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girlygguk · 1 month ago

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NEEDY | JJK (Part 2)

summary hiding his feelings when you didn’t even know his name was hard. hiding his neediness and obsession when you finally did know his name and you were his fucking girlfriend? impossible. well, then it's a good thing you like him needy.

pairing nerd!jk x cheerleader!(f)reader

rating 18+ minors dni

genre established relationship; smut, fluff, angst

word count 11.5k

content jk 18 | oc 18 (🤓☝️ "actually, based on my calculations of the timeli—" idc! it's my fic, they're 18!), a blast to the past; mentions of oc's ex bf & baddie bff, lots of reminiscing, their first time (actually) meeting, clichés, simpy ass couple my god, heavy pet name use, dramatic, a moment of insecurity from jk but oc clears that up quick n snappy, kissing, dry humping, whiny subby koo, lowkey soft dommy oc, oral (both rec), quick orgasms bc they're inexperienced cuties, so soft, protected p in v penetration (brief), virginity loss, young love, they are both the sweetest angels i would actually d!e for them

note!!! the fic ends quite abruptly before they fully get into the Penetration, and if you'd like to know why, pls read the extended author's note here. but there's still a bunchh of smut and fluff tho 🤞 this rlly is just 2 cute lil virgins exploring love ! ENJOOOY 🤍 siri play i like me better by lauv

needy pt 1 [🐇] main masterlist [📣] banner credit

SOME TIME AGO

You and Jungkook have been official for a month now, and in that time, you’ve done your fair share of… stuff.

Every kiss, every touch, every moment between you has felt brand new, like you’re learning each other piece by piece. You were both each other’s firsts in so many things.

You’d had a boyfriend before — Christopher Bahng, the textbook-perfect pairing of the head cheerleader and football captain. Chris was a good guy, still a part of your friend group, always easy to be around. Your parents liked him, you shared classes, friends, group study sessions. It was convenient. Comfortable.

But it was never… well, it was never like this.

With Chris, something had always been missing, though neither of you could quite put it into words. A few months in, you both realized you were better as friends. You’d fooled around a little — awkward, aimless fumbling — but you’d never gone all the way. And, god, were you grateful for that.

Because you knew exactly who you wanted to go all the way with.

And right now, you were sitting on top of him, your hands tangled in his soft hair, lips locked as you swallowed every shaky breath he let out.

“Mmph—” Jungkook moaned into your mouth, needy and breathless. His hands gripped your waist, fingers digging into the soft skin above your hips like he couldn’t bear the thought of letting go. The slight tremble in his touch gave him away. He was trying to keep himself together, but his body was practically vibrating beneath you.

“You okay, bunny?” you murmured, breaking the kiss just enough to look at him. His lips were swollen, his cheeks flushed pink, his big, glassy eyes wide with that expression he always wore around you — like he still couldn’t believe this was real, like he was still processing that you were his.

“Y-yeah, lovie,” he breathed, his voice shaking as he nodded a little too quickly. His chest rose and fell in shallow, rapid breaths, and you couldn’t help the sly smile that tugged at your lips as you traced a finger along his jaw.

“You sure?” you teased softly, your lips brushing his as your hips shifted ever so slightly against his lap. The reaction was instant — a broken whine spilled from his mouth as his cock pressed harder against you, straining beneath the tight denim of his jeans.

Jungkook’s fingers twitched on your hips, his grip tightening as you reached up and gently slipped his glasses off. He was sort-sighted, so it was okay, and he nodded when you paused to make sure he was fine. He blinked a few times as you leaned over, setting the frames carefully on your bedside table. The movement brought your chest close to his face, the neckline of your crop top dipping low, and you weren’t even surprised when he instinctively pressed his face into the curve of your cleavage.

The noise he made — somewhere between a groan and a whimper — shot straight to your core. His hands slid up your waist as his lips brushed against your skin, and for a moment, all you could hear was his ragged breathing.

“Bunny,” you cooed, threading your fingers into his hair, tilting your chest just enough to give him better access. His only response was a needy whine as his hips bucked up beneath you, seeking any sort of relief from the unbearable ache between his legs.

His mouth latched onto the curve of your side boob, wet tongue tongue dragging against the delicate skin. Your breath hitched as he sucked lightly, then harder, his groan throaty and desperate as his hands fiddled with the hem of your top.

“Baby,” you gasped, your voice catching as his tongue darted across your skin. “Pull them out. Suck on them properly.”

It was like something snapped inside him. Jungkook let out a broken whimper, his hands moving to tug the fabric of your crop top down, and he froze for a second, just staring as your breasts spilled free.

“Fffuck, baby,” he breathed, his voice shaky and full of awe, his lips parting as if he didn’t know where to start. “Thank you. Thank you, baby. T-thank you so much.”

“Don’t thank me,” you murmured, your fingers curling into his hair, pulling him closer. “They’re yours.”

The sound he made was so intense — a guttural, deep groan as he buried his face in your chest, his mouth latching onto your nipple with zero hesitation. His mouth was desperate, tongue wet and wide as he lapped over the entire areola, sucking, pulling, groaning like he was savoring the sweetest candy in South Korea. And in a way, he was.

Your back arched instinctively, your fingers tightening in his hair as he sucked harder, his lips pulling and nibbling at the soft flesh. His hips jerked beneath you, his cock pressing hard against your core, and you rolled your hips down in response, the friction making both of you gasp.

“Yess, my love,” you whispered breathlessly, your hand cradling his head as he worshiped you. “So good, bunny. Always so good.”

His whine was muffled, his mouth too full of you to respond properly. But his hands said enough — the way they gripped your hips, pulling you closer as he buried himself deeper into your chest, desperate to show you just how much he wanted you. How much he needed you.

The praise shattered him. His hips jerked up, grinding into you with an urgency that was raw, unfiltered. Each soft thrust, each shaky breath, was a testament to how much he needed you. And god, did he. It was like your words were oxygen, filling his lungs, fueling him. Without them, he wasn’t sure he’d survive. Was that pathetic? Sure. Did he care? Not in the slightest.

His tongue flicked over your nipple, one hand cupping the soft swell of your boob, kneading it tenderly while his mouth moved with desperateness. The other hand trailed to your other bud, his long fingers rolling it between them, sparking a fresh wave of heat that spread straight to your cunt.

He looked fucking wrecked — eyes squeezed shut, lips swollen from his frantic licks, his face flushed as he moaned against you. Every sound you made, every twitch of your body, had him falling deeper under your spell. It was overwhelming — he was overwhelmed. All he knew, all he felt, all that existed for him at that moment was you.

