever it was. Your heart turns halfway, painfully. Those days are gone—those you spent in bed while that broken muscle wept while your body used that time to repose from all the stress it went through, being in an environment it grew out of.

You sigh, weary of the recollection of that peculiar pain, and show no sight of the turbulence happening within you. “Jungkook must be happy about that.”

Hoseok chuckles, humorlessly. A chilling noise that erects your bare nipples beneath your pajama button down. Awkwardness slinks down your sternum and you shift your weight on your other foot as Hoseok deepens his gaze down on you.

Tension settles between you and you use it. You use it, wholeheartedly, as you should have all those months ago. The only thing you ever took advantage of were the touches Namjoon graced your skin with. You’d grab his hand, while Hoseok watched, and bring it underneath the table. Part your mouth, pretending he was touching a sensitive, private place while he was merely drifting his fingers along your thigh. Hoseok would gulp, but he would keep his gaze locked on yours, very much like he’s doing now. It’s the only form of intimate interaction you ever had, save for the heated debates about different things you two did not have in common.

All else remained hidden in the silence shared between you.

And it no longer shall.

If he came all the way here, unannounced, then you shall let fate, one that is enamored with your body, have her way in your life.

“If you came here to talk about him, then I’m not interested,” you say, letting go of the door and slipping off your face mask, ignoring the hurtful pinpricks along the perimeters of your heart. “If you came here for me, then the door is open.”

And with that bravery, you pivot on your heel and walk back into the living room, not expecting him to follow you and not expecting him to walk away. You let fate do her thing, and you begin to tap in the essence of the peachy face mask into your skin with quick, gentle slaps.

You toss the sheet, along with the packaging, into the trash, your hair clipped away from your face whooshing around you with your movement. Kicking off your slides, you hear them bump into something stable, and when you turn around to seek that strange sound, you see Hoseok standing by your armchair near your couch.

So he did come here for you. You tremble in a different manner, filled with sparks of excitement, and, turning around to sit on the couch, you flush, smiling happily to yourself.

But all those feelings turn to dust when Hobi kneels by the edge of your couch and fixes your home slippers. Aligns them rightly in front of you so you can comfortably slide your feet into them once you get up.

Your stomach drops and your fingertips tingle, all of your nerve endings set on blazing fire by that one act of service.

The first kind thing he’s ever done for you.

He throws his military jacket over the backrest of the armchair, where he nestles himself. Legs spread, elbows propped on his knees. His long dog tag chain swings back and forth in the sudden, atypical calmness of the atmosphere that you cannot adapt to fully. Not when your mind creates an image of that chain hanging over your face, your neck and your chest when you’re bare and ready for him, laying on your back, all for him to take.

You bite your lip, tracing the band of your sleep sock with your fingers, and Hoseok’s eyes fall to it. You quickly lift them, sheepish. Distract your mind by opening a package of eye patches and placing them on your dark circles that just won’t leave. His gaze skims over each motion, studying it, wordlessly, and you can’t take it anymore.

You can’t be the only one who’s brave this evening.

You take a puff of your vape, inhaling its sweetness, and stare right back at him. A smile, a foolish girlish smile quivers upon your lips. One that you dislike because you did grow out of it, but it seems as though the more you swallow the intensity of his shadowed, violent sea-charged energy, the more you transform back into that little girl you were.

And the process soaks your panties.

So much is said in the silence, always has been, but you can’t stand it anymore.

“You should start talking before I go to bed,” you bite, willing your smile to flatten, and Hoseok kneads his hands. His knuckles bear a faint memory of yellow bruises, veiny and strong as they are, and for a moment you wonder how far his ferocity reaches.

He showed you little of it. You know he’s capable of doing things that would change you for all eternity, give you a new form that would not wither with age.

And you yearn for it. Have yearned for it all those months without knowing that was the thing your body sought. The thing Namjoon could never give you.

Violence. Roughness. The licks of an outraged sea.

You’re a witness to it sloshing in the pools of his darkened eyes as he chews the provocation you uttered his way. And you can bet he likes the taste.

“Did he break your heart?” he asks amidst the banana-flavored smoke, his knuckles whitening for a split second as he clenches his fist before relaxing—as if the thought of Namjoon breaking your heart angers him.

It rouses you, and the way your chest lifts with each breath stimulates your stiffened nipples. The candlelight sways, casting shadows on his worn features, and you’d much rather sit on them than talk about your ex.

“Did you not hear what I said?” you spit, throwing your vape on the cushion of your couch. Hoseok’s façade splits as he smirks, dropping his gaze for a moment before lifting it back to you.

He leans back, slouching in the chair. “Answer the question.”

The sedatedness of his tone stuns you. Your heart begins to thump as well as the bundle of nerves between your folded legs. It has been too long since you had your release. Months upon months. And you’re too weak to not get carried away by these new feelings you’ve shamefully forgotten about.

The veins from his knuckles travel all the way back to his arms and your brain empties out. Too, too fucking long. You should’ve fooled around with every guy you found attractive, use them for orgasms, make the best of your womanly years, but instead you dwelled at home—in and out of your misery. And now, now it feels as though you’re a virgin, alone for the first time with an older man that enlivens your body.

And you might as well give him what he asks of you.

Sucking on your vape for a puff of bravery, you don’t blink as you stare at him through the smoke. You elongate your legs, placing them on the coffee table next to him, your toes facing his outstretched knee, and his eyes, once again, plummet to them.

“He didn’t break my heart, I broke his,” you say, your words shrouded by that white mist curling out of your mouth, and you watch as his eyes widen en route to yours.

He didn’t expect that.

Something about that satisfies you. Selfishly.

Hoseok runs the pad of his finger across his bottom lip, his head tilted to the side a little bit. “It was about time you did.”

