#not even juice or jelly

[laserbeaky]

the official transformers account said soundwave is canonically a father I don't make the rules

[confinesofmy]

i did something incredible today. i was terse with my flakey cousin over the phone before fully understanding why i was angry with her. i acted on it BEFORE completely processing it. and i withheld information to put her at a disadvantage and benefit myself! i am so proud of myself, this never happens.

[completelyillliterate]

what is this 'grape flavour' it tastes nothing like grapes

[miss-floral-thief]

Dad also

Went inside so

Put the juices I picked out in the cart

[a-creature-named-gort]

"bugs don't have feelings" then explain WHY is she so ANGRY at juice

[lovieku]

MOTHERFUCKIN’ TRAIN WRECK! ⋆ 정국

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

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

based on this ask

from the grande series ୨ৎ

pairing: fuckboy!jk x fem!reader

genre: fwb au

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

word count: 18k

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

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

────୨ৎ────

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

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

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

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

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

In all fairness, he couldn’t help it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Except, there’s actually no other guys.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jeongguk is more than enough. Oh, he is.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No!”

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

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

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

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

“You’re not my best friend.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Namjoon.”

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

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

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

He grimaces, “Gross.”

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

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

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

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

“…Namjoon.”

“Right, that’s what I said. Namsun.”

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

“Namgi.”

“Namjoon.”

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

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

“Give me a kiss, brat.”

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

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

“You love me.”

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

────୨ৎ────

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

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

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

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

Wait, why are you thinking about Jeongguk?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Talk about what?”

“Namjoon.”

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

“He was just talking with some of his—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You want me to be your boyfriend?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, we got it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

────୨ৎ────

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What about me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh. He’s going fast.”

“I like that.”

“I know you do.”

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

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

“And I’ll say it again.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

────୨ৎ────

It should be easy. It is easy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She’s my fucking girlfriend.”

What. The. Fuck.

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

────୨ৎ────

You feel stupid.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You [9:43 p.m.]: i’ll just walk

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re… happy for—”

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

Huh?

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

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

Oh. So this must be a fucking joke.

And you can’t stand it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re actually gonna fuck this man up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you really think of me like that?”

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

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

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

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

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

“What the fuck?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Nothing even happened with her.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But I don’t want you to.”

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

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

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

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

It isn’t enough. You need more.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The question is simple.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...No Haeun?”

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

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

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Prove it.”

[scare-ard--sleigh]

this mf is on my Last nerve 😤

[c0llisiion]

DAY 14 — MINCHAN

★ npr, f!reader, double penetration , threesome , softdom!chan, harddom!lmh, dumbification, anal, nicknames — lmk if i missed any!!; W/C: 919

Hello! This is part of my kinktober list! Day14 is officially out <3

This is strictly fiction. Any scenario or situation should not be taken seriously. Please refrain from reading if the topics make you uncomfortable.

[ visuals!! ]

“Just stay still, honey… daddy’s gonna make you feel so good…” Minho said softly as he pushed his fat cock into your tight asshole.

Your head was nuzzled into Chans neck, who was laid back against the headboard. His thick dick fit snug in your fucked-out pussy, your juices coating his length. You shudder as you feel Minhos cock inch further in you. Your breathing was ragged and heavy as you felt him push himself. Chans hand held the back of your thighs, drawing soothing circles on your flesh to relax your muscles.

“Fuck-“ Minho choked out as he was stretching out your hole, the globs of lube and your arousal helping just a bit. “Relax sweetie… you’re in safe hands… dont want Minho to feel uncomfortable, do we…?” Chan whispered in your ear, his voice soft and smooth, giving you the warmth of comfort.

You shook your head against his neck and muttered out a small ‘okay’ before relaxing yourself.

You hadn’t even realized you were tensed. Minhos cocked slipped in easily, making you shiver and arch your back against Chan's body.

Chan chuckles and runs a finger down your spine. Your body shudders at the different sensations. “You okay? Feels good?” Minho asks you, wanting to make sure you’re okay before starting to move. You nod and encourage him.

Minho glances at Chan, giving the older man a signal to start moving.

You were all of a sudden sent to heaven as you felt them move in you. It was a struggle at first. Minho and Chan tried to find a steady rhythm before eventually fucking into you at the same pace. Your head was hung low against Chan's collarbone, and your eyes were blown wide, almost drooling as they fucked into your holes. The feeling of both of their cocks penetrating your walls was making you writhe and roll your eyes to the back of your head.

“Fuck yeah baby… you like that shit, don’t you?” Minhos voice was gruff and dark as his hips started stretching your asshole out.

You whimper when you feel chan match the younger one’s energy. “Does it feel good, pretty? Yeah? Channies not hurting you, right?” Chan’s voice was delicate and calm in contrast to Minhos.

You shook your head and whined against his neck. Your body felt like jelly, and your mind was starting to get clouded. Minho pulled your head back, grabbing your hair in a ponytail. “look at him while you’re speaking. Don’t you know manners?” He whispered roughly in your ears, his other hand grabbing your ass cheeks before giving a small slap.

You cried out at Minhos demand and looked at Chan with your tear-stained eyes. Your forehead sweaty, and your lips are parted.

Chans expression was soft. He had a thin layer of sweat forming on his face. He grabbed your jaw and pushed his fingers in. “You’re doing so well… look at you.. taking mine and minho’s cock together… like a big girl, yeah?” You moaned against his fingers and held onto his wrist.

Your asshole and pussy clenched around their lengths and leaking arousal . Their cocks drilling into you at the same rate.

Minho was relentlessly in his thrusts. He made sure every inch of him was in you. “Oh god… fuck yeah baby… you take dick so well…” he chuckled darkly. Chan laughed along with the younger. “Of course she does… shes a good girl, aint you pretty?” He asks, his wet fingers wrapping around your neck. You nod incoherently. Your body is in a totally different dimension.

“Speak up, darling.” Minho pulled your head back and slapped your face softly.

“Now now.. don’t be harsh with her minho… poor baby is clearly cock drunk…” chans voice was smooth, with a sinister hint behind his words.

Minho glanced at your face and noticed your expression. “See? She is completely out of it… too dumb to even think…” chan smirked and trailed his hand down your body to your clit, flicking the sensitive bud.

You groaned and leaned forward, their cocks still pounding in you. Minho reflected the older man’s smirk. “Is that so, princess? Too dumb to even comprehend anything? Uh-huh?”

You cried out when you felt them go faster. Your hands gripping onto Chan’s biceps for dear life. You turn your face around to look at Minho, who was a panting moaning mess.

“Min…minho…?” You called out to him.

“Yeah doll? What is it?” He looked at you, observing your dazed eyes and sweaty face.

“M-more… n..need more… c-chan…” you were so fucked out to the point you mistakenly called Minho, Chan. 

Minho smirked before looking at the other man who was continuously playing with your clit. “Hear that, Hyung? Our little princess wants more apparently… dont you, princess?” He spanks you.

You whine and nod. Chan pressed against your clit making you moan and cry out a bit too loud. “Is that so? Princess wants more, does she now, huh?” He pretends to think. “Do you think she deserves it, Minho?" Their cocks slow down, completely halting after a moment.

You panic. The loss of penetration was making you tear up. “Hmm… in my opinion, no.” You look at Minho, sad and panicky, who had on a shit-eating smirk. “What? You didn’t like that?” You shook your head, your lower lip trembling. “So desperate…” he kissed your cheek. “What do you say, Hyung?" She’s practically begging for it..” Chan eyed you before sighing and smiling. “Anything for our princess.”