The steady rhythm of your hips grinding down onto his lap synced with his movements, the friction pulling soft, breathy pants from his lips. His cock twitched beneath the fabric of his pants, hard and aching, the damp spot already forming there a sign of how close he was to losing it.

“Kookie,” you murmured, your voice soft but teasing as your warm breath fanned against his cheek. “Baby, do you want to… do more?”

His body jerked, a visible tremor rippling through him as your words registered. His big, doe eyes snapped open, locking with yours, wide and full of need. His lips stayed latched around your nipple, trembling as a muffled whine escaped him. When you ground down again, harder this time, his nod was frantic, shaky, his mouth refusing to let go of your boob even as his body begged for relief.

“Okay, my baby,” you whispered, your voice soothing as you gently pulled your breast from his mouth. He whimpered at the loss, a pitiful sound that tugged at your heart, his lips chasing after you like he needed it back. But his frown melted away the moment you pressed your mouth to his, your tongue sweeping past his lips.

He crumbled under your kiss. The second your tongue found his, his entire body softened, tension flowing out of him as if you’d cast another spell. Your hands slid up to cradle his neck, your thumbs brushing over his flushed skin as his own hands trailed lower. They slipped beneath the hem of your cheer skirt, his fingers gripping the curve of your ass, squeezing with a soft but possessive need that sent a satisfied thrill straight through you.

Jungkook groaned when you moaned into his mouth, his lips parting further to let you take control, his brows furrowing in pleasure. His hips bucked instinctively, pressing his cock harder into you, and you ground down to meet him, your movements growing slicker with every roll of your hips.

His gasp was sharp when you sucked his tongue fully into your mouth, your head bobbing slightly as you pulled him deeper, savoring his taste. You could still pick up the faint sweetness of the strawberry poptarts you’d shared earlier, and the thought made you smile against his lips.

The sound he made was ruined, somewhere between a moan and a sob, his body jerking beneath you as his cock twitched. He tried to pull back, overwhelmed by the way your hips pressed down harder, but you didn’t let him.

“Ahh…-aybee,” he whined, his voice cracking as you suckled harder on his tongue. His hands gripped your ass tighter, desperate to steady himself, but it was useless. You were relentless. You were everywhere. His cock throbbed under you, his hips snapping up as he let out a choked, muffled moan.

“Mm-abyy—” His attempt at your name was cut off when your fingers trailed down, brushing over his nipples through the thin fabric of his shirt. That was it.

His head fell back, his eyes rolling shut as his entire body seized. “Ahh, c-cum!” His cry was broken, raw, his hips jerking up as his cock pulsed. He came hard, shaking beneath you as his release soaked through his jeans, his breath hitching with every tremor that wracked his body.

But you didn’t stop. You kept rolling your hips over him, slow and deliberate, your movements dragging every last ounce of pleasure from his overstimulated frame. His face was flushed, his lips parted as gasps and soft whimpers spilled from him, his hands gripping you like you were the only thing anchoring him to reality.

“Good jobbb, bunny,” you murmured sweetly, your lips brushing against his temple as you ground down one final time, a little playful wiggle of your hips drawing another broken moan from him.

His eyes were glazed, his breath shaky as he clung to you, trembling in your arms. You smiled, brushing his damp hair from his forehead as his body melted into yours. He looked utterly wrecked, but the dazed, drunk smile tugging at his lips told you he was more than okay.

Your continuous whispers of praise made his body shudder, a tiny, broken breath escaping his lips as you kept wiggling against him, teasing him through the aftershocks of his release. He looked up at you, wide-eyed and flushed, his chest heaving beneath your hands.

“Lovie, I-I’m so sorr—”

“Why are you apologizing, bunny?” you frowned, cutting him off softly. Your hands were already in motion, sweeping back the damp strands of hair clinging to his forehead. You hated when he apologized for something as beautiful as coming quickly. The way he lost control for you, because of you, was intoxicating. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Jungkookie. You were so good for me.”

Your words hit him like a lifeline. He melted into your touch, his lips parting as a soft keening sound escaped him. His eyes fluttered shut as your fingers carded gently through his hair, his breath coming in slow, shaky waves.

“I love you so much it fucking hurts, Y/N,” he admitted, his voice raw.

“Hey,” you whispered, your tone softening as your hands stilled. His words were raw, almost jagged, and you leaned down, pressing a kiss to his lips.

It was gentle, unhurried, and your lips curved into a small smile as he breathed all his little sounds into you. When you pulled back, your voice was warm. “I know exactly how you feel, baby,” you murmured, your tone laced with affection. You pressed another kiss to his pouty lips, your movements so soft that his eyes stayed closed. “I’ve been in love with you the longest, after all, hm.”

His eyes snapped open at that, wide and glistening, his lips parting in protest. The pout he gave you was undeniably adorable. “No, you have not,” he mumbled, his tone brattily defiant. His eyes flicked downward, catching sight of your bare chest, and his cheek rested instinctively against your softness.

You hummed as he settled into you, his head pillowed against your boobs. His arms wrapped tightly around your waist, tugging you a little higher up his torso, and he let out a contented sigh, his eyes slipping shut again.

Your hands drifted into his hair, your fingers scratching lightly at his scalp. The soft noises he made in response drew a fond smile from you, but you pouted slightly as you thought back on his words. “What do you mean?” you teased gently. “I followed you everywhere, bunny. Even if I didn’t know it was love back then—”

“I knew,” he interrupted, his voice muffled against your skin but certain. The warmth of his breath fanned over your chest, sending a shiver through you. His arms tightened their hold, pulling you impossibly closer. “Always knew, lovie.”

“Okay, Mr. Smarty Pants,” you said with a soft laugh, narrowing your eyes at the cheeky smile spreading across his face. His lips pressed a gentle kiss to your skin, his quiet acceptance of the nickname only making you smile more. “And how are you so sure that when you realized you were in love with me, I wasn’t already—”

“Because you didn’t even know my name yet,” he cut you off again, lifting his head to meet your gaze. There was a shy confidence in his big, round eyes, and his statement left you momentarily speechless.

Your mouth opened, but no words came out, your expression shifting to one of surprise. He smiled cutely, the tips of his ears flushing pink as if embarrassed by his own boldness. Before you could process it fully, he leaned forward, pressing two quick kisses to your lips, leaving you even more stunned.

Without giving you the chance to respond, Jungkook shifted back against the headboard, his hands finding the hem of your cheer shirt. He leaned in, planting soft kisses on your nipples, his lips warm and reverent before he carefully tugged the fabric back over your chest. His touch drifted lower, settling on your thighs, his big palms warm against your skin.