The searing heat that rushes forward in your cheeks forces your gaze away from him, begs you to look away, but you don’t. A bead of perspiration trickles down your cleavage, one that is visible to him as you couldn’t be bothered to do all the buttons after your shower. But Hoseok’s eyes don’t flick to it. No, he can’t miss this. He can’t miss the gravity of the moment, of the spoken confirmation of the fact that what went on between the two of you for so long is real. You squeeze your thighs together, the thumping in between unbearable, and the longer you bask in his brave words, in the masculinity of his initiative, the more your own poetry begins to rise in you.

If it drags, it’s not meant for you. If it’s fast, it couldn’t wait to meet you.

And Hoseok notices. It is only when you let out a little, barely hearable sigh that his eyes do travel down to scrutinize your bodily reaction. To your nipples poking through, the shine of your sweat in between your bare breasts, to the friction you’re rubbing—the miniscule grinding movements that you make in order to alleviate yourself of the ache of desperation that you feel. And because you’re baring yourself out for him, he does the unthinkable.

He lets you see his true face, his façade collapsing at his big, sock-clad feet.

Hoseok lifts his hips, hides behind the pretense that he’s just making himself more comfortable, but in reality he did it to turn your attention to his lower region. His length, semi-hard yet still long, stands out, protruding from the camo of his pants and you’re hot, hot all over.

The thumping worsens—and you need him, all of him, to make it better.

Perceiving that he’s succeeded in his strategy by the way you just won’t stop ogling him, he blushes and hides it, in vain, with outstretched fingers spread across his face. As if he was doing his signature idol move. It’s a riveting sight to behold, a seemingly cold person growing warm from you gaping at that private part of him.

And you want more. You want to see more places of his body that are flushed. And you want it now.

“It was about time you and I talked alone, don’t you think?” you ask, following on from his previous statement. All that pining, those stolen glances, that distance—all that tension advances forward now, stronger than ever.

Hoseok can feel it, too. At your words, his manhood grows harder and his breathing quickens. He tries to stabilize it, but he fails. He fails even when he returns to his original position with his elbows propped on his knees. That chain of his swings with more momentum, teasing you, and you place your legs even closer towards him, and upon witnessing the light flash in his eyes, you realize that you teased him right back.

The man likes feet.

You draw in a sharp breath when he fists both of your feet in one hand, brushing his thumb over the tips of your toes. The first touch in this lifetime, the first time upon your new virgin body, so intimate, private; he might as well have wrapped a blanket around them with how warm his hand is, secure and trustful. Goosebumps flood your skin, bringing in the iciness that you felt when you took in his beauty against the background of the trees and the moonlight. And its beams must be stitched around his fingers because daintiness clasps you close, the notion that you’re taken care of, in good hands, descending upon you like the most delicate feather tickling you, and you let it—you let it consume you.

And you let his following question consume you just as much.

“Were you in love with him?”

It’s a question you never had the bravery to ask yourself in the two months you’ve been single, but it is here and you welcome it. You hear it whisper to you the hint of your answer and your body is smart enough, capable enough to figure it out.

No need for long nights of overthinking.

No need for long hours of listening to your heart crack.

“No, I was used to him—that’s different,” you hush out and the moon lowers herself, spilling through your windows, bathing you in a milky light that feels as welcoming, as right as your confession. And maybe, just maybe it’s the way the shining stream submerges in your neediness that drives you to be bratty. And briefly, before you do, you ponder over the fact how in your life shared with this person drives, moves forward. There’s never a still time—and you find that mesmerizing. Enough for you to simply brood in greed. “What’s it to you?”

Hoseok flinches. Parts his mouth. His chain rattles and his fingers squeeze the balls of your feet, coaxing a hum out of you that is immediately silenced by his sudden outburst.

“What’s it to me?”

There it is. Another plot point. Your heart hammers.

Hoseok lets go of your feet and you lament the absence. Stands up and towers over you, the moonshine soaking him in divine light that causes your breath to hitch in your throat. A faint layer of sweat has coasted along his hairline and settled there—and you long to swim in his bodily fluids. In the persona of his, in the tumultuous sea of the tension locked within him.

“You’re genuinely asking me this question?” he pressures, lifting your legs in order to step in between them, and the unthinkable visits you once again. He props his hands on either side of your head and those two dog tags swing in your face.

A wet patch forms in the center of your pajamas. Your breath mirrors his—hasty, deep and strained—and you can’t take it anymore.

How far into this road of bravery until the moon averts its opaque eyes away from your sin?

You arch your spine, hook your fingers on his dog tags and pull him a little closer. Breathe his air, breathe in his masculine, musky scent that intoxicates your senses to the point that there is absolutely nothing stopping you from getting dragged in the natural flow of this situation.

“Yes, Hoseok. What’s it to you?”

He pants. Glides, delicately, his fingers along your arm until he winds up at your small fist, clutching it in his as if it was his. And that warmth, you want to dip your head in it.

“I had to watch you sit in that chair and not crack a smile. Sit next to him like an obedient girl, not allowed to speak. To me,” he grunts, tightening his lips, and that anger of his seeps into you, becoming yours. “He didn’t deserve you. You’re not a pretty toy. You’re a person.”

He straightens but, panicking, you draw him right back by that chain. “Don’t fucking walk away from me.”

He seethes and you feel your essence trickling down your thigh. That sea, inching forward, you whimper. And then he spreads that warmth over the crown of your head, rubbing your hairline just once with his thumb before he peels off your eye patches that you have forgotten about.

And this is when your brows curl. This is the time that says there’s no going back.

“I talked to you. We fought, don’t you remember?”

He sweeps that digit over that soaked dark circle of yours underneath your eye. “What do you think would’ve happened to you if I talked to you nicely?”

Cold shoulder. Uncomfortable time of forced aloneness, filled with the abyss of guilt that you had done something wrong. A toy that didn’t move its lifeless limbs right by his will.

“I’ve known him for far longer than you. I know how he treats those he thinks he loves. I brushed it away with the others, but with you… I couldn’t. You were so full of life that was stuck in you because of him. Because he didn’t let you let it out. And I can’t forgive him for that.”