Tags~ @cassies-cookies @minghaosimp @unlikelysublimekryptonite @mamnaimiefrankie @marcoswhore @theyadorevalerie @applejackthebest515 @un-knew @salemluvsmusic @ka0ila @atztrsr @kpopsmutty69 @jisunglyricist @targaryenluvs @yuminhyunn @chansramennn @anylady-fics @marihoneywk @mikaelless

If you want to be part of the taglist, do lmk!! ^^

[seattlesellie]

Jealous. 🎀

pairing: ellie williams x fem!reader

cw: mean dom!ellie sub!reader, jealous kinda toxic ellie, eating it through the panties, orgasm denial, spit play (literally spits down ur panties like), exhibitionism, some dude named michael.

an: pls be gentle, i haven’t written in a long time! 💗 credit to angel gbc for the mod used in the picture above <3

something we can all agree on is the importance of aftercare — right?

Ellie is big on that obviously, as she should. Caressing her slim fingers down your body, planting wanton kisses on your shoulders, running her palms across your shaky thighs, whispering words of encouragement in your ear;

“Did so good for me, babe”

“I love you, so much”

“Need anything? hm?” She’d murmur against your skin whilst cradling your body from behind.

And she always insists on cleaning you up. She consistently renders you nothing but an achy mess, dried up juices staining your wobbly jelly thighs, combined sweat on your breasts and ribs, back of your neck. The ritual of bringing a wet towel to bed, swiping it’s fabric across your inner thighs, your face, your behind — is a sacred one for her. Not solely because she loves hearing your sweet, exhausted sighs of relief as she cleans the soil away, but also not solely because she gets to see your naked body in all of its glory again.

It’s the act of taking care of what’s hers. In a way, when she wipes your cum away, she’s taking care of herself — too.

Here, lays a solid proof that she can break things apart and put them back together again. She’s not a total fucking fuckup.

The ability of making you scream and cry, then moments later have you whisper in that saccharine voice of yours an airy “love you s’much, Els…”

It’s fucking exhilarating.

She loves it every time, she does it every time.

But today… today you pissed her off. You poked the bear, for real this time.

There’s this new Michael guy in Jackson. He’s handsome, tall, has coal black curls that somehow stay soft and shiny even in this apocalyptic hellscape. He told Ellie and you where he was from, what he did, why he came. Ellie didn’t listen to a thing he was saying. It was like he turned into a fly and started loudly buzzing in her ear. He kept looking at you weird. Smiling at you, smirking, laughing at your jokes, even the ones that weren’t all that funny. She knows you have this affect on people, that damn charm, hell — you have this affect on her.

And she’s usually just playfully jealous, manages to keep it relatively tame and simple by tightening her grip on your waist.

But you just wouldn’t stop bringing him up. “Michael” this, and “Michael” that, “Michael invited us for dinner”, “Michael said this funny thing earlier”,

For all Ellie knows Michael could die in a ditch and she wouldn’t give a fuck.

You're on your way back home from the Tipsy Bison on a chilly Thursday night. Jesse was there, Dina, Maria... and Michael. She thinks of his name and it leaves a bitter taste in her mouth, tart, pungent.

"Meh, I'm more of a Tequila girl, Whiskey tastes like shit" you announced with a giggle. Michael rested his hand on your thigh, and agreed with a nod and a chuckle. For you, it meant nothing.

For Ellie, it meant everything.

Her blood pressure was usually low, steady, healthy as a bull. As of now, Ellie felt like she just ran a marathon. The blood rushed to her head and her brows furrowed without intention. She cracks her neck and moves it left and right, takes a long and burning sip out of her Whiskey and shuts her eyes. She repeats a mantra in her head; "I'm not angry, I'm not angry, It's fine."

But you're so damn intuitive.

"Els? y'tired?" you murmur towards your auburnette girlfriend. She suckles on her bottom lip and considers saying no, but she lies.

"Exhausted"

You leave the humble bar hand in hand, wrapped up in her big coat that smells of mint and wood and Ellie. She prays you won't mention his name, prays you could just go home and forget about this whole thing, but you do, innocently.

"Oh, Michael said one of the horses is sick, I'm thinking of helping out in the barn tomorrow an—"

She stops you mid sentence with a scoff and a tightening grip on your hand. "Oh, mhm, Michael said that?"

Her voice mocks your own a little.

You stop and shift your gaze towards Ellie who has her lips tucked in a tight line. Internally, she's cussing herself out. You don't deserve her anger, but she can't help herself. Your answer is an unsure hum. Her grip tightens even more, and it hurts your palm but you keep on walking side by side, quietly. Five minutes manage to pass with no words being muttered by no one. That's until she shakes her head and lets go of a husky chuckle.

"Did I do something?", you mutter doe eyed. Ellie stops in her tracks and inhales. She grabs you by your waist and walks towards you, making you have to clumsily pace backwards until your back meets a cold grey brick wall with a resounding thud. "Uhg!" You hiccup, breath catching down your throat. You even sweetly giggle, thinking in your head that this could possibly be just a sweet attack of PDA.

But her eyes are dark, gone from emerald to pine, pupils pitch black as big as a button. Her warm whiskey breath meets your nose and your top lip, you gulp. Why isn't she laughing? teasing?

"El?" your voice is still candied, always. Ellies mouth is agape, scarred eyebrows scrunched and furrowed as if she's confused, or pissed, or provoked. Her forehead meets yours so automatically, you attempt to connect your lips with a kiss but she backs away meanly. Albeit her taunting position, how intimidating and truly scary she looks whilst you're caged within her frame, your'e still smiling, you're still thinking she's just teasing.

You're not used to this, she knows, but god knows she yearns to teach you a lesson.

You don't fuck with what's hers.

She licks her bottom lip before she starts speaking.

"Take off your skirt"

Her voice nearly renders you drunk, It's huskiness, gruffness, it's depth, and really, you've only had one shot. Your cheeks heat up and your ears feel as if they're nearly burning. Her lips are so damn close to yours and she still won't let you kiss her.

"Wh... we're in public, we can't—" you stutter, eyes shifting downwards towards the knee she has shoved near your barely covered crotch. When she brings it upwards just to brush delicately on your inner thigh, you let go of a small gasp.

She responds to your gasp with a barely audible "Mhm?", her eyes sharpening with intent.

"Yes we can", she tsk's, and her voice taunts. Her eyes graze over your face, and you expect her next sentence to bite like the last one did, but her voice goes softer. "For me?", she cocks her head to the side.

And it simply pushes you over the edge.

You peel your skirt off of your body, asscheeks plastered over the brick wall as her body squeezes you further back, and you're left half naked with a piece of fabric scrunched below your knees, resting on your shoes. She eyes your body up and down, meeting your pleading and still confused eyes — and for a moment, thinks of just carrying you home and taking care of business once you get there. No jealousy, none of that.

But it's still bitter down her throat, and she can still picture his disgusting hand meeting your soft thigh, her soft thigh — as your body is hers, so that thought is ever so fleeting. It's either now or now.

Her cold as ice finger traces faint circles on your lower tummy, making the fine hairs of your body rise like soldiers. You whimper quietly as her finger snaps the elastic band of your panties and lets it smack down your pelvis. You rub your thighs together, but you're ever so pliant as she makes your legs spread wide with a boot covered foot opening up your calves like a gate.

She whispers in your ear. "Are you wet?", it makes you shiver.

"M'cold" you whine.

She scoffs.

She kneads your bra cup with her palm, squeezing an erect nipple with her thumb and middle finger. "Didn't ask that"

Her eyes meet your gaze and again she reconsiders this whole thing — because you truly look so needy, and your lips are so pouty and sweet and red with cold, you look as if you'd die if she didn't kiss you right now so how can she even be worried, let alone be jealous?

She knows how much you love her, how much you yearn for nobody but her, how her touch leaves you speechless time and time again.

But it's like something takes over, a dark figure, a figure that's thirsty and starving and wants to prove a thing it already knows.

It's an internal struggle, she doesn't want to be possessive,

She can't help it.