You’d asked earlier if he wanted to do more, and god, he didn’t know how to put into words all the things he wanted to fucking do. He wanted to lie flat on his back, to feel you slide up, your soft thighs clamped around his head while you—

“Bunny, do you really mean that?” you whispered, your tone curious and a little hesitant, breaking him out of his thoughts. His wide eyes snapped up to yours, startled by the furrow in your brow.

“Wh-yes, baby,” he stammered, panic flickering in his chest. “I—I, of course, I mean it. I’d never lie to you… Should I not have said that?” His voice grew quieter, worry creeping in. He thought he could tell you anything; you said he could tell you anyth—

“No, baby,�� you reassured him quickly, the warmth in your tone soothing his nerves. “You can tell me anything. I just didn’t know.” You slid off his lap to settle beside him, curling against his chest. “That’s so interesting, bun. Can you tell me more about it?”

His arm looped around you instinctively, the other hand brushing over your thigh. When you shifted, draping a leg over his waist, he stroked your skin softly, his fingers tracing absent patterns.

“Of course, baby,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your hairline. “But… can I—wanna make you come first, baby.” His gaze flickered to your thigh, a shy pout forming as he spoke.

You laughed softly, pressing a kiss to his neck. “Such a sweetie,” you murmured. “Tell me first, please? I’m curious.”

Jungkook licked his lips, nodding before tilting his head down to kiss you gently. “Okay, lovie,” he whispered against your lips, giving you one more soft peck before leaning back, letting you snuggle into him again. “The first time I saw you was… in the hall, freshman year.”

‹ ‹ ‹

Jungkook hit send on a text to Taehyung, confirming their after-school plans for Rocket League, and slipped his phone into his pocket. He was methodically stacking his textbooks from his locker, his mind already wandering to potential team strategies, when a voice cut through the low hum of hallway chatter.

“No thanks, Gyu's parties aren’t really my thing,” you hummed lightly as you closed your locker, your arms full of heavy textbooks. “You go have fun, though, babe. We’ll see each other tomorrow at practice.”

Jungkook’s hand froze on his books, his fingers stilling as he looked up, just in time to see the most beautiful girl he's ever seen in his life glance at who he's assuming is her boyfriend with an easy smile.

He watched quietly as the guy leaned down, pressing a kiss to your lips, a quick, practiced gesture. Your boyfriend blew you a cheesy kiss as he walked backward, heading down the hall with his teammates.

Jungkook’s breath hitched as you stood there alone, your cheerleading uniform hugging your figure in a way that made his heart pound painfully in his chest. You were perfect — practically glowing, like you’d just walked straight out of a nerd's wet fucking dream. His wet fucking dream.

His throat felt dry. He turned back to his locker, trying to ground himself in the action of grabbing his things, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw you adjust the weight of your textbooks in your arms. The heavy stack wobbled, and before you could react, one slipped free, tumbling to the floor and taking the rest with it.

“Shit,” you muttered, dropping into a crouch to gather them, but Jungkook was already moving. His textbooks clattered back into his locker as he shut the door in a rush, crossing the space to reach you.

“L-let me,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. His hands worked quickly, gathering the fallen books with care, his long fingers stacking them neatly before he rose to his feet.

“Oh, thank you so much.”

Your voice was sweet, warm, and when Jungkook finally looked up, his heart almost stopped. You were smiling softly at him and it was like the world around him blurred into nothing. His grip on the books faltered for half a second, but he recovered, handing them back to you with a little bow of his head, his cheeks blazing red.

The tardy bell rang, its shrill tone slicing through the moment, but Jungkook couldn’t move. His feet were rooted to the floor, his gaze fixed on you as you shifted the books in your arms, muttering a soft curse under your breath.

“Shit, I gotta run! Mr. Min will kill me if I’m late again,” you squeaked, already dashing down the hall. But before you disappeared around the corner, you turned back, tossing him a quick, “Thank you!” with a smile that left him breathless.

The corridor felt eerily quiet after you were gone, the sound of your voice still echoing in his head. Jungkook stood there for a long moment, his arms limp at his sides, staring blankly at the spot where you’d been.

He finally shook himself free from the haze, his hands moving mechanically as he organized his books. Late for the first time in his life, Jungkook snapped back to reality and sprinted down the hall, heart pounding as he followed your path right to Mr. Min’s class.

› › ›

“No way you fell in love with me then, bunny! We barely even spoke,” you gasped, your finger darting out to poke his stomach. Jungkook’s lips parted with a giggle, his nose scrunching adorably as he squirmed under your touch.

“No, lovie, not then,” he murmured, cheeks flushing as your hand slipped beneath his band tee. Your fingers scratched lightly over his stomach, the gentle touch making him shiver. “But… I-I mean, it wasn’t long after,” he admitted, his voice soft. His tongue darted out to wet his lips as his wide eyes meet yours, catching the way your brows lift with curiosity. You blinked up at him, waiting, patient and eager for him to continue.

‹ ‹ ‹

It had only been a week since Jungkook first saw you in the hallway, but it might as well have been a lifetime. You were everywhere — in his thoughts, his dreams, and in every single fucking non-AP class he attended. English history, algebra.

You were in them all.

Jungkook, always the first to arrive, would settle into his front-row seat, his books neatly arranged and his notes ready to go. He liked being prepared. But lately, his meticulous routine had a new highlight. The moment you walked in.

Sometimes you were with a friend, chatting and laughing as you strolled through the door. Other times, your boyfriend tagged along, his hand slung casually over your shoulder like he was flaunting a trophy. Jungkook told himself it didn’t bother him — not outwardly, at least — but the ache in his chest said otherwise. Still, he kept his head down, his crush buried deep where no one could see it. Someone like you would never look twice at someone like him.

But today, as always, he let himself dream.

You entered English with your friend Amara, your cheer uniform perfectly fitted, your smile lighting up the dull classroom. Jungkook’s eyes followed you despite himself, trailing after you as you took your usual spot at the back of the room. He strained to catch snippets of your conversation as he faced the front, his ears practically twitching when your voice softened.

“I don’t know, Mara,” you sighed, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you set your book down. “It’s just, like, nothing special, you know?” Your voice softened as you gave a discreet glance around, checking for any of your boyfriend’s teammates who might overhear. “I’m not expecting something straight out of the movies, like the world stopping every time we’re together or anything… but I just think there could be… more? I don’t know,” you sighed again, flipping open your textbook with a hint of frustration.

The slight frown tugging at your tone had Jungkook’s own chest tightening. His pencil hovered over his notebook, forgotten, as Amara leaned into your shoulder with a sympathetic hum.

“I get it, honey,” she said, rubbing your arm soothingly. “You’re not asking for too much. Sure, this could be it,” she offered with a small shrug, “but maybe it’s not? You’ve only had one piece of candy, babe. Don’t toss the whole bag — there’s probably like six other flavors in there!”