What life? The one you searched for all your girlhood, the one Namjoon molded with his own hands until it no longer recognized the once-familiar lines of his palm? The one that yearned for Hoseok instead?

A film of tears clouds your eyes and as hard as you try to blink them away, they linger, pooling at your waterline like sea foam. You need your vape, you need him inside you—you can’t face the mirror of the reality of that unfair treatment.

How blind you were; how Hoseok has become that guiding stick.

“Don’t forgive him,” you utter, grasping his chain tighter, drawing him even closer, making his breath tremble. The first tear that pours out leaks into the print of his thumb and at the sound of your soft cry, Hoseok topples. Kneels on the couch with your legs on either side of him and you pull, you pull him closer.

“Do you want me?” he asks—a foolish, foolish question. Presses his forehead against yours, cups your face with both hands now while his back shakes and you touch it, you drag your fingernails down those prominent muscles. And he sighs, so desperately, so tenderly. “Do you want me to let out that life in you?”

“Yes,” you whisper, sliding your hands underneath his black shirt, scratching the lowest part of his warm, warm waist before hooking your fingers on the waistband of his pants. It’s his—it always belonged to him. “Take me. Here.”

He brushes his nose against yours, your breath and his singular. “You’re so feisty.” Lips nearly touch yours and your lungs give out on you, your air coming out in pathetic staccatos that make him growl, subduedly. Muscles rigid, bundle of nerves devoutly pulsing. Please, please. “But no.”

The world implodes, the mocking shimmer of that planetary light gushing through—hand in hand with sobriety.

But Hoseok, the prince of the unthinkable, dips your head back into that darkness. Lifts you by your armpits and sets you down on his lap, his hard length against your core uprearing your need for release.

A hand sailing down your neck, your sternum, acknowledging itself with your respiration. “Don’t give it to me that easily.”

Your own cages him there, right at the apex of the fleshiness of your breasts. “Jebal, Hobi.”

Please, Hobi. You drive, in his fashion, your hips forward—ever so slightly. His eyes round at the mellow variation of his name wandering out of your mouth and wrapping around his neck, as if the gentleness you give him pains him, transforms into a noose around his vocal cords and he can’t speak.

He sighs, the noise melting into a soft, low-pitched moan. “Don’t beg me,” he croaks out, so terribly strung out. “I’m-I’m—”

You lengthen your spine, closing your mouth over that one spot on the side of his throat that you can reach, silencing him. He doesn’t need to speak—you’re fine with the tacit language of his hands. And the taste of his skin, that fucking warmth dissolving upon your tongue, you can’t help but to moan just the same against him like that, rocking your hips awfully, awfully slowly, driving him to the point of madness that he stood at the edge of for so long.

“I want you to touch me,” you murmur, tugging his hand lower to the first done button of your silky shirt and it’s him who hooks his fingers over that fabric now. You lick a stripe across the thick vein of his throat, grinding a little harder when you hear him suck in a pained breath. “I want you to feel that life in me and know it’s yours. Jebal, Hoseokie.”

He grunts, ripping you away from him. You expect his eyes to be narrowed in that typical manner of his, but they’re not. They’re soft, round and glossy, looking down at you, unblinking. A face you’ve never seen before, that feels too, too significant—and you’re not sure if you deserve to get a load of it. Of his pinkish cheeks and downturned mouth, of his fingers agonizingly sluggishly undoing the first button of your shirt.

Of his sentimentality that you never thought he was so efficient at.

The sea that has remotely stilled—but you’re still riding the lenient waves, your torso curving with each button popping off as he engraves his warmth into your cold, cold skin. And once he reaches the very last one, he stops. Holds your shirt together, squishing your breasts, waiting for you to lift your head out of the sea water.

And you do.

He inches forward, grazing his lips against yours, making you feebly cry out.

“Did you cry for him?”

Your cry prolongs, vexation splattering over your arousal, and you’ve had enough of it. You flick your eyes between his, drawing back, flattening your lips in that anger of his that seems to be still flowing in you somewhere. No more, no more Namjoon; no more talk of your past relationship. It’s over, it’s over.

“Stop fucking—”

Hoseok doesn’t relent. Sinks his fingers into the roots of your hair at the nape of your neck to make you listen. “Did you cry for him?”

Your heart wept, but your eyes didn’t. The tear you shed in front of him was the only liquid emotion that spilled out of you since the day of the break up. “No.”

He blows a heavy breath of relief that oddly validates you—and light opens in your sensitive bosom. “Good girl.”

And it is now that Hoseok presses his chest, his dog tags against that light of yours and clamps his mouth down on your top lip, hoisting you a tiny bit to sit you right down on his manhood. His strong arm wraps around your back while the other floats down and curls around your bum, growling into the kiss that he deepens. And then he parts your lips with his, slipping his tongue inside, and the dam breaks between your legs—as well as the quick little whines and squeaks that begin to leak out of your mouth and into his.

The life in you throbs.

His cock hardens even more underneath you and he pushes your clit against it, his noises and yours growing louder and louder in tandem until he’s breathless, panting so vivaciously that he needs a moment. A moment to focus on the mess he’s created of you, a glowing ball of rosiness, the prettiest of all flowers—and you feel like it, being looked at like that.

“I knew you were smart,” he coos, peppering feathery kisses upon your cheek, jaw and chin, descending to the base of your neck. You moan out, fisting his shirt below his collarbones, the continuation of his validation for you nesting in your core. “That life in you will always win. No matter what.”

You believe him—in fact, there’s nothing left for you to do, but to submit, submit and submit. And it feels like entering a dream that is kind, a reality that appears to be a dream, but is better. An existence smeared with clemency, where you can be a little girl again.

“Touch it, please.”