Your panties are striped with pink and white, and she looks at them as if they're the most expensive lace in the whole entire world. Her breathing gets heavier as she curls her fingers inside the cotton fabric, pupils darkening when she notices a sweet clear string of your arousal clinging from the entrance of your cunt to the bottom of your underwear.

She chuckles, followed by a sigh of relief that you notice. You are wet, right in the middle of the street where an innocent soul could catch you at any given moment. "Didn't answer cause you're shy?" She knows you so well. You bite your lip and nod, butterflies fighting in the pits of your stomach. A chaste kiss on the lips is all you get from her, and you deeply whine into the air. "At least kiss me!" you beg, — god, you're so cute when you're pissed.

Before landing on her knees, Ellie looks from side to side in order to check that there's truly nobody around, and no — not because she's scared to get caught, but because she'd die before she let someone see her girlfriend half naked with her skirt down her thighs.

Ellie is face to face with your quivering, pantie covered cunt. A wet patch greets her — a fuckin' pleasure, one she can't help but swipe her tongue across. Your choked up, terrified sound of a moan is a symphony to her hears, fuck Mozart. Her eager muscle of a tongue is so warm against your pussy you nearly forget it started snowing yesterday.

You buck your hips inwards, she groans. "No moving", she warns — simply to assert a dominance that has already been asserted. She kisses your little clit, coo's at the way it slightly pokes out of the fabric, erect and pumping on her tongue. "Ellie... Ellie... Ellie", you babble like a prayer, which she nods to. "S'my name, that's fuckin' right", she groans as her husky voice is muffled by your soaked panties.

"Ellie..." you repeat, thighs beginning to ache as you try and spread them further apart, almost sitting on her face.

Ellie, not Michael.

She smiles, greedy, triumphant.

She flicks her tongue on your clit, once, twice, three times before biting on your meaty pussy lips. You bite your knuckles in order to keep your voice down, but she glares up at you. "Do that again n'I swear to god I'm stopping" she growls.

You're not used to this side of her at all, but her voice makes your hole leak a small stream from deep inside. She feels it's wetness on her tongue, eyes closing in ecstasy as she audibly suckles your sweet, tangy, heavenly juices from the now sheer fabric. Her own spit runs down her chin, she doesn't even bother to wipe it off. All you can hear are your breathy, whiney moans, tiny begs of "take 'em off, please", regarding your panties, and Ellie's throaty groans. You're so wet from your own juices and her saliva it nearly gets uncomfortable, but then again you're so goddamn close to cumming.

You try taking matters to your own hands, attempting to peel off your panties from your waist with a shaky hand but she snarls and slaps your wrist away.

"Nuh uh, pussy's fuckin' mine, don't touch it"

With relentless sucking on your drenched clit, and soiled panties, she opens her eyes to merely glare at you again with a warning look. "When you're close, you let me know" she bites.

You don't respond.

A stinging slap meets your pussy, which makes your thighs shake, whole body jolt, and throat ache with a high pitched yelp.

"You're not listening" Ellie warns.

"You listen when I talk" she warns again. Her tongue meets your clit and it pushes it further and further up. You shake, eyesight gone blurry, you're close, you know it by the way the coil down your stomach threatens to snap, and by the way it tickles down there so damn bad.

"M'close" you brokenly wail.

She grunts deeply and stops completely. your heart nearly breaks, no no no no no. "Ellie, Ellie, Els, no!" You try and buck your hips forward but she holds you in place with an iron like grip. You buck them again and she peels off the fabric of your underwear, slightly rising up as she stares inside at the mess she made of you. There's a devilish smirk that creeps up from her lips, apple of one cheek rising. You let out a sigh of relief, thinking that perhaps she'll actually fucking eat you out properly instead of letting you suffer inside a warm, wet material of a mess that truly doesn't look like something wearable anymore. Instead, she audibly spits inside with a "Ptu'", letting the band snap shut. Her saliva mixes with your warm sleek. You're so confused she nearly feels bad, but she's such a cunt that she really doesn't.

"Were going back inside," she murmurs so casually as if she didn't just fuck you up in the middle of the street, as if her chin isn't shiny with your precum. "N'if Michael puts his hand on you again, I'm eating it in front of him"

[luveline]

hiiiiiiiii jade! <3

would you be willing to write a fic about girl dad!spencer x bombshell!reader? i can only imagine what an adorable riot their daughter would be!!!

tysm!

ty for requesting!! mom!reader

Spencer always thought you were too beautiful for him. Too funny, too brave, too confident. For years he feared he’d never be anyone you could love; he was the opposite of all your best parts, he talked too much about the wrong things, he went red whenever you so much as looked at him, and he couldn’t flirt back, not for anything. 

But it’s been a very long time since he felt that way. What good is a father who doesn’t believe in being yourself? Amanda deserved to be loved from the moment she drew breath, and he shouldn’t have been any different. 

Now, though, he’s wondering if he shouldn’t be so accepting of all her whims. “I am not wearing that, daddy,” she says. 

She’s just old enough to put together sentences but young enough that the individual words sound like building blocks, chunky and clumsy on her little mouth. Her lips are yours, her smiles and frowns one hundred percent you. (Though you argue with him often that the quizzical pout she does is all his.)

“What do you mean, angel?” he asks, bent over her sock drawer looking for a matching pair. 

“This is pink, and this is purple.” She points. 

“Yes, and you like pink and purple!” 

“I like pink… and I like purple,” she says. 

“But not together?” he asks knowingly. “You want them at different times, is that it?” 

She runs for his legs, hugging them tightly. “Thank you.” 

“You’re so much like your mommy it’s scary,” he whispers playfully, leaning down to pat her small back. “Okay, angel. I’ll find you a different dress to wear. Or maybe the dungarees!”

She lifts her chin up to smile at him. “Y’okay.” 

“Spencer, Amy!” you call, voice carrying from the kitchen. “Are you guys ready? We have to go soon and you haven’t even eaten!” 

Spencer used to sit at his desk daydreaming about you. He’d drink five cups of tea a day to get to walk past you for the kitchenette, hoping you’d be making a coffee, that you’d flirt with him over corporate rewarded donuts. Now you’re making him breakfast as he persuades your daughter into jelly shoes because she wants tall shoes like mommy. They compromise —Any will wear the wrong shoes if Spencer agrees to carry her to the kitchen table. 

“Sorry,” Spencer says as he pushes open the door into the kitchen. He's trying to be the best dad he can be all the time, but he doesn’t have a knack for the mornings like you do. “We won’t be late.” 

“That depends on how agreeable my lovely girl is feeling today.” You pick up the pink plastic plate you’ve filled with eggs, toast, and a mix of washed berries. “What do you think, Amy? Looks nummy?”

“Chocolate chip?” she asks, eyes already widening. 

“It’s breakfast, honey,” you say, scooping her out of Spencer’s arm to carry her to the table. “Chocolate chips are for dinner.” 

“Please?”

“If you promise to be really super duper good at Uncle Derek’s, then yes, you can have some chocolate chips,” you say, tucking her chair in, and kissing her chubby cheek. “You want me to make you milk or juice, mm?”

Spencer spots the two plates you’ve made up for you and him on the counter and quickly brings them to the table, sliding yours in front of you with a long-pronged fork, his hand on your shoulder to keep you in your seat. “I’ll get it,” he says, ducking down to kiss you on the side of the mouth. 

You turn to Amy. “See that, sweetheart? See how nice and kind your daddy is to me? He’s soooo nice. This is why we love him so much, and we appreciate him so much.” 

Amy nods emphatically, blueberries tumbling off of her plastic fork. “So much,” she echoes, her voice like melting sugar. 

He has a weird moment by the fridge where he has to grip the handle. “You know I used to dream about making you a cup of coffee in the mornings?” he asks. 

“Spencer, come over here and kiss me again, please,” you say, sympathetic and fond.

“Me too!” Amy says through fruit. “Me first.” 