You let out a quiet snort, pressing a kiss to her cheek in thanks as you shook your head, flipping through your textbook with a small smile.

Jungkook didn’t hear Mrs. Lee’s greeting when she entered. His thoughts were stuck on your words, his pencil idly sketching patterns across the margins of his notes as he wondered what kind of candy you did like.

The rest of class passed in a blur. Jungkook answered every question on the pop quiz mechanically, his pen moving on autopilot. When the bell rang and Mrs. Lee dismissed everyone a few minutes early, he packed up his things, following the stream of students. Somehow, he found himself just a few steps behind you and Amara, your scent filling the air as he tried — and failed — not to look at you.

He told himself it wasn’t intentional. His locker just happened to be near yours, that's all.

But before he could get too close, your voice snapped through the air, and it was nothing like the sweet tone he was used to hearing.

“What are you doing, you freak?”

Jungkook’s heart jumped as he rounded the corner, his brows furrowing at the scene before him. You stood by a locker, your arms crossed and eyes blazing as you glared down a football jock. His hands were raised in mock surrender, but the smirk on his face suggested he wasn’t taking you seriously.

“C’mon, Y/N… it’s just a joke.”

“Do you actually think that's funny, Minho? Like, that brings you amusement?” You spat as you ripped a piece of paper off a locker and scrunched it up, throwing it right at his chest.

Minho’s grin faltered, his gaze darting nervously to Amara, who stood beside you, arms crossed and brow raised in silent judgment.

“It’s just Kim Taehyung. The guy’s a dork—”

“Okay? And you’re a brainless jackass. But I’m not out here writing that on your locker, am I?” You scoffed, bending to snatch the crumpled paper off the ground, shooting him a venomous look. “Scram, freak. Or I’ll tell Chris to have your ass benched for the rest of the season.”

Minho swallowed hard, his demeanor crumbling under your glare. He muttered a half-hearted apology before turning and slinking down the hall, his shoulders hunched.

You rolled your eyes and turned to your locker, shoving your books inside and snapping it shut. Linking arms with Amara, you tossed the paper into the bin as you passed by, vanishing around the corner with her.

Jungkook's heart thundered in his chest as he approached the trash can. He glanced around, then reached in, pulling out the paper. Flattening it against his palm, his lips turned down as he took in the cruel scribbles defacing his best friend’s school photo.

“Virgin.” “Loser.” “Geek.”

Jungkook’s eyes lingered on the corner you’d disappeared around before he refolded the paper and tucked it carefully into his pocket. He walked back to his locker, the whole scene replaying in his mind as he punched in his combination.

Fuck sakes, he sighed to himself, slamming his locker shut with more force than necessary.

Whenever he thought you couldn’t get more perfect, you proved him wrong. Every fucking time.

› › ›

“I didn’t know you were there,” you mumbled softly, your fingers stilling against his stomach as you blinked up at him.

“I know,” Jungkook murmured in reply, his voice tender. A gentle smile tugged at his lips, his gaze so soft it made your chest ache. “That’s what made me fall in love with you.”

Your breath caught, your brows knitting together as you stared at him, every part of you focused on the honesty in his expression. “Really?” you whispered, your voice small, your eyes stinging faintly as you took in the unguarded look on his pretty face.

“Yes, baby.” His nod was slow but sure, his usual nervous stammer absent as he watched you. “I knew you were funny from the jokes I’d hear you tell Amara and Jimin in class. I knew you were beautiful because, well...” he paused, his lips curling into a cheeky little smirk, “I have eyes.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you, your lips curving into a grin as you leaned up to press a kiss to his mouth. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he kissed you back, stealing one more when you pulled away.

“But seeing how fiercely kind you are,” he continued, his voice dropping lower, his lisp softening his tone. “When you had nothing to gain from it, maybe even had something to lose…” His fingers traced slow patterns on your thigh, his gaze searching yours with quiet admiration. “That was it for me, baby. Knew I loved you in that moment, as… creepy as it sounds.”

Your heart felt like it might burst as warmth flooded your chest, adoration pouring out of you as you beamed at him. “My god, bunny,” you breathed, a mix of affection and pure horniness swirling in your veins.

Sitting up, you straddled his lap again, his big hands instantly sliding down to gently grip your bum as you leaned in, capturing his lips in a kiss that was anything but gentle.

Your hands found their way around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer as his body melted beneath you, his lips parting to welcome your tongue, soft little sighs slipping from him as you deepened the kiss. When you finally pulled back, just enough to breathe, you murmured against his lips, “How did I land someone like you, huh?”

Jungkook’s response was a flustered sound, his lips parting as his eyes blinked open. “I’m the lucky one, not you,” he mumbled, his tone laced with that bratty insistence that sent heat pooling between your thighs.

You smirked, pulling back with a teasing glint in your eyes. “No,” you said with a giggle, your voice full of playful defiance. “I’m the lucky one.”

Jungkook’s pout deepened, his brows pulling together as his lips formed a soft, reluctant line. He didn’t like disagreeing with you, but there was no way he was letting you think anything less than the truth. “Baby, you could ask literally anyone in the entire school, and they’d all say—”

Your smile pursed into a soft frown, your fingers trailing along his jaw as your tone shifted. “Jungkook, I don’t care what anyone else says or thinks about us. They don’t know us. It’s just you and me, bunny.”

His lips parted slightly, his eyes wide as he looked at you, completely undone. Words failed him, leaving him silent as he took you in. Un-fucking-real, you were.

“Now admit I’m the lucky one,” you whispered, leaning in close as your hips rolled forward against his lap. His fingers tightened on your ass instinctively, his breath hitching at your movements.

“Lovie, n-no, you can’t do that—” His voice broke, his cock twitching against you.

“Yes, I can,” you murmured, your lips brushing against his ear. “Say it, bunny.” You pressed back into his hands, your hips grinding harder, the slow, deliberate rhythm making his head tip back against the headboard. His chest rose and fell in shallow pants, soft whimpers escaping his lips.

“Oh, g-god,” he choked out, his voice shaky as his hips bucked up involuntarily. Your pace quickened, your barely covered cunt pressing just right against his bulge, drawing a breathy moan from you.

“Say it,” you urged, your voice dipping lower as your hands gripped his shoulders for leverage. You ground down harder, letting your soaked panties slide over his length.

His head shook weakly, his eyes clenching shut as his body trembled beneath you, his sticky covered-cock stiffening even more with every grind of your hips. “N-no, no—”

“Yes,” you breathed, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you picked up speed, your clit pulsing from the friction as your hips rolled fluidly over him. “I’m the lucky one, bunny. Say it.”

His body jerked beneath you, his cock twitching furiously as you moved. “I—” His voice faltered, another choked moan slipping out.