Hoseok hums, kissing the cleft between your clavicles. Shifts forward on the couch so you can rest your spine on the backrest, your head against the wall, and he slides his palms upward from your tummy to the apex of your breasts. You whine, torturously, at the contact, and you shudder and double over when he swipes his thumbs over your still stiffened nipples, buzzing shocks of acute pleasure coursing down your body, rooting in your clit that asks for his fingers, his tongue, but he remains where he is. Transfixed, starving, ravaged.

He kneads your breasts like he kneaded his hands, with overpowering strength that quickens your blood flow, your body submitting to him and flushing like his does. A sliver of skin that your shirt exposes catches his attention—and at the sight of the flesh of your breasts spilling through, his cock twitches, his breath ragged, eyes droopy and so, so drunk. He pinches your nipples, still through that silken fabric, as if he was punishing you for causing him this unfair pain.

Knead, flick, pinch. Your noises are obnoxious, his heat in you rising and rising, and you can’t take it anymore. The drum in your clit thuds and you push him away, the pleasure too overwhelming, too good and too arousing.

And he pushes away the fabric, revealing your perky breasts. A glint settles on the edge of his irises and he gives you a coy smile before he smashes his mouth against yours, moving it in a rhythm that reflects the one in your bundle of nerves. And you grind, you grind like your life depends on it, your nipples and your pussy rubbing against him, against his icy dog tags, getting you closer and closer to your orgasm. And you would come like this had he not physically ripped you away from him.

Heaving, he focuses, all over again, on the ruination he makes of you. The warmth in you flits so invitingly that you have to touch the places he did—your stomach, your sternum, your breasts. And as you do, you watch his gaze darken, you watch him nod his head, and wipe the corner of his mouth clean, catching his drool.

“You feel it, don’t you?” he rasps, following the invisible traces you left on your body. Your stomach, your sternum, your breasts. “Right here. Life. Beautiful life.” He teases your hardened nub, circling it with the pads of his fingers, sliding it between his knuckles and squeezing, his smile growing with each shudder of your chest, with each response. “It’s time to make you come and let it out, you ready? Let’s take these off.”

He tugs off your pajama pants, throws it behind his shoulder, examines the large wet stain on your panties that he coos at, raspily, petting it with his thumb—and you’re so turned on that even such faint touch like that brings you pleasure. You hold onto his arms for dear life, depending on him, trembling when the panties and the shirt are next, tossed upon the pile of your pants.

You’re bare and he’s still fully dressed. Such titillating unfairness that turns you unhinged, maddened by liveliness your body is diffused with.

Hoseok pins your legs back. Takes one hand and glides his fingers across your entire femininity, soaking them in the dew he has coaxed out of you, moaning gutturally.

“He never made you wet like this, did he?” he asks, pride dripping out of him like his masculine pheromones, and with his wet fingers he palms himself. “You don’t even have to answer that. I know. I need to taste you, baby.”

You don’t even get to fill a lungful of the stuffed, vanilla-scented air and he dives in, keeping your legs glued to your shoulders as he seizes your clit in his mouth, sucking on it briefly before he flattens his tongue all over you. He licks you like a lost man finding an oasis, humming into your heat while he tastes your personal slickness, swallowing everything he sowed. You bang your head on the wall, a numbed pang expanding all throughout your scalp by your claw clip, taking it all, moaning so loudly the whole of Seoul must be hearing you. Even Namjoon in his drunkenness, shameful that he never managed to eat you like this in the eight months you were his to consume.

Your orgasm inches to you quickly. With half-lidded eyes, you watch the candlelight create sublime, eccentric images on his back. And as if he couldn’t handle the warmth anymore, he peels himself away from you just to take off his shirt, adding it to the pile. He doesn’t let you see his muscular body—he plunges back down, tongue outstretched, flicking the muscle on your swollen clit. He pinches your thigh, your mound, your folds, whimpering onto your flesh, hurrying to close his mouth over you to suck your clit.

And within that divine suction, you come apart. The beautiful images on his back advance, fluttering on his smooth skin, and you hold him to yourself. The life in you explodes, saturating him in a dimmed, soft-hued, colorful light that he himself must be sensing because he moans, loudly, sinking his index finger inside your clenching hole. You can’t speak, you can’t breathe—you can only feel, you can only take. Your orgasm continues on, a ceaseless stream of delight untwisting in every part of your body.

And when he begins to fuck you with that finger of his and hits that good spot, your orgasm melts into another one. And this time, you can’t take it.

You shake so vivaciously that you fall off the edge of the couch, but he catches you. Hoseok unclips your hair and lays you down, propping your hips on the armrest instead and when he bends at the waist and opens his mouth, you scream out your disagreement, pushing him away.

He blinks at you, mouth sopping wet. “I wasn’t finished.”

Your oxygen is stuck in your throat, one that gets bespeckled with the beads of your dew. “Hoseokie—”

He traces it, wiping it off, holding you there. Presses his hard, clothed length against your bare pussy, rocking slowly, casting a private, affection-filled shadow with the arch of his body over yours. Hoseok kisses you once, a nasty kiss perfumed with your tangy scent, and you cry out.

“The fact you can’t take the bare minimum personally offends me. He had you all to himself and he didn’t do his job well,” he mutters, squeezing your throat once. Drags his wet hand down your sternum, grasping a hold of both of your breasts, clenching them until they flush, again, like him.

There it is, the saltiness of his sea. You yearn for the physical principle of it coating your tongue—for his cum to trickle out of the tip of it like your dew is off of his. And his words, his anger towards his best friend because of you—it heals you in a way you could never heal yourself. Another person seeing you and telling you that you deserve better, it is the most pristine form of remedy there is and you splutter on the whole beauty and compassion of it all, too weak to accept it at once.

“That’s right,” you agree, as enthusiastically as your dopeness allows you, smiling lopsidedly, heart pounding. “Go slow on me.”

He croons, squeezing his eyes. “My little girl.”

He buries his face in your neck, kissing you there, and along with the life in you—your heart explodes, too. The finality of your detransformation. Tears of joy ache in the corners of your eyes, the rawness of human fulfillment housing in you for all eternity.