“Oh, gosh, this is one of the hardest decisions of my life,” he says, sweeping in to dot your cheeks with kisses, hers then yours, three apiece.

[monstersflashlight]

Advent calendar: Day 15. Ice dragon

Dragon x fem!reader || oral sex, (very light) dom/sub, size kink

“Lick my peen, my treasure.” His order did something to you, an intense heat blooming inside you until you are shivering and crawling to him. His throne was so big around him and you felt so, so tiny… It was great.

“Gladly,” you let out as you closed your hands around his giant dick. There was no way you could suck him in your mouth, but you could definitely do something with your mouth. You were going to tease and lick him until he was begging for mercy… Even if that was very unlikely.

You started slow, but his grunts and curses only made you want to drive him insane faster and faster. You licked around the tip, your tongue dancing around the slit until there was copious amounts of precum drenching your lips. You drank them greedily, his big scaled hand cradling the back of your head as you continued. You used your hands to rub the excess of precum around the shaft, pressing at the bulging veins until he was crying out your name, more precum shooting into your welcoming mouth.

You kept going even when his tail broke something at your right, your hands massaging his huge shaft as your mouth sucked at the underside of his tip, that special part of him that was so sensitive he could cum with you only licking it. The power you felt when he started twitching under you, his precum flowing unstopped as you went faster, sucking stronger as if you wanted to suck a hickey on his dick. He was thrashing over you, his wings fluttering behind him as he accidentally hit the throne with them, drawing a chuckle out of you.

He roared: “enough,” and you shivered in anticipation. “Come here, little human.” He grabbed you by the waist, his big claws going around your entire middle, his fingers touching at your front.

“Wha- what are you doing?” You asked as he lifted your body as if you weighted nothing. It drove you insane to know how big he was and how tiny you felt in comparison. It was exhilarating to know he could destroy you without breaking a sweat but loved you enough to treat you like his treasure. Like something out of his hoard.

His serious tone got even more emotionless when he said: “I’m going to lick your sweet nectar out of the source until you are crying in ecstasy,” his promise only made you whimper.

“Oka- okay,” you agreed as he moved you body to sit over his snout.

You wriggled, trying to get some friction against his scales, but he blew a tiny breath of cold against your pussy that made you shiver and let out a scream of pleasure. The contrast between his cold breath and your overheated pussy was delicious in the most maddening way. He didn’t let you move, though. He was in control of the situation and the hand around your body was enough to remind you.

He moved your body slowly, his long tongue darting to lick the juices out of your drenched pussy as he hummed in appreciation. His tongue was so long it could get deeper than any human dick could, and he exploited that fact more than enough. He licked and sucked in a slow caress, almost lazily, until you started chanting his name, your legs trembling around his head.

And then he was done teasing, always too impatient to draw it out more than necessary. He moved your body so you were ridding his face like a cowgirl, back arched and pussy rubbing deliciously against his scales in the most pleasurable way possible. You grabbed onto his nostril covers, the scales there perfect for you to hold onto as you moved your hips faster, harder.

He was humming against your pussy, tiny cold breaths calming you down a fraction just to lick the juices out of you and drive you insane again. It was like a game to him, to see how fast he could make you come until your brain was jelly and your legs couldn’t hold you up anymore. And he was a damn professional at it.

You tried to hold back, you really tried to be strong and don’t come so fast because he always made fun of you after. How easy was to drive your poor human body into orgasm after orgasm… But you were weak. And his tongue was so damn good you couldn’t hold back even if you wanted.

You came messily around his tongue, the pointy tip massaging your G-spot as his scales rubbed against your clit. You moved your hips to make the best of it as he hummed, letting out tiny puffs of cold air making your brain short-circuit as your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave. You screamed his name like a prayer, and he pushed you further, farther… it was always so intense and magical that you couldn’t understand why there were humans who didn’t want to ride dragon faces.

He roared in victory, your body sagging against him as he lowered you to be cradled against his neck. “You didn’t come,” you whispered, half asleep against his neck, his hand warm against your back.

“There will be time for that later, my treasure.” And with that promise, you fell asleep.

[msbyslilbimbo]

‼️MINORS DNI‼️

el oh el but pls imagine having sex with shidou and sae recording it, but like.

shidou has a muzzle on, because he’s a loud, bitey boy, and sae is so possessive he hates seeing anyone’s marks besides his own tainting your pretty skin- even if it’s shidou, who is literally his and your boyfriend- and every now and then in your haze, you feel the plastic bump into your clammy skin, and you hear shidou roar in anger.

“take this fuckin’ thing offa me, dickhead,” he growls.

“you haven’t earned the privilege to,” sae says simply. “when you’ve earned the right to be out of the muzzle, i’ll let you out, pup.”

theyre both so dominant, so rough, but sae will always hold the title of “dom” over shidou.

shidou’s big, beefy hands grip your waist sharp enough to leave indents with his nails, and he’s got you ass up on your knees while he pounds mercilessly into you, cock prodding your cervix with every thrust of his hips. the entire bed shifts and creaks as he rocks into you, reeling his hips fully back before using all the force he can muster to slam back into you. your entire body moves with him, and your thighs burn from keeping your hips so high in the air, your only saving grace being your chest and face are smushed into the mattress, drool and tears staining the already dark ruby comforter.

your body trembles. the heat between all three bodies makes you writhe and stir. your pussy throbs around shidou’s girthy dick, juices spilling from your hole causing a froth that splatters against your ass with every pound he gives you.

all the while, sae is on his knees just a few inches away, close enough to touch but too far for your jellied limbs to reach out for, which makes you whine. he’s got his phone camera steady in his hands while his cock stands proudly, but dejectedly, at the sight of his girlfriend being ruined. your eyes struggle focusing on him, but when you do make eye contact, he smirks down at you.

“guess you’re not fucking her well enough, shidou,” he jeers. “she still looks for me while you’re balls deep inside of her. what a brat.” he brings the phone down to your face, and you whimper and try to hide in the mattress from embarrassment and the bright light of the flash.

only for shidou to stop pounding you for a moment, just a moment, and lace his fingers through your hair, pulling you up to face the camera. your arms instinctively firm to hold your weight up and try to ease the burn on your scalp. “is that right?” he snarls. “you want sae to take care of this sensitive pussy? my cock not good enough for you anymore?”

there is no right answer. you know if you say no, you want shidou, he’ll force you to take his cock until you both cum, only for sae to make you face away while you ride him in punishment- which wouldn’t be so bad, if sae would help you, touch you, acknowledge you, but his resistance to cumming can take hours; you’d almost think he’s not into it, if it weren’t for his tightening balls betraying him. he doesn’t even let you look at him, he’s so mean.

you say yes, you want sae, sae will put a cock cage on shidou to keep him from cumming without permission, fuck you at his own pace and his own leisure, and then free shidou into finishing inside of you, tearing up your raw pussy even more while he records it again, the whole time threatening to send it to everyone on his team to show them what a slut you are. he’s made good on his word before and showed them, leading to dozens of soccer players to slide into your dm’s and ask how easy it is to get you onto their cock.

you sniffle and blink a line of fresh tears out, only for sae to catch it with his thumb and bring it to his lips to savor the salty liquid. “well? what do you want, you insatiable girl? do you want me-“

“or me?” shidou hisses. you can see the grit of his teeth through the muzzle.

you gulp. your lips slowly part and you make fishlike mouth movements as you struggle to conjure words.

sae, unimpressed, grips your chubby cheeks in his thick fingers, smushing them close and pursing your lips out. “words. use them.”

“b-both…” you confess. “want both… please?”

you watch sae’s lips curl into a smile again, eyes blazing with excitement over your words. he looks at shidou, “well then. guess we’re going to have to ruin another little hole, aren’t we?” the phone gets guided down to his cock, as he grips it in his hands and starts to jerk himself off.