“Say it,” you commanded, your voice firm but laced with sweetness as your hips ground down harder. His moan was guttural, his whole body trembling as he edged closer to breaking.

“Uh, f-fuck, baby, please,” Jungkook pleaded, his voice high and trembling as his fingers sank deeper into the plush flesh of your ass. His grip tightened instinctively, desperate, as his hips snapped up in rhythm with your thrusts. “Please.”

“I’m the lucky one,” you insisted, your voice rising, each word punctuated by the purposeful grind of your hips. Your breath caught, a sharp gasp escaping when the tip of his cock pressed just right against you with a particularly rough roll. “Say it, bunny! I’m the lucky—”

“You’re the lucky one!” Jungkook cried out, his voice breaking as his hips jerked up, his cock throbbing painfully beneath the damp fabric of his boxers. Tears stung behind his closed eyelids, his body trembling as he teetered on the edge again, so close it was unbearable. “You’re the fucking lucky one, baby. You’re the lucky one… y-you’re t-the lucky one!”

The desperate confession sent a surge through your body, your fingers sliding up to cradle the sides of his neck. You squeezed lightly as your body tensed, the heat pooling in your core snapping all at once. Your orgasm crashed over you, a sharp gasp spilling from your lips as you shuddered above him.

Jungkook whimpered softly, his hips bucking up to meet yours instinctively, his hands gripping your asscheeks tighter to guide you through it. His head fell back against the headboard, his lips parted as he watched you ride out your high. His eyes were dazed, his heart pounding as he felt every tremble of your soft body against his.

“God, baby,” you panted, your voice breathless and raw as you collapsed forward. Jungkook caught you instantly, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist as you buried your face into his neck. His breath was shaky as he tilted his head to give you space, pressing his lips softly to your temple.

He kept moving beneath you, gentle, shallow thrusts that made you moan quietly into his neck. His own jaw went slack when he felt a little drool slip from your parted lips onto his skin, a faint whimper slipping from his throat. Your body was so relaxed, so pliant against him, that it felt like you might melt into him entirely.

Only when he felt your thighs begin to quiver from oversensitivity did he finally slow his movements, adjusting your shaky legs around his waist. He held you closer, snug against his chest, his big arms cradling you.

“So good, my sweetheart. Thank you,” you murmured weakly, your voice soft against his skin.

Jungkook shivered at the nickname, keening under you as you nuzzled deeper into his neck. “Of course, lovie,” he whispered back, fingers toying with the frills of your skirt. His heart swelled as he thought about the way those frills bounced when you were excited, how they flicked in the air when you ran up and jumped into his arms to greet him when he met you at the gym after practice.

He would never understand how someone like you chose to love him so openly, so unapologetically. You wore your love for him like a badge, proud to show the world that you were his, and it knocked the fucking air out of him every time.

He remembered the shock on everyone’s faces when the two of you first got together. Your classmates, your clique — even your best friend Amara, who was always very kind to him, couldn’t hide her surprise. The social gap between you was obvious, and Jungkook never blamed anyone for questioning it.

Even Taehyung, his own best friend, had laughed so hard he cried when Jungkook told him the news, punching his arm repeatedly in disbelief.

But you didn’t care. You let people take their time adjusting, sure, but if they didn’t? You made it clear they had no choice. His fierce, confident angel — always ready to defend him, to fight for him.

Jungkook was completely smitten. Utterly, irrevocably in love. He didn’t think he could possibly be any happier.

“Bunny, I really want to have sex.”

Huh. Never fucking mind.

“Y-yes,” he breathed instantly.

You smiled into his neck, a light laugh slipping from your lips as you pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. “Yes?”

“Yes, please?”

Your grin widened as you sat up, your fingers slipping into the soft hair at the back of his head. His arms remained locked around your waist, holding you tightly against him as he blinked up at you, cheeks flushed and lips parted.

“Yeah?” you teased, your voice gentle but laced with amusement. “You want to, baby?”

His nod was immediate, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. “I-I want everything with you,” he whispered, his tone so certain.

“Babyyy,” you cooed, your nose scrunching as you took in how fucking adorable he was. Leaning down, you peppered his pout with a dozen soft kisses, each one pulling the faintest smile to his lips before you leaned back. “I’m so excited, bunny,” you beamed, practically buzzing with giddiness as you pressed a quick peck to the side of his neck.

Gently, you began untangling his arms from around your waist, earning a quiet little pout as he reluctantly let you go. His wide, curious eyes stayed glued to you, watching as you stood on shaky legs and walked toward your desk.

His ears turned pink the second you bent down, his stomach flipping when he caught the full view of your very wet panties — as if he hadn’t just been grinding against you like a desperate puppy until you came two fucking minutes ago.

You hummed softly to yourself, rifling through a bag on the floor before pulling something out. Turning back, you padded toward him across the fluffy pink rug with a pretty grin.

Jungkook’s stomach dropped as his eyes locked on the object in your hand.

“I didn’t know what actual size you were, bunny, but you're big,” you giggled, holding up a box of condoms. An opened box of condoms. “So these should work.”

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly as his wide eyes flicked between you and the box.

Jealousy wasn’t something Jungkook had ever really felt before. An only child, top of every one of his classes, and with no ex-girlfriends or siblings to contend with, he’d never had much of a reason.

But… well, things could certainly change.

You were about to climb back onto the bed when you caught your boyfriend’s expression, and the unease on his face was impossible to ignore. He obviously tried to mask it, but he was terrible at that, and the moment you saw it, your brows furrowed.

You gently placed the box next to his glasses on your bedside table, your focus shifting entirely to him. “Hello?” you asked gently, stepping closer and cupping his face with both hands.

“Hello,” he echoed softly, his voice wavering as he forced a small, unconvincing smile.

Your frown deepened. The confusion swirling in your eyes only grew as your fingers traced over his pink cheeks, trying to draw his gaze to yours. But he didn’t meet your eyes. His lashes fluttered, and his gaze fixed somewhere behind you. You caught the faintest glint of unshed tears, and your chest clenched painfully.

“Jungkookie,” you whispered, your voice soft but full of concern. You dropped your hands to the bed and climbed back into his lap, settling against him as you took his trembling arms in your hands.

His body felt tense beneath yours, and you searched his face, desperate to understand. “Baby, what’s wrong? We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. Oh god, did I pressure you into this?” Your words came out in a rush, your heart racing at the thought. “Baby, I’m so sorry. I would never—”

“No, n-no, lovie,” Jungkook cut you off, his voice shaking as his head snapped up to meet your worried gaze. His nose was red, the way it always got when he was holding back tears, and your heart twisted further.