He kisses his way down to your breasts. “I’ll go slow on you,” he promises, darting out his tongue and flicking it over your nub, making you tremble. He straightens and dances his fingers along your thighs—up to your knees. “Do you want to stop here?”

You shake your head. Place your feet flat on his toned stomach while you feel your dew dribble down your bum. Hoseok smiles, his mouth curving in that way of his that causes your own stomach to drop. He holds your heels, hooking his finger under the band of your socks and yanking them off.

And his grin blooms at the sight of your dusty-pink toes, an endeared look thawing his eyes. He rubs them like he did at the beginning of this journey, keeps one at his stomach while he lifts the other one to his mouth.

Your poor heart skips a beat.

“Do you want me to fuck you like a little girl like you deserves?”

He kisses the ball of your foot, doesn’t break the eye contact. Watches your mouth part in absolute astonishment and your cheeks deepen in their hue. And when he kisses it again, slower this time, it wakes you up from your stupefaction, and you lower your free foot down to his clothed cock. Hoseok groans, the sound muffled against your tootsie, shutting his eyes at the impact. Your chest flickers with a sense of pride that you made him react like that—and you want it again. You trail your toes across that length of his, but before you could reach the most sensitive part of him, he stops you.

Sucks in that pained breath of his, red all over.

“If you keep doing that, I’m gonna come.”

You mirror him, the idea of being capable of doing that to him pleasuring you. You leak onto the couch. Your blood boils.

“That’s so hot.”

He chuckles, anchoring your foot upon his heart, tapping it with your big toe. “It’s because you have my heart.”

Your body ceases all work, as well as time. Even the candlelight pauses its dance, concentrating its caressing radiance on that chain of his.

And you don’t think as you scurry onto your knees and embrace him, his dog tags no longer icy. He plants his nose into your hair, inhaling you, sealing you into the hug with both of his arms. Your heart reaches its own towards his and they cling to each other, too.

And you’re not afraid to reciprocate his feelings—they’re as clear to you as that very luminescence of the vanilla candle.

“You have me,” you whisper into his ear, his body not quivering but stable, safe. “You have my life. It’s more of a treasure than my heart.”

He had you the moment he so evidently disapproved of your past relationship. He had you the moment he was curious to see if you were jealous when he was entertaining other women. He had you the moment he purposefully put a distance between you and him because he didn’t want you to get hurt by Namjoon.

You just didn’t know it yet, not until clarity arose in front of you in the form of his honesty.

Hoseok kisses your own ear, lingers there. “I want both.”

“Then, have it.”

And he kisses your forehead. “Thank you. I’ll take care of it.”

You can see in the ivory mist of his eyes that he means it—and so you tug off his military belt as you begin to pepper kisses down the column of his neck because he deserves it, because he cares for you, because he came to you as soon as he heard that you were single. And when you reach those dog tags, the words of his title imprinting themselves onto the surface of your lips, you clasp his cock in your hand. Too big for your small fist, too warm for you to handle—

“Lay back down.”

You bite into the flesh right above that first steel pendant while keeping your eyes locked on his. “Yes, Sergeant.”

Hoseok curses. Wrings a sharp gasp out of you when he pulls on your hair, giving you a nasty kiss full of tongue. “Don’t call me that when I need to be gentle with you,” he scolds, sucking on your bottom lip to make it better and you disintegrate. “Right now I would bend you over this couch and fuck you until Sergeant and Sir was all you knew, but I can’t do that. Not when you’re not used to me yet.”

Yes, the promise of the sea—you convulse from head to toe, pining after it.

“I want that so bad.”

He nods, marking you on your neck. You whimper and he groans in response. “And I’ll give it to you, you just need to be good now. Lay down.”

You comply, but you take him with you—grabbing him by that chain as you arch your back on the couch. He lets you, grins at you like the utmost sunshine, but that expression of delight breaks when a certain realization dawns upon him.

“I didn’t bring any condoms.”

You huff out a soft noise. “Good. I want you to come all over me.”

Hoseok hangs his head low, sighing, on all fours above you. His chain swings, drawing the memory of this very night on your breasts. He looks up at you from this position, his eyes thin slits that cause you to clench around nothing.

“I’ll give you a big load.”

You beam like the purest angel, in spite of the context. “Yes, please.”

Hoseok rolls his eyes back, his façade cracking, and he beams just the same, his mouth widening in the shape of a heart that moves through you. He kisses you deeply, a long peck that breaks you down into a putty, and when he withdraws, you can still see that smile plastered on his glowing face.

“Good girl. Such good manners.”

And with that praise, he sheathes himself inside you. You both gasp in union, entering a paradise no other human will ever witness in the afterlife. He stretches you out, slowly, careful not to hurt you as he waits it out, petting your hair in the meantime.

“I can feel you stretching around me, fuck. You’re so warm, so tight for me,” he rasps, panting, that smile trembling on his lips as he tries to keep it together. He straightens, pinches your nipple and you feel yourself accommodating him quicker at that sudden electricity of pleasure, at the sight of his toned body and that chain. The shine of sweat, the dance of the candlelight, the width of his shoulders and carmine chest as it heaves in desperate hums and groans. You could come just from that—and the sensation is so dizzying that your eyes droop. Hoseok notices, grappling the crook between your neck and shoulder. “Stay with me, baby, you can take this. I’m gonna make you feel so good and you’re gonna come on this cock.”

Those hums of his cruise all the way to your mouth as he sinks that encouragement into it, kissing you deeply, pinning your hands back above your head and sliding his fingers into a celestial intertwinement with yours. They throb within you, those words of his, where they disperse all around, helping you believe that you truly can take the whole manliness of him. Your mind spins, the pressure of your shared atmosphere ringing in your ears, and he knows, he knows that you’re ready for him.