“you think you’re cummin’ anytime soon, you’re wrong, you little freak,” shidou assures, letting go of your hair and thrusting hard enough your arms give out and your chest lands heavy against the mattress. you whimper as your world spins, fingers fisting the comforter as a means to ground yourself. “not before me, you brat,” shidou grunts before slipping out of you. you cry out as he does, squirming and writhing at the feeling of being so empty. you collapse onto your side, feeling butterflies for the delicious torment you’re about to be subjected to. “i want that little squealy throat of hers. teach her a lesson from all that bitchin’ and whinin’.”

sae rolls you onto your back and gets between your legs, thumb lazily rolling over your clit before pulling the small bit of protective skin back and spitting a hot wad of spit onto your pulsing bud, all the while the flash of his camera fixates on your quivering pussy. you jerk from all the attention to your puffy, swollen gash, and he sneers.

“you can take her throat, shidou,” sae says coolly, as if you’re not splayed out on camera. “bring her to the edge of the bed so you don’t get in my way.

“because i want this cunt all to myself right now.”

[ssunnysdream]

you are his pretty obedient sub +˚｡⋆ 𐙚˚

⤷ nsfw (18+), afab reader, dom/sub dynamic, degrading names (use of slut/whore), breathplay

He keep thrusting into your sloppy cunt, earning the sweetest sounds from you. "Keep staring at me. If you want that cock that bad, then keep fucking looking at me." You were already trembling from head to toes, with that order though your limbs turn to jelly. You can't help but close your eyes from his intense thrusts, moaning for more of his cock. "Such a slut. I won't give you what you want if you don't fucking listen to me." When he grabs your throat, making you stare right back, he starts pounding even harder and deeper. Your juices making such lewds sounds he smirks and slides a thumb into your shiny lips. "That's it, you whore. Now stay still until I make you cum as much as I want."

[♡] alhaitham, childe, wriothesley, scaramouche/wanderer, cyno, heizou

[osachiyo]

⋆｡°DRUNK DAZED ! ☆

﹙✮﹚── includes : dazai, chuuya, atsushi, ranpo, sigma & tetchou x fem! reader ♡

﹙✮﹚── content warnings : nsfw content (mdni), oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, facesitting, overstimulation, petnames, degradation, penetrative sex, a teeeeeny tiny mention of blood etc ♡

﹙✮﹚── synopsis : they're pussydrunk ♡

﹙✮﹚── author's note : since y'all chose smut for the poll here you guys go, enjoy the meal hehe 😋 birthday fic coming next so keep an eye out for that 😏

DAZAI ⋆｡° ✮

You bit on your bottom lip to suppress your moans, legs shaking like jelly as a mixture of your slick and your boyfriend's saliva ran down your legs, staining the cold floor of the storage room of the agency. You really hoped nobody came to look for you two, or even walk in the direction of the room.

"keep your legs open, pretty," dazai slurred, his voice deep with lust and more importantly, the adoration he held for you. You were his pretty baby, after all. His sweet belladonna, who he was eating like a 3 course meal right now. You were pushed against the door of the storage room while he was on his knees, worshipping his pussy.

Dazai felt his phone buzzing in his pocket, it was most likely Kunikida, wondering where the hell the brunette went during work hours. He couldn't care less though, too busy making out with your cunt. His skilled tongue worked wonders on your clit, fingers buried knuckles deep into your velvety walls as you bit the back of your hand to try and stay quiet. He kept eye contact with you the whole time, pulling his fingers out briefly to fuck you with his tongue, chocolate brown eyes staring deep into your own teary ones. "you look so beautiful right now. I wish you could see yourself, bella," he hummed, voice smooth like honey as he buried his face even deeper between your wobbly legs, wanting to taste every last drop of your addicting arousal. He could feel his cock throbbing in his pants, the fabric ever so restricting. He ignored it though, too focused on making you cum on his tongue first. His nose bumped against your clit everytime he thrusted his tongue into you. He watched your eyes roll back slightly, losing focus as you tug on his fluffy hair, "close— 'm close! 'samu—" you threw your head back, some drool slipping past your lips as your grip tightened on his brunette roots. "I know, baby, I know. cum f'me, sweetheart. I know you can," he groaned, the noise vibrating against your cunt. That was the last straw before you came all over his face. He eagerly slurped up all of your slick, moaning lowly at the slightly bitter taste. You were addicting to him. He stood up, dusting off his pants before he pulled your panties back up, snapping the waistband against your skin with a smirk. His arms were still holding you up, supporting your weight as you calmed down from your high. You looked down to see a puddle of your juices on the floor and Dazai's...soaked pants? "osamu, did you—" you were cut off by the door slamming open.

You were fucked, good luck.

CHUUYA ⋆｡° ✮

You were tied to the bedpost for God knows how long, the red ribbons snaked around your naked body while the pretty pink vibrator attached to your clit buzzed away, tormenting you with each passing second. You regretted messing with Chuuya during his phone call. You should've just been a good girl, he said before leaving you all tied up and needy.

Your ears perked up when the bedroom door opened, Chuuya walked in the room with a cocky smirk. "how's my little slut holding up?" He chuckled, clearly satisfied with how much of a mess he made you. He brushed a few stray hairs out of your face, tucking them behind your ear. He groaned, you were practically sitting on a pool of your own arousal, your inner thighs shiny with your slick. He brought a hand down to your core, collecting some of your slick on his gloved finger before shoving them inside you. You gasped, back arching from the sudden intrusion. Your tummy felt like it was on fire, being denied release for hours. "s'mean— you're mean," you sniffeled, glaring up at your lover with teary eyes. His lips stretched to a grin at your adorableness, "this too much for you, sweetness?" He cooed, making space for himself between your legs and laying on his stomach. He took his gloves off, chucking them somewhere in the room before he licked his lips in anticipation. He could smell how turned on you were, desperate for your sweet orgasm. Your hips bucked when his fingers inched closer to your heat, making him stifle a laugh. He finally took the vibrator off, placing it on the fancy nightstand beside the bed before diving head first between your thighs. He licked a fat stripe up your cunt, bucking his hips into the soft mattress as he ate you like a starved animal. You tried to grab onto something— anything to ground yourself but alas, you were still tied up. He suckled on your swollen clit eagerly, lips wrapped around the sensitive bud as his tongue swirled around it. You squealed when his fingers pushed into your hole again, your gummy walls twitching around them. "good— tastes so good, doll. been thinking about this all fucking evening,” he growled into your cunt. Being edged for so long, you couldn't hold out for much longer, squirting all over his face. He blinked, clearly shocked from your juices spraying all over him. You were about to apologize when you saw Chuuya’s eyes darken, jaw clenching as he stared at you, “that was the hottest shit I’ve ever seen you do, fuck,” he groaned, going back to devouring you with double— if not triple the eagerness. “you’re gonna do that again. I’m not stopping until you soak the whole fuckin’ bed.”

ATSUSHI ⋆｡° ✮

Words couldn’t describe how fucking exhausted you were right now, your body aching from how long Atsushi had been drilling his cock into you. You were so overstimulated at this point, pussy swollen from the continuous abuse your boyfriend had been putting it through.

“shit— baby, you feel s’good, so tight for me—” Atsushi groaned, his claws digging into your hips, drawing slight blood as he got lost in the feeling of your cunt spasming around his cock. He was practically foaming at the mouth, just as overstimulated as you were but showed absolutely no signs of stopping anytime soon. His cock was swollen and an angry shade of red, indicating just how sensitive he was but he still could not get enough of your sticky cunt, burying himself in you even though his dick was screaming at him to give it a rest. You weren’t any better either, brain completely fried from his cock driving in and out of you at a rapid pace, his pelvis rubbing against your sensitive clit while you racked your pretty nails down his back. It was downright filthy. But the both of you were too out of it too care, losing yourselves in each other’s embrace. “cumming— oh god, fuck!” He panted, biting your shoulder to ground himself atleast a little bit.