You leaned in without hesitation, pressing soft, reassuring kisses to his cheeks as his breath stuttered. His sniffle was quiet but unmistakable, and your frown deepened as you stroked his arms.

“Never force me,” he mumbled, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t catch it. “You’d never… could never.” The break in his voice made your chest ache. “M’sorry, lovie,” he whispered. “T-this is so embarrassing. I… I can leave—”

The moment your hands slipped away from his arms, Jungkook felt his chest clench like it was collapsing in on itself. His vision blurred as he blinked up at you, only to find you leaning back, your face etched with hurt. The sight made him wish he hadn’t looked at all.

“You’re embarrassed?” you asked quietly. Your gaze dropped, shoulders slumped as you swallowed thickly.

Jungkook’s heart splintered.

“I-in front of me?”

And just like that, he thought he might die.

Jungkook had never heard you stammer. You’d never hesitated or questioned yourself in all the time he’d known you. From the moment you first started growing close, you’d been so open, so you. Sharing every part of yourself with him so effortlessly, so willingly.

Emotionally, physically, everything.

You’d always encouraged Jungkook to do the same. And even though he was naturally more timid, careful with who he opened up to, with you, it was easy. Automatic. He found himself wanting to tell you everything. Wanting to show you every piece of himself, no matter how small or unpolished. It was like he got high off it — off knowing you wanted to know him as much as he wanted to know you.

The day you asked him to be official was the single best day of his entire life. Honestly, every day with you had felt like that. You were so bright, so beautiful, so confident, so contagious. Pulling him out of his shell with such love and ease in the way only you could. Like you were born to love him, and he was born to love you.

But now, here he was, making you doubt yourself — maybe even your relationship. The two things that felt like the only substantial evidence that could ever convince Jungkook of a higher power. All because he was a jealous fucking crybaby.

There was just no fucking way.

“N-no, baby,” he choked out, his voice trembling as his hands darted forward, catching yours before you could move away. He gripped them tightly, his panic bubbling over as he shook his head frantically, his damp bangs swaying with the motion. “No, lovie, no, please.” You looked so fucking sad. He did that? He made you sad? What in the fuck.

“Lovie, t-the condoms,” he blurted out, his voice cracking as his grip on your hands tightened, like letting go might make everything fall apart.

You blinked down at him, confused. “Yeah? What about them, bun?” you asked softly, shifting back into his lap, your hands resting gently on his thighs. “Do you not want to use them?”

Jungkook swallowed when you tilted your head, your lips curving into the smallest pout. “I’m not on the pill or anything, baby,” you added, your hands drifting up to graze over his stomach. “If you trust yourself to pull out, we can try that... But we’re still stopping by the drugstore before my parents get home for Plan B,” you teased, your fingers brushing over his soft abs. “I’m not ready for a little mini valedictorian running around my—”

“Open.”

The word tumbled out of Jungkook’s mouth before he could stop it, rushed and breathless, cutting you off mid-sentence. His lashes fluttered nervously, and his cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of pink as he realized what you’d just implied.

Kids. With him?

His cock twitched at the thought, a pulse of heat surging through him that left him slightly dazed. But the panic wasn’t gone yet.

“The condoms,” he stammered, his voice thick as he swallowed hard. “T-they’re open.”

Your head tilted further, confusion clouding your expression as your fingers continued their slow, absentminded trail over his skin. “Huh?” you hummed, glancing over at the bedside table.

Reaching for the box, you leaned away just long enough to grab it before settling back onto his lap. Jungkook watched, his wide eyes glued to you as you straddled him once more.

You pressed a soft kiss to his trembling lips, silencing the shaky noise that escaped him. His hands instinctively found your hips as your fingers skimmed over the box, his heart hammering against his ribcage.

“Oh,” you hummed, holding it up between you, your tone light and casual. “I opened them earlier to check if they’d fit you, baby. The guy at the store last week wouldn’t let me test them there,” you added with an eye rol as you thought back to the interaction. “But he said they stretch, so if you’re really as big as I said you were, these should be fine.”

Jungkook’s ears burned, his gaze fixed on the box as your words sank in. Your confidence left his mind spinning. His chest swelled with a confusing mix of pride and embarrassment, and for a second, he didn’t know which was stronger.

But you didn’t seem to notice his spiraling thoughts. Tossing the box back onto the bedside table, you giggled softly, your fingers trailing up his neck to his flushed neck. “I don’t think he believed me,” you added, your lips curving into a playful grin. “But he also looked really uncomfortable the whole time. So I just grabbed these and came home.”

Your laugh filled the room, soft and sweet, and Jungkook wanted to record it and listen to it on repeat while he studied. He tightened his grip on your hips, his lips parting to say something, anything, but his brain felt like it was shortcircuiting. You do that to him a lot.

Then your head tilted, your thumbs pressing gentle circles into his tense shoulders. “You okay, bunny?” you asked softly.

Jungkook blinked up at you, his throat dry and his cheeks burning. “Y-yeah,” he managed, his voice cracking faintly as his ears flushed pink. “I’m good, lovie.”

You hummed softly, the sound gently skeptical, as if you didn’t quite believe him but weren’t going to push just yet. Your hands drifted lower, tracing soothing patterns over his arms, and Jungkook felt some of the tension in his chest begin to ease.

But then your eyes caught his, glinting with that familiar mischief, and as you leaned in to press a feather-light kiss to the corner of his mouth, Jungkook knew he was doomed.

“Good,” you murmured against his lips, your voice soft and deliberate as you pressed your mouth to his in a slow kiss.

His breath stuttered, his grip on your hips tightening as your lips moved against his, stealing the tiny gasp that slipped out of him. When you pulled back, it was only slightly, your lips brushing his as you whispered, “Did you think I used some already, my love?”

Jungkook froze, his wide, doe-like eyes snapping to yours. You felt him swallow hard, his brows knitting together as pink flooded his ears. Slowly, he gave you the smallest, saddest nod, his gaze dropping to where your hands rested on his shoulders.

“I-I didn’t know,” he stammered, his voice barely audible, the words shaky and unsure. “I'm sorry baby, I thought maybe you already…”

“Oh, my baby,” you cooed, shaking your head gently as you cupped his face. Your thumbs brushed over his cheeks as you tilted his chin back up, forcing him to meet your eyes. The moment his gaze locked with yours, you leaned in, pressing another kiss to his pout.

His breath hitched, his hands trembling as they clutched at your waist. He let out the softest little whimper when your fingers slid into his hair, tugging lightly. When you pulled back, you pressed a sweet kiss to his nose, smiling when his eyelids lowered in content.

“I’m still a virgin, bunny,” you whispered, against his mouth. "We already talked about this. We’re going to be each other’s first… we promised.”