“I’m gonna start moving now. Talk to me, baby. Tell me everything you’re feeling as I fuck you,” he murmurs, unsheathing himself a tiny bit before he curls his hips forward and upwards, creating a languid, spine-tingling rhythm that replicates the waves of his sea. They slosh to and fro with every slow stroke and he kisses your good spot with the tip of his cock. Your eyes flutter open and close, rolling like those waves, but you can still see the way his jaw is clenched, his gums on full show as he seethes in his self-control, the flush of his neck and the flexing of his abdomen that you can’t help but to touch in your otherworldly daze. He stares down at you, intensely, narrows his eyelids and furrows his brows when he feels your touch, and you discover that the spot, where his V-lines lead to your antidote, is one of uttermost sensitivity.

He moans, burying himself deep in you, and stopping there. Mound to mound, soul to soul.

“Fuck, baby, you just know where all my spots are, don’t you?” he asks, his voice so terribly strained, torso doubled over, and you grin.

“I think I was born already knowing them,” you flirt and Hoseok pounds into you for it—a singular thrust that scrambles all your brain cells. Your smile falls, your brows crunch, your throat utters such whiny noise that he himself grunts at the sound of it, and when you lift yourself onto your elbows to see his length driving in and out of you, he pushes you right down by your throat, kissing you hard enough that it hurts.

And he alleviates the lip lock by licking over your tongue, toying with it—all while he, little by little, picks up the rhythm, fucking into you with a force that coaxes your rawest moans out of you.

“You can’t handle my tongue and I can’t handle it when you flirt with me,” he scoffs, smacking his mouth as he turns his head, claiming your mouth, claiming you. “God, I wanna destroy you so bad.”

Your cry is cut out by another savage thrust and you claw at that sensitive spot of his, inciting him to do it again and again. “I’m yours to destroy.”

He pauses, the crown of his cock teasing the beginning of your heat. Sweat drips down his temple and he runs a hand through his hair, messing it up in a way that makes your heart twitch in absolute sensuality and relish.

“Say that again.”

Your breath hitches. “I’m yours to destroy.”

Hoseok curses, driving into you all the way. You whine out, clenching your fists, feeling every ridge and every vein of his cock glide forwards and backwards along your walls. And by tensing your body and focusing on the delight he’s gracing your body with, the build-up of your orgasm announces its presence.

“Fuck, Hobi, you feel so good,” you cry, gripping his forearms as he begins to hold your waist steady. He jackhammers into you so viciously that your vision scatters with a creamy hue of ivory, moaning in ragged staccatos that influence you so much that you naturally imitate them, fading into him, becoming one.

“Whose are you?” he growls without interfering with the gracefulness of his sadism, moving back only an inch before slamming back into you, bruising your cervix—and you lose all brain cells, the synapses blanking out.

But only one thing is clear.

“I’m yours.”

And the following snap of his hips drives you out of this world and out of this universe. The gravity keeps your muscles tense, confining your pleasure and the closeness of your orgasm within. The ringing grows in volume and you’re on the cusp.

Hoseok is, too, because he begins to beg.

“Please, please, baby. Come for me. I’m so fucking close for you. Please, I’m gonna come all over you.”

And with a scream that vibrates through the walls of your living room, you comply. Your core grips him, your skin prickles and you levitate—your back arches off the couch, aching to be closer to him, and Hoseok whines.

Pulls out, straddles you, and fist-fucks his shaft with frantic, frenzied motions. Covers you with ropes and ropes of his cum that ripple on your stomach, your sternum and your breasts as you drift in and out of consciousness. Warm, warm essence of his masculinity that is warmer than the rest of him.

Blood-hot.

And you feel as though you deserved every drop.

Deserved to see the beauty of his orgasm. The flush of his lower regions, especially. The sight you longed to see.

Hoseok lets go of his manhood, his hand shiny and wet, though he’s still hard, reaching the beginning of your parting lungs with how big he is. Bigger than Namjoon, bigger than anyone you ever dated. Their names wither in your mind, decomposing. And they lose all meaning.

They cease to exist.

You’re not his best friend’s ex. You’re not anyone’s ex—

“Look at how little you are,” Hoseok comments, interrupting the surge of your maddened thoughts. He smears the puddle of cum on your stomach that his cock can reach and your pussy flutters in constant motions that ask for him again. “So little under me and all mine, aren’t you?”

His avowal brings a fresh dose of oxygen into your lungs and you breathe it in. Want to breathe it in for the rest of your life with him.

But Hoseok doesn’t stop there. Once you agree with him by the nod of your head and a dopey, gratified grin that casts an affirming light on him, he bends over you, his fists on either side of your head.

“I’ll show you what true possessiveness looks like. The world will burn if it hurts you and if people say one bad word to you, it will be the last one they ever said. But they will talk to you and you will talk to them. You will learn about this life of yours. What it holds, what it looks like. And I’ll be standing beside you and I’ll watch over you. Learn it, live it with you.”

He rubs your forehead with his thumb in a fond gesture. Looks at you with a mute meaning that touches your heart and crawls inside before he kisses you, relaxes his lips against yours, and kisses you again.

Again and again.

Again in the shower. Again in your bed when you’re riding him, tasting the life he let out of you, because you blazed up with desire after you washed his body. And the sex is quiet, smothered with those kisses until your mouth and his is numb.

And again throughout the years you acknowledge yourself with that life and realize that you understand it more profoundly and clearly in the process of getting to know Hoseok than this world.

Hoseok is that life.

And you kiss him and whisper those words onto his mouth when you marry him at the altar, years and years later, connecting your life and his forever.

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl, @hoseokkie-caeks, @kam9404, @fr0ggieth1nk.

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dksfml · 20 days ago

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picture perfect - lhs

pairing: ex!heeseung x midnight rain!reader genre: angst, exes meeting again in a different circumstance, heeseung is getting married, the one that got away word count: 2.5k summary: what's worse than interviewing your ex-fiancé for his wedding while tormented by the life you could have had? especially when you couldn't stop glancing on the ring on his finger.