It had been an hour since that, he was shooting blanks into your battered cunt at this point. Your eyes were barely open, close to passing out, your legs felt like jelly from how much they were trembling, nails now buried in the sheets as you sobbed, “ ‘sushi— ‘m too sensitive! can’t—” you gasped when he wrapped his lips around your nipple, whining, “jus’ one more time, pleasepleaseplease—” he shuddered before painting your insides white with his seed, arms wrapped around your half conscious figure as he savoured the blissful high. You almost fell asleep after a few minutes, eyes closing when Atsushi’s hips start moving again. You were about to speak when he cut you off, “shh, just one more, please?”

RANPO ⋆｡° ✮

"ranpo, I'm not gonna sit on your face," you huffed, crossing your arms. He pouted, "c'mon, sugar. it'd feel sooooo good." You sighed, deadpanning at him. "I'll share my snacks with you for a month if you—" "deal."

You chewed on your bottom lip as you hovered over Ranpo's face, "are you sure about this? I don't want to accidentally hurt y—" you gasped when he pulled down on his awaiting mouth, too impatient to let you finish your sentence or reassure you. His thumb pushed your panties to the side, revealing your pretty pussy to him. He licked a long stripe up your cunt, making you whimper. You tried to sit back up on your knees but he was holding you down tight, slim fingers digging into your hips. His greedy tongue swirled around your clit before flicking it. He moaned into your cunt when you ground down on his face, muttering out little curses and his name. His tongue moved down to your hole, pushing in while he brought his hand to your clit, fingers rubbing your clit in swift circles. You felt like you were on cloud nine, mouth watering at the pleasure your boyfriend was inflicting upon you. You reached back to cup his dick through his shorts, the fabric slightly damp with his precum. He gasped when you palmed him through them, pinching your clit lightly to get back at you. You yelped, grinding down harder on his eager face, feeling his cock twitch in your hand. He liked that. He scoffed, the sound muffled between your thighs. He greedily slurped on your juices, savouring your taste on his tongue and fuck, he could feel his eyes roll back behind closed lids. You felt the coil in your stomach tighten— so close to snapping. "yesyesyes— god, ranpo!" You squealed, gushing all over your lover's face. He let out a guttural noise, drinking all of your arousal up before finally lifting you up from his face. You could see his face completely soaked with your liquid, a lopsided grin on his face, "see? was that so bad?" You laughed, shaking your head, wondering why the actual fuck you hadn't tried it sooner.

SIGMA ⋆｡° ✮

You had Sigma tied up on your bed, pretty pink ribbons matching his pretty pink cock, leaking precum from the flushed tip. He was glaring at you, demanding to be untied immediately but you just smirked, having too much fun teasing your boyfriend like this.

"such a good boy, aren't you, sigma?" You slurred, eyes shutting in pleasure when he flicked his tongue on your clit, hard cock aching to be inside you. Your hand brushed through his bangs, making him look up at you, your slick covering the lower half of his handsome face. God, he was beautiful. He hummed against your leaking cunt, slobbering all over your heat. He wanted to pleasure you with everything he had, his tongue, fingers and cock but unfortunately for him, he was tied up. He wasn't too sure of the idea before but now? Now he was enthusiastically burying his face between your thighs, running his tongue up and down your pretty folds. You tasted like heaven to him, a little break from the hell he went through. Your moans and giggles of pleasure were music to his ears, making his face flush with each lewd noise you make. His brain felt foggy from your addicting taste, so sweet on his tongue as he lapped everything up, nose bumping against your clit. You'd think he was one getting head from how much pre his cock was leaking, he couldn't help but hump the mattress, growing downright addicted to your taste. Lavender and white locks of hair framing his face perfectly, your hand buried in it as he ate you up like his last meal on earth. He could feel your cunt clenching and unclenching on his tongue and he moaned, the sound borderline pornographic as his eyes rolled back. His face was flushed a shade of pink down to his neck. "god— you taste so—" he cut himself off with a groan, gasping when you cum all over his face, your head thrown back and exposing your neck as you moan his name. You looked down to see Sigma's face red, swollen lips coated in a layer of your shiny slick. He looked dazed, half lidded eyes looking at you with hunger, "more. n-need more," he panted, burying his face back into your sopping heat.

TETCHOU ⋆｡° ✮

You didn't know how you ended up like this, one moment you're training with your boyfriend and the next moment you're getting folded by him on the carpeted floor as he bullies his thick cock past your tight entrance.

You felt like you were in a daze, legs pushed up against your chest, mouth forming an 'o' shape as your eyes roll back into your skull. Tetchou's bangs were brushing against your forehead, sweat dripping down his muscular back as he rolled his hips into you. He could see and feel the way your cunt sucked him in, not letting him go. He placed open mouthed kisses on your neck and collarbones, nibbling on the sensitive flesh. His fingers dug into the back of your thighs, leaving indented marks from how firm he was gripping them. "hah— takin' my cock s'well," he rasped before pressing his lips against yours, swallowing your moans and whimpers while plowing into you. Your pussy was all swollen and sensitive from how long he'd been at this. His previous load was dripping down your ass, staining the carpet below. You felt so good— so tight and wet all for him, he felt like home in your cunt, hips smacking against your ass erratically while you milked his cock for all it's worth. You couldn't even think properly anymore, too fucked out to have any coherent thoughts but his cock. He could feel his mouth water at the sight of your teary eyes rolling back, tongue lolling out slightly as he fucked the brains out of you. He wasn't any better either, panting and gasping with each thrust, growling every time you clench down on his cock so deliciously. You put him in a trance, he wasn't thinking with his brain anymore, much too occupied by drilling his cock into your welcoming heat, fat tip kissing your cervix with each thrust, making a wet noise each time his hips met your ass.

©sachiyoh— do not copy, plagiarize and repost my works to any platform, reblogs are very appreciated♡

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[hoshifighting]

    stripper!reader x stripper!mingyu

— where you join forces with your coworker, mingyu, to make this saturday's client night the absolute best!

WARNINGS: +18, smut, stripper club setting, pussy eating, penetrative sex, protected sex, public teasing, mentions of money.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST

the bass is so loud, it’s vibrating through your bones. you can feel it under your fingertips as you grip the pole, spinning lazily around, letting your body arch and twist under the spotlight like it’s nothing. just another night, just another shift.

the stage lights glint off the tiny pearls on your matching set, each one catching the neon pinks and blues cutting through the dark, practically blinding in how they flash against your skin. your whole body sparkles, glitter dusting your cheeks, eyelids shimmering every time you blink.

out of the corner of your eye, you catch mingyu, all perfect muscle and stupidly sharp jawline, doing his thing with some woman who’s gotta be pushing forty, maybe fifty. she’s bold, though, slipping a stack of bills down his waistband like she’s done this before. the whole time, mingyu’s eyes are locked on you, a smirk teasing at his lips as he grinds just close enough to make her blush. cocky.

mingyu’s staring at you the whole time, like she isn’t even there, like you’re the one giving him the damn lap dance. you don’t break eye contact as you slide to the floor, your knees hitting the stage with a thud that only you can feel. the pearls on your top catch the light, sparkling like something priceless, and you know you look like a fucking dream.

the girl sitting by the stage is young, too shy to even meet your eyes, but she’s holding a wad of cash tight in her fingers, like she’s not sure what to do with it.