Jungkook’s eyes fluttered shut at your words, his chest heaving as he let out a shaky breath. His throat bobbed visibly as he swallowed, and you could practically see the wave of relief wash over him.

You pressed another kiss to his swollen lips, your fingers threading back through his hair. “I meant that, Kookie."

His response was a quiet whimper as his hands slid up from your hips to clutch your waist. “I-I love you,” he whispered, his voice cracking slightly. “So much, baby.”

Then he was kissing you again, and it was different this time — more urgent, more desperate, his lips moving against yours with a need that was just so him.

You hummed into his mouth, a soft smile tugging at your lips as you let him take control. His kisses grew more open-mouthed, sloppier, each one punctuated by the quietest little whimpers.

“I love you too, my baby,” you whispered, pulling back just enough to catch your breath. Your fingers slid through his hair, gently tugging as he leaned forward, chasing your lips. “You trust me, don’t you?”

“Y-yes, baby,” he stammered, his big eyes fluttering open to meet yours. “With everything. Always.”

Jungkook’s lips didn’t falter, moving to your neck when you smiled happily at his words. Your breathing picked up as his lips pressed and sucked at your pulse point. His tongue flicked over the sensitive skin, and your hips ground against him instinctively, drawing a muffled whine from his throat.

It was so messy now, your slick soaking through your panties and smearing over the fabric. Every slow roll of your hips had his cock throbbing, straining against the damp cotton of his briefs and damp denim of his jeans, the friction making you both shudder.

“Baby, hold on,” you gasped, your voice breathy as your fingers found their way back to his hair,.

“Mm, n-no, please,” he mumbled into your skin, his voice slurred like he was drunk. He nuzzled deeper into the crook of your neck, his hands squeezing your boobs, his fingers trembling slightly as they grazed your bare skin. “Don’t wanna stop.”

“We won't, bunny,” you murmured, your words catching in your throat as his hips jerked up, grinding against you. You gripped his wrists, pulling his hands from your chest, and he blinked up at you cutely.

“Wh—” he started, the protest dying on his lips the second you were tugging your crop top off and tossing it aside. His gaze snapped to your chest, his bunny teeth pulling his bottom lip into his mouth in impatience.

“Babyy,” he breathed, his voice cracking. His head shook softly as his throat tightened in hunger. He leaned forward, diving toward you, but you stopped him with a gentle hand on his chest. “Hold on, bun,” you said softly, reaching down for the hem of his band tee.

Jungkook caught on instantly, his hands rushing to tug the shirt off, yanking it over his head and tossing it somewhere to the side. He was back on you immediately, his warm chest pressing against yours as his lips found yours again.

You melted into it, slow and lingering, savoring the way his lips dissolved against yours. When he pulled back, his chest heaved, his voice shaky as he stammered, “How—what do you—uh, should I—”

“Mm,” you murmured, your hands cupping his face. His cheeks were hot under your palms, and his wide eyes blinked up at you. “Should we try with me on top, bunny? Do you feel more comfortable on your back?”

He furrowed his brows immediately, his lips parting like he was offended you’d even suggest prioritizing his comfort over yours. “Lovie,” he said, his voice soft but determined, “what’s more comfortable for you? Are your legs hurting? Come on, let’s—”

Before you could respond, he was moving. His arms slid around you, and he gently flipped you onto your back, his body hovering over yours.

You blinked up at him, surprised but amused, your hands brushing his shoulders. “Okay, this is more comfy, bunny. I like it.”

Jungkook’s cheeks flushed, his lips twitching into a shy smile. “Good,” he murmured, his voice so soft you almost missed it. His hands slid over your hips as he shifted to kneel on the bed.

“I-I'll grab the condom,” he said, his voice cracking faintly as he reached for the box on your bedside table. His hands shook as he fumbled with the box, and you tilted your head, watching him with a soft smile.

“Kookie,” you said gently, your hand brushing over his thigh. His eyes snapped to yours, wide and nervous. “Are you okay?”

“Y-yeah,” he stammered, nodding quickly, but his breath was shallow, and his cheeks were a fiery red. “I’m just—I’m so excited...”

Your heart swelled, and you sat up slightly, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “Me too,” you giggled. “Can I do it?”

He nodded instantly, his gaze fixed on you as you took the condom from his hands, his chest heaving as you sat up fully, your knees brushing his.

As you were tearing it open, Jungkook hastily clambered off the bed. His cheeks were pink as he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his jeans, tugging the fabric down his legs.

You watched as he stepped out of the denim, his thighs flexing with the motion, leaving him in just his black briefs. He hesitated for a second, glancing at you shyly, but your pleased smile eased the tension in his tummy.

“Yummy,” you hummed, your voice giddy as you patted the spot in front of you on the bed.

Jungkook nibbled back a smile, climbing back onto your mattress and kneeling in front of you again.

“So pretty, bun,” you praised softly as you dug your hand into your boyfriend's boxers, your warm hand wrapping around his sticky length to pull it out fully.

Jungkook’s breath hitched the moment he felt the contact on his bare cock, his lips trembling as he tried to respond. But all that came out was a shaky moan, his head tipping back as his hands gripped your waist for balance. His reddened cock twitched in your hand, and your thumb grazed the fresh, slick bead of precum pooling at the tip.

You glanced down at his length, then at his shirt beside you on the bed, biting your lip softly. “Baby?” you asked gently, your voice pulling his attention back to you.

His brows furrowed in pleasure as he blinked down at you, his chest heaving. “Y-yeah, baby?” he stammered, his voice breathless.

“I want to clean you up, s'that okay?” you murmured, your tone sweet as your fingers stroked him softly.

He nodded immediately, a faint whine slipping from his lips. “Of course, lovie. Use, uh, m-my shirt, yeah?” His hands fluttered slightly like he wasn’t sure where to put them, but his gaze stayed fixed on you.

Your brows knitted together in thought, and you glanced at the shirt again, the corner of your lip pulling between your teeth. “But then you won’t have anything to wear later,” you mused, tilting your head as you pictured him walking out of your house half-naked. Your parents were very open and sex-positive, and they loved your adorable boyfriend. But some things were just for the two of you.

You pushed the thought away, your grip on his cock shifting slightly as another idea sparked. “Baby,” you said again, your voice quieter this time, and his eyes darted back to yours.

“Yes, lovie?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly, the furrow in his brow deepening at the soft tone of your voice.

“I’m going to clean you up.” You repeated, your lips curving into a reassuring smile as you stroked him lightly, your thumb circling the leaky head.

He nodded again, his breathing shallow. “Y-yeah, of course,” he stammered. “I-I can get some tissues if you want—”

“With my mouth,” you whispered, tilting your head as you glanced up at him.