My boy was a montage A slow-motion, love potion Jumping off things in the ocean I broke his heart 'cause he was nice

“When did you realize that she was the one? That it was love?”

The room was colder than you expected, or maybe it was the weight of the moment that made you shiver. Five years had passed since you left Heeseung behind, but here you were, standing across from him again. He stood in a pristine tuxedo, tailored to perfection, like the life he now led—polished, flawless, but distant. Heeseung, heir to a powerful conglomerate, and you, the broadcast journalist in a media uniform tasked with interviewing him for what was being called the "wedding of the century."

It had been an impossible love, one you knew couldn’t last. But that didn’t stop you from falling hard for him.

Back in college, it felt like the stars had aligned just for you two. You met by chance in a quiet library, studying late at night. You were flipping through notes, while he sat across from you, struggling to stay awake after hours of classes and business meetings for his family’s company. He caught your eye when he nearly fell asleep, knocking a stack of books to the floor.

“You alright there?” you had teased, a soft smile playing on your lips.

Heeseung rubbed his eyes and chuckled. “Yeah, just tired. Guess business majors don’t get to sleep, huh?”

That small interaction turned into late-night study sessions and shared meals at the local café, hiding from the world that seemed to have already decided your places. The more you learned about him, the more the quiet, gentle side of him drew you in—the side that wasn’t always front and center in the media’s image of him.

“Let’s keep this just between us,” Heeseung had said once, eyes soft as the two of you sat together in a dimly lit restaurant far off campus, tucked into a corner where no one would recognize him. “The world outside… it’s too complicated.”

You agreed, understanding the stakes. His family had expectations, and you were just an ordinary student. Yet, it didn’t stop the stolen glances in class or the secret hand-holding when no one was watching.

Those were some of the happiest moments of your life. No matter how fleeting, they felt like something real, something lasting.

And then there was that night—your last trip together before everything changed. The two of you had gone to a secluded beach, the sound of waves crashing against the shore the only witness to your love. Underneath a sky full of stars, Heeseung pulled out a ring, his hands trembling slightly as he looked at you, eyes wide with hope.

“I know it’s crazy… but marry me,” he whispered, his voice full of emotion. “I want you to be the person I come home to. The one who knows me when the rest of the world only sees… him.”

You had said yes without hesitation. How could you not? In that moment, it felt like everything was falling into place. You had both once pictured yourselves at opposite ends of the aisle—him in a crisp, white tuxedo, and you in the wedding dress of your dreams. It was this memory of him that still kept you awake at night.

But reality didn’t wait long to rear its ugly head. Graduation came, and with it, responsibilities neither of you could ignore. You got your dream job as a news presenter, but it meant constant travel. Heeseung, meanwhile, was tied to his family’s legacy, the weight of it pressing down on him, anchoring him to a life you couldn’t share.

"I can’t leave everything behind," he had told you one night, frustration evident in his voice. "This is who I am."

"I know," you replied quietly, staring down at the engagement ring on your finger, feeling its weight more than ever. "And I’m not asking you to. But I… I need to be someone too. I can’t just be… your shadow."

Heeseung had pleaded with you to stay, to make it work somehow, but deep down, you both knew it wasn’t possible. The worlds you came from were too far apart, the demands on you both too great.

When you took off the ring that night in his car, your hands trembling, the look in his eyes broke you. Heeseung had always been composed, even under pressure, but that night, he cried. You watched as his tears fell, and the ache in your chest felt unbearable.

"I’m sorry," you whispered, voice barely holding steady as you placed the ring in his palm. "I love you, but I can’t… I can’t do this."

Heeseung had tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat. All he could do was watch as you opened the car door and walked away.

Now, five years later, that past stood between you like an invisible wall.

The soft murmur of crew members adjusting lights and setting up cameras filled the studio, but all you could hear was the steady, rhythmic pounding of your heart. Heeseung sat in front of you, the gleam of his dark wedding tuxedo catching the artificial light. His hand rested on his knee, the gold band on his ring finger gleaming—a silent reminder of everything that had changed.

You cleared your throat, shuffling your notes, attempting to shake off the unease settling over you. This was supposed to be just another interview—routine, professional. But the tension in the air was palpable, an invisible thread tugging at memories you thought you’d buried.

"Mr. Lee?," you asked again, your voice steady, eyes fixed on the paper in front of you to avoid the intensity of his gaze. "A lot of people are curious about your relationship with Ms. Choi. When did you realize that she was the one? That it was love?"

Heeseung shifted slightly in his seat, his eyes flickering to yours before looking down at his hands. For a moment, he hesitated, and you found yourself unconsciously glancing at his left hand again—the wedding band glinting under the lights. The sight of it made your stomach twist.

"When did I know…" Heeseung trailed off, his voice quiet, reflective. He took a deep breath before answering, his eyes still focused on his hand. "I think love can be complicated. Sometimes, it’s not about a single moment, but a series of small ones. You come to realize what's expected of you, and you grow into it, bit by bit."

It was a carefully worded response—safe, diplomatic. He wasn’t answering the question. Not really. And that tugged at something deep inside you, pulling at threads you didn’t want to unravel.

You nodded, trying to move forward, but your thoughts were slipping. "But… when did it feel like more than just expectation? When did it feel like love?"

The words fell from your lips before you could stop them. Too personal. Too revealing. Heeseung’s eyes snapped to yours, surprised at the sudden shift, the edge in your voice. For a second, the air between you thickened, the unspoken past rising to the surface.

"When did it feel like love?" Heeseung repeated slowly, his eyes lingering on your face, as if searching for something. His voice softened. "There was a time I thought I knew… what love felt like."

You blinked, the space between his words loaded with meaning. There was an implicit sadness in the way he spoke, a crack in the façade he’d been holding up for so long.