“go on, sweetheart,” you purr, voice low as you push up onto your knees, rolling your shoulders as you arch your back, eyes flicking over her face. “don’t be shy.”

her cheeks flush and, after a second of hesitation, she slides a couple of hundred-dollar bills onto the stage, her fingers trembling like she’s never seen a naked body before in her life. cute.

you pick up the notes, your fingers curling around them before tucking them into the side of your panties with a grin, giving her a wink as you rise back to your feet. the guy with her, maybe her boyfriend, watches the whole thing with his mouth open, but you barely even glance his way. nah, this is all for her.

you sway your hips as you walk over to her, slow, teasing, circling her like you’re a predator and she’s the prey. the dude next to her—the boyfriend? the sugar daddy? who fucking knows—he’s watching you too, but his attention’s mostly on her, like he’s getting off on her reaction more than yours. you pause, letting your fingers brush against her knee before leaning in closer, your lips ghosting over her ear as you whisper, “enjoy the show sweetheart...”

she stutters, barely able to form a response, and you laugh softly, the sound low and sultry. then, just like that, you’re gone, turning on your heel to head back to the stage, looking over your shoulder with a smirk, your body still moving with the music.

show’s over.

hours later, when the shift finally winds down, your legs feel like jelly and your head’s buzzing from the lights and the constant movement. you’re wiping the last bit of sweat from your brow when mingyu shows up, two glasses of juice in hand and that familiar, smug grin plastered on his face. he’s already thrown on a pair of sweats, but his chest is still bare, glistening under the faint glow of the backstage lights.

“house’s favorite girl,” he teases, draping a fluffy robe over your shoulders like the gentleman he pretends to be. “how’s your night been, superstar?”

you roll your eyes but can’t help the smile tugging at your lips as you take the juice from him, downing half the glass in one go. “same shit, different night. made some bank though, so i ain’t complaining. had a cute little thing at the front, though. she couldn’t even look me in the eye.”

mingyu chuckles, taking a sip of his juice. “yeah? she the one with the hundred-dollar nerves? you were working her real good.”

“you saw that?” you raise an eyebrow, smirking. “course you did. you couldn’t stop staring.”

“what can i say? hard not to when you’re putting on a fucking show.” his voice drops, and you know he’s baiting you, but you bite anyway.

“oh, come on,” he says, nudging you playfully with his elbow. “you know you love watching me work.”

“nah,” you laugh, stepping away from him, heading towards the dressing room. “i just love how easy you are to distract. that poor woman had no idea where your head was at.”

he laughs, loud and easy, following you as you both make your way out. “yeah, well, you’re lucky i’m so damn good at multitasking.”

“whatever helps you sleep at night, gyu,” you call over your shoulder, the two of you stepping into the cool night air.

he shakes his head, still grinning, as he throws an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “you know, you should be thanking me,” he says, voice playful but with that edge that makes you wonder if he’s serious. “i keep the lights on in that place. without me, you’d be broke.”

you shoot him a sideways glance, smirking. “oh, please. i’m the one keeping those lonely boys coming back for more. without me, you’d be giving free dances just to keep your ego in check.”

mingyu laughs again, and you find yourself laughing with him, the two of you walking side by side under the neon lights of the city, ready to do it all again tomorrow.

[...]

you remember when mingyu first stumbled into the club—eyes wide and innocent, asking if the house was hiring. the poor kid looked like he’d never stepped foot in a place like this before, lost in the velvet and gold that dripped from every corner of the club. you’d been the one to take him under your wing, showing him the ropes, giving him pointers. hell, you even helped him pick out his first set of dance clothes, some cheap shit he was embarrassed to wear, but you told him it wasn’t about the clothes. “it’s about confidence,” you’d said, watching him stumble through his first routine like a newborn fawn, all limbs and nerves.

there was that one night—maybe a year in—when he messed up a private dance, almost spilling a drink on a client’s lap. you’d swooped in, smooth, flashing that grin that always made the rich ones open their wallets. you saved his ass, pulling him out of the situation, and afterward, in the break room, he looked at you like you were some kind of goddess. from then on, he stuck to you like glue, and over time, he became just as polished, just as skilled, and just as much a favorite as you were.

now, years later, it’s saturday night, and the club’s packed with the usual crowd. high rollers, rich assholes with more money than they know what to do with. and there’s mingyu, standing behind you in the dressing room, his big hands buttoning up your rhinestone-covered bra. it’s your good set, the one that always makes the cash pile up a little faster. he’s seen your tits a hundred times at this point—everyone’s seen everyone’s in here, with all the changing and rushing—but it’s different with him. you can feel the way he keeps his eyes guarded when he’s fastening the hooks—respect endless. how he glances in the mirror just to make sure the fit is perfect, your chest looking a little perkier under the sparkling stones, but just that.

you finish your makeup without missing a beat, and then you turn around, there’s a small smile playing on your lips as you grab your brush and start dusting highlighter across his chest, his shoulders, those stupidly defined abs. his muscles twitch when the brush drags over them, and you feel the slight tremor in his breath. he looks away, embarrassed, but you catch the way his lips twitch up just a little, like he can’t help but smile, too.

“hold still, gyu,” you murmur, voice teasing as you brush the glittering powder along the curve of his bicep. “can’t have you going out there looking anything less than perfect, right?”

he chuckles, nervous, and there’s that tension again. it’s always there, buzzing under the surface, but you both ignore it.

the club is packed. you’re up next, and mingyu’s already on stage, doing his usual routine, charming the hell out of everyone like he always does. but something’s different tonight. maybe it’s the way the lights hit just right, or maybe it’s the way he looks at you from across the room, like he’s seeing you in a way he hasn’t before.

your heels click against the stage, your eyes locked on mingyu as the public hums around you. you brush your hands down your body, fingers trailing over the rhinestones of your bra, your stomach, and then your hips. he’s walking toward you too, matching your pace, the same heat in his gaze. when you’re close enough to feel his breath mingle with yours, he cocks his head, voice low.

“what are you doing?” his tone is playful, but there’s an edge to it, like he knows this is different.

you scoff, leaning in just enough for your breath to ghost across his lips. “you ready to make some cash tonight?”

his eyebrow lifts in that cocky way he always does, but the smirk dies when your hands slide from his chest, down his abs, fingers grazing the sharp lines of his muscles. his breath hitches when you hit his thighs, your knees bending as you dance your way down, rolling your hips to the beat. your eyes never leave his, catching every tiny reaction as the music pulses around you.

he hears the crowd, feels the weight of all those eyes on the two of you, but they don’t matter. not really. not when it’s you and him, moving together like you’ve done this a hundred times, even though you haven’t.

as you rise again, your body sways back, your ass pressing into him, your hips grinding against his in time with the rhythm. his hands twitch at his sides, but it doesn’t take long before his fingers finally meet your waist, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you flush against him. the heat of his body, the tight press of his hips making you shiver.

the crowd’s getting thicker now, more people drawn in, whispering about the two favorites dancing together. it’s a special night, and they know it.

“you’re full of surprises tonight,” he murmurs, lips brushing against your ear, barely touching, but enough to make your skin tingle.

“oh, you haven’t seen anything yet,” you purr, a teasing lilt in your voice as you sway your hips, feeling his hands tighten on you, fingers digging into your skin just enough to make you bite your lip.

the crowd’s buzzing now, louder than before, even some of the employees have stopped to watch, their eyes glued to the two of you, wondering where this is going. as you two drown in your own world. the music pulses through your bodies, and it’s just you, him, and the tension that’s been simmering for way too long.

your lips brush against his, so close but never touching, teasing him, teasing the crowd. you can feel his frustration, the way he wants to close the gap, to finally taste you, but you hold back, keeping him on edge. he chuckles, his hands roaming lower, pressing into the small of your back as his hips grind harder into yours. the crowd’s roaring now, fully invested in the performance, but all that matters is him.

your lips hover just out of reach, the dance turning into something more, something bolder, he leans in, lips brushing yours again, but you pull back just enough to keep him guessing, that playful grin on your face as you whisper, “you really think you can keep up with me?”

his eyes flash more intense, and he smirks, challenging. “i can do a lot more than keep up.”

the money practically rains down around you, the sound of bills hitting the floor like music in its own right. you and mingyu catch each other’s gaze, eyes gleaming with the sight of it—stacks of cash, pooling at your feet, your reward for the tease you both just put on. mingyu moves fast, his hands gripping your thighs as he picks you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. the sharp point of your high heels digs into his lower back, and the sensation makes his breath hitch.

your hand slides to the back of his neck, fingers curling into his skin as he holds you close, his grip on your waist tight and possessive. you arch your back, your hair falling back like a waterfall, and he’s mesmerized for a second, the notes still floating in the air around you both. you know he loves this—the way you move, the way you own every second on that stage. he’s addicted to it, and you feel it in the way his hands pull you tighter against him, the way he can’t let go.

together, you step off the stage, leaving behind the frenzy, the crowd’s imaginations running wild with what might happen next. but they wouldn’t see it. this part? this was just for you and mingyu.

he pushes through the dressing room door, locking it behind him with a quick flick of his wrist before pressing you against the hard wood. his lips are on yours in an instant, desperate, rough, tongue sliding against yours like he’s been waiting for this all night—or a lifetime. his fingers fumble with the clasp of your bra, undoing it with a swift pull, while your hands work on his belt, both of you too impatient to slow down.