You felt yourself sinking deeper into the moment, losing grip on the professional veneer you had worked so hard to maintain. Your gaze dropped to his left hand again, to the gold ring encircling his finger. It felt suffocating, knowing it symbolized a future you once imagined would be yours.

Your own fingers absentmindedly brushed against your ring finger, where once a promise had been worn but was now bare. Heeseung’s eyes followed the movement, his gaze lingering there for a moment longer than necessary. His lips parted, as if he wanted to say something, but he closed them again.

The camera’s blinking red light reminded you where you were. You cleared your throat, refocusing on the script, but your mind was still spiraling.

You hesitated before asking the next question, feeling the weight of it before the words even left your mouth. It wasn’t on the script—it wasn’t the kind of thing you were supposed to ask in an interview like this. But it was the question you had to ask, the one lingering at the back of your mind since you stepped into the room.

You swallowed, feeling your pulse in your throat. "Are you happy?"

The silence that followed was suffocating. Heeseung’s gaze lingered on you, and for the briefest moment, his polished composure cracked. His eyes softened, as if searching for something in yours.

He hesitated, his gaze dropping briefly to the ring on his finger again—gleaming and perfect, a stark contrast to your own bare hand. The ring you had taken off five years ago.

"I... I have everything I’m supposed to want," he began, voice quiet, almost too quiet for the room. His answer was measured, careful, like he was trying to convince himself as much as he was you. "I’ve built a life, a career... I’m where I’m supposed to be."

But then his eyes met yours again, and for a heartbeat, something vulnerable passed between you. "But happiness?" He let the question hang in the air, not answering it fully, but leaving the meaning clear. His gaze lingered a second longer, unspoken words filling the silence.

You bit your lip, trying to keep your emotions in check as the weight of what wasn’t said between you pressed down. His answer, or lack of one, told you everything.

You glanced down at your next question, but your voice betrayed you, trailing off as you asked, "Do you… ever think about the life you could have had? If things had been different?"

Heeseung’s gaze locked onto yours, his expression unreadable. The question hadn’t been on the script. You hadn’t even realized you’d said it until it was too late. A deafening silence filled the room, every crew member, every camera operator feeling the tension brewing between you both.

His jaw clenched slightly, and for a moment, it looked like he wasn’t going to answer. But then, his voice came, soft, barely above a whisper, yet laced with emotion. "Sometimes… I think about the life I could have had. The life I almost had."

The way he said it made your breath hitch. You weren’t sure if anyone else in the room could hear it, but to you, it felt like the only thing that mattered. His words hung in the air, filling the space between you with a weight too heavy to ignore.

You tried to regain control, but you were slipping further, your thoughts clouded by the memories you had worked so hard to forget. "Do you have any regrets about the past?” you asked, the question intended more for your own sake than for the magazine.

Heeseung's expression softened, and for the first time throughout the interview, his voice wavered. ‘Regret... it's complicated. There are times when you make choices because you believe they’re what’s best for everyone. Yet there are nights when you can’t help but think… what if?’"

His words hit you like a wave, washing over you with the force of all the unspoken feelings between you. What if. Two simple words, yet they carried the weight of everything you had left behind.

Your breath hitched, and you glanced down at your notes, trying to steer the interview back to safer ground. But the damage was done. You couldn’t hide from the truth anymore.

You felt your eyes well up, memories flooding back of the days when Heeseung had been your world. The secret rendezvous, the promises whispered under moonlit skies, the proposal on the beach—the life you almost had. You swallowed hard, pushing the memories down.

"Two weeks until the wedding," you said, your voice hollow, desperate to pull the conversation back to the present. "Are you… ready?"

Heeseung didn’t answer right away. Instead, he looked at you, really looked at you, as if seeing past the years, past the distance, and straight into the heart of the girl he had once loved. His lips parted, but the answer you expected didn’t come.

"Are you?" he asked quietly, the question hanging in the air like a lifeline.

Your breath caught in your throat. The room felt too small, the walls too close. You blinked, shaking your head slightly as if that could shake off the weight of the moment.

The tension between you was unbearable now. You could feel every unsaid word, every lingering regret, every what-if stretching between you, filling the space with a heaviness you could no longer ignore.

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Lee," you said, your voice tight, trying to wrap up the interview before you completely unraveled.

But as you stood to leave, Heeseung’s voice stopped you.

"Y/N…"

He adjusted his cufflinks, and the air between you grew heavier. Finally, he spoke, his voice low. “Do you ever think about… that time?”

You looked at him, surprised he had asked. The cameras aren’t rolling anymore. “All the time,” you admitted, the truth slipping out before you could stop it.

Heeseung nodded, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Yeah… me too.”

You paused, not daring to turn around, your heart in your throat.

"If I had another chance…" His voice was barely a whisper now, but it sliced through the room like a knife. "I would risk everything."

Your hand hovered on the door handle, but you couldn’t move. His words clung to you, wrapping themselves around your heart like a vice. You swallowed hard, blinking back the tears that threatened to fall.

But you didn’t turn back. You couldn’t.

Instead, you stepped out of the studio, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on you, knowing that you’d leave this room just as you had left him five years ago—heartbroken and haunted by what could have been.

About an hour after the interview, you found yourself standing at the back of the studio, watching as Heeseung and his fiancée posed for their couple shots. He looked effortlessly handsome in his pristine black tuxedo, while she glimmered in a flowing gown, radiant and picture-perfect.

“Smile a little wider, Heeseung!” the photographer urged, and your heart ached as you watched him comply, his smile lighting up the scene in a way that had once been reserved for you.

You swallowed hard, the memories flooding back—late-night laughter, whispered secrets, and the way he’d promised you the world. A crew member nudged you, breaking your reverie. “They really are the perfect couple,” he said.

“Yeah,” you replied, your voice thick with unshed tears.

As you turned away, the sight of them—the life you had once envisioned—felt like a dagger to your heart. It was time to leave, to step back into your own reality, but a lingering question haunted you: What if things had been different?

415 notes · View notes