“fuck, you really had to tease me like that?” he breathes against your lips, hands yanking your bra off, tossing it to the side without care. “you know i can’t keep my hands off you when you look like that.”

“you gonna do something about it?” you challenge, taunting, fingers finally pulling his belt free, your hand dipping lower.

but he’s already got you spun around, pushing you down onto the velvet divan, his lips trailing hot kisses down your neck before latching onto your tits, sucking, biting the buds just enough to make you gasp. your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as he moves lower.

“gonna do more than ‘something,’” he growls, hands gripping your panties and yanking them down, the fabric sliding off easily, leaving your pussy bare under his gaze. his breath is heavy, eyes shady as he kneels down, slinging your legs over his shoulders. your high heels rest on his broad shoulders, the sharp stilettos digging in just enough to make him groan low in his throat.

“god, you’re so soaked already, panties almost didn't hold it” he mutters, as his fingers part your folds, watching the slick gather. without warning, he spits on your pussy, the wetness mixing with your own, dripping down before he catches it with his tongue. his mouth seals around your clit, sucking hard, his tongue swirling as your back arches off the divan, a high-pitched moan escaping your lips.

“fuck, gyu, so good, baby boy” you gasp, your hand fisting in his hair, pulling him closer as he devours you. his tongue works expertly, flicking and circling your clit, as if the nickname made his body work more. you can hardly keep your eyes open, the feeling too much as he continues, relentless, sucking and licking like he’s starving.

he pulls back just enough to growl, “taste so fucking sweet… you know how crazy you make me, right? you’re fuckin’ mine tonight.”

you grip his hair tight, yanking him back just when his mouth is moving too good on you, the sound of his moan vibrating against your skin. you don’t let go, making him look at you, his eyes dark and desperate, like he’s being denied air.

“you gonna be a good boy for me, mingyu?” your voice is a low, sultry tease, breathless but in control. “or are you just gonna sit there, all pathetic and needy, waiting for me to let you fuck me?”

his eyes widen at your words, pupils blown out with lust. “fuck, y/n, please…” he’s already nodding like a man on his knees, begging. “i’ll be good, promise, just—please—”

you smirk, biting your lip as you push yourself up on all fours, your upper body laying across the arm of the divan, head resting lazily like you’ve got all the time in the world. but it’s your back, arching just enough to make him lose his mind, the way your ass is up, fully exposed, skin glistening from the sweat of the night. and when you look over your shoulder at him, your gaze nasty, wild—he swears he almost blacks out.

mingyu stumbles back, rushing around the dressing room like a madman, eyes darting everywhere as he hunts for a condom. he’s moving so fast, he nearly trips over his own pants as he kicks them off, his boxers joining them in a heap on the floor. “shit, fuck—where the hell—ah, got it,” he mutters to himself, finally finding one in the drawer.

his hands are almost shaking as he rips the foil with his teeth, pulling the condom out and sliding it on with a frantic desperation, his cock already leaking, hard and throbbing as he fists it once, twice, just to calm down. “fuck, y/n… look at you,” he groans, coming back over, his eyes locked on the curve of your ass, the way your pussy’s practically dripping for him.

you don’t say anything at first, just watching him through half-lidded eyes, biting your lip. you spread your legs wider, teasing him, showing off just how slick you are, the wetness glistening under the dim light. “you gonna keep staring, or are you gonna put that dick to work?”

he’s on you in a heartbeat, one hand gripping your waist, the other guiding his cock to your entrance. you feel the tip press against your folds, and it’s hot, thick, pushing just enough to make your breath hitch.

“you feel that?” his voice is rough. “feel how fucking hard you make me?”

“shut up and fuck me,” you spit, pushing back against him, making the head of his cock sink in just a little. “you’re too slow, mingyu, don’t make me wait.”

he doesn’t need more than that. with one strong thrust, he’s buried inside you, his cock stretching you wide, the feeling so intense that you can’t help but let out a sharp moan, fingers clawing at the arm of the divan. he’s big, filling you up so deep that it almost hurts, but fuck, it feels so good. he groans so whiny that doesn't even fits him.

“so fucking tight,” he pants, his hips jerking as he starts to move, slow at first, like he’s savoring how you feel around him. “goddamn… i could fuck this pussy for hours.”

you push back, meeting his thrusts with a grind of your own, your ass slapping against his hips with every movement. “yeah? that what you want? to be my little fucktoy? use that big cock of yours until i’m done with you?”

he growls, hands gripping your hips so hard, it’s like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold on. “fuck yes,” he grits out between thrusts, his pace picking up, hips snapping into yours harder now, faster. “you want me to be your fucktoy? then use me, baby… use me all you fucking want.”

your pussy clenches tight around him, the wetness making obscene sounds every time he slams into you. the rhythm is perfect, rough, and fast, his cock dragging against that one spot, your fingers curling on the heels. the heat builds between your legs, the slickness coating his length, making it easy for him to fuck you deep, hard.

“shit, mingyu—right there,” you moan, your body arching back into him as you feel the pressure build, every nerve tingling with the intensity of it. “fuck, you’re so good at this… like you were made to fuck me.”

his hips falter for a second at your words, a deep groan ripping from his throat. “god, y/n, you’re gonna fucking kill me… i’m already so close.”

“don’t you fucking dare,” you snarl, throwing a glance over your shoulder, daring him to cum before you. “you’re gonna keep going until i say so, got it?”

he nods frantically, almost whining as he keeps thrusting, his cock twitching inside you, the tension in his body obvious. “yes, fuck—yes, anything, i’ll keep going, baby, just—fuck, you feel so good—”

you can feel the edge coming, the orgasm building deep inside, and you push back even harder, grinding your ass against him, loving the way he’s losing control. “you feel that?” you taunt, voice breathless. “you feel how close i am? you better fucking keep up.”

“fuck—please, please cum for me, y/n… wanna feel you cum on my cock, wanna feel you tighten up around me,” he’s babbling now, barely coherent as he slams into you over and over, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room.

it hits you all at once—the orgasm making you bite your hand, your body convulsing as you scream his name, fingers digging into the divan. your pussy clamps down on his cock, squeezing tight, and that’s all it takes. mingyu lets out a strangled groan, hips stuttering as he finally cums, his body shuddering against yours as he fills the condom, thrusting through the aftershocks, just to satisfy you, until you tell him to stop.

“back to the stage?” he asks.

you scoff, finally laying on the divan. “fuck no baby, my shift ends here tonight.”

“so let me go get our money pretty, we have to bring home the bacon.” he winks, dressing his denim again. you just give him up thumbs.

he walks to the door, but then turns, walking in your direction to give you a kiss, and now he leaves.

[robinade]

* for the non USians, jelly in this case refers to a soft, sweet spread that is like jam but is made from juice instead of pieces of fruit