Jungkook’s body went still for a beat. His eyes closed instantly as he swallowed harshly. “Lovie, I can, uh—I can grab some paper towels or—”

You pouted slightly. “You don’t want me to?” you murmured, your lips curling down just a little as your hand paused around his length. “Didn’t you like it last time?”

His eyes snapped open immediately, panic flashing across his face as he scrambled to respond. “I loved it, baby,” he blurted. “Wh-what the heck, no, it’s just that you don’t have to—”

“Baby,” you interrupted, your frown deepening a little as your hand squeezed lightly around his wet, reddened cock. You leaned up, pressing a soft kiss to his pout. “Anything I offer to do for you, I really wanna... Please, bunny?”

Jungkook’s breath hitched at your words, his wide eyes flickering over your face like he was trying to internally screenshot the moment. “O-of course, baby,” he stammered. “Yes. You can do anything to me.”

You smiled at him sweetly, letting go of him gently to shuffle back. You sat up and slipped your fingers under the hem of your cheer skirt, Jungkook’s eyes widening as you lifted your hips, peeling the fabric off and tossing it aside.

His gaze dropped instantly to the pink panties that clung to you, a dark patch of slick soaking through the fabric where it met your pussy. The curve of your asscheeks swallowed the edges, and Jungkook swore he heard his cock cry in response.

He choked on his breath, his head tipping back briefly before snapping forward again, his eyes fixed on you like he couldn’t bear to look away. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his voice low and shaky.

“Don’t curse, bunny,” you teased softly, the corner of your mouth quirking up as you knelt in front of him. Your hand wrapped around his length again, your other hand resting lightly on his thigh as you leaned down.

He trembled the moment your tongue flicked out, licking delicately at the sticky head of his cock. “Oh god,” he whimpered, his thighs tensing under your touch as his hips jerked up.

“Mm,” you hummed softly, your tongue dragging over the sensitive tip before licking a slow, long stripe along the length, cleaning him up thoroughly. Jungkook gasped, his head tipping back as his hands hovered in the air, unsure whether to grip the bed or your hair.

Your lips closed around the head, and the sound he made was devastating — a soft, broken whimper as his cock twitched against your tongue. You took him deeper, your hand sliding along the base as you hollowed your cheeks, and Jungkook practically crumpled in on himself.

“B-baby,” he stammered, his voice cracking as his hips jerked up involuntarily. “S-so warm—ah, fuck—”

Your fingers dug lightly into his thigh as you steadied him, a soft hum vibrating around his length. His hands found their way to your hair, trembling as they cradled your head, his breathing ragged as he gasped out your name between stuttering moans.

You hummed around him again, the vibration pulling a soft cry from his lips as his long fingers gripped your shoulders. He was already shaking, already on the edge again, his cock throbbing against your tongue as you took him a little deeper.

Pulling back slightly, you let your tongue swirl over the head one more time before trailing lower, licking along the length and then past it. Jungkook’s breath hitched, his thighs tensing as you nudged at his balls with your tongue, taking one into your mouth gently.

“Ah—baby,” he gasped, his voice high and breathy, his hands flying to your hair to ground himself.

You hummed softly, your hand continuing to stroke his cock as you sucked lightly, your tongue lapping at the soft skin of his balls. His thighs trembled against your arms, his hips jerking slightly with each flick of your tongue.

“Oh my god, lovie,” he whined, his voice shaking as his head tipped back, exposing the flushed column of his throat. “You’re—ahh—so g-good at this.”

You pulled back for a moment, pressing a soft kiss to his other ball before licking a wet stripe back up his length, your lips curling into a smile at the way his whole body shuddered. “I don’t even know what I’m doing, bunny, I just know I want to eat you,” you giggled before taking him back into your mouth.

The scent of his body wash mixed with a hint of sweat wafting from his skin, combined with the sound of his whimpers, made your head fucking spin. You moaned softly around his cock, the sound reverberating against him and pulling a loud, choky cry from his lips.

Jungkook’s breathing was ragged, his moans spilling freely as his hands clenched and unclenched against you. “Baby,” he whined, his voice high and broken, “I-I can’t, t-too much, I’m, oh, baby—”

You pulled back slowly, your tongue flicking over the sensitive cock-head one last time. His entire body shuddered, his head tipping back as his damp hair brushed his flushed shoulders.

“Ah,” he huffed, his bunny smile blooming across his face as he blinked down at you, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. “T-thank you, baby.”

Your heart squeezed at the sight of him — so pink, so happy, so ridiculously pretty. You licked your lips and smiled up at him, reaching for the condom you had placed on the sheet next to you. His gaze stayed locked on you, lips parted as he breathed through his nose, his body still trembling slightly as you slid the condom down his cock.

The moment it was on, Jungkook shuddered, a pathetic whimper slipping from his lips. You beamed at him, your hands smoothing over his thick thighs as you leaned back into the pillows. “C'mere, bunny,” you urged, reaching up to pull him down toward you.

He was there in an instant, his body folding easily over yours as he settled against you, his arms bracketing your head. Your hands looped around his neck, pulling him into a quick kiss. His lips hummed against yours, and you could feel the faintest smile spreading as he sighed softly into the kiss.

“Okay, baby,” you whispered, brushing your lips over his, your voice teasing. “Take me.”

Jungkook giggled under his breath, his face so pink it almost matched the tips of his ears. “Okay,” he murmured, his voice soft and breathy as he leaned back slightly, his hands finding their way to your thighs.

His thumbs stroked the soft flesh there, his touch slow and amazed. He swallowed hard, his gaze dropping to the dark, damp patch between your legs. His breathing stuttered, wide eyes locked on the sight before him as his fingers twitched slightly against your skin.

“Baby,” he murmured, his voice breaking slightly as he dipped his slender fingers under the hem of your panties. He glanced up at you, his lashes fluttering as his lips parted. “G-gonna take these… take these off.”

You nodded, biting your lip, and Jungkook swallowed hard as he hooked his fingers around the fabric. Slowly, carefully, he began dragging them down, his tongue twitching as the pink cloth clung to your sticky lips before peeling away.

“God,” he breathed out, his voice scratchy as he pulled the panties free, tossing them next to his discarded t-shirt. His gaze flicked back up to you for a moment, a little shy and a lot hungry, before dropping back down.

“C-can I…” he started, his voice small and hesitant as his fingers flexed against your thighs. “Can I lick it?”

Heat flooded your cheeks, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you nodded. “Yeah, baby,” you whispered, “can do whatever you want, my love.”

Jungkook’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, and he didn’t waste another second. He shifted lower, his head dipping between your thighs as his hands pushed them gently apart. His breath was warm against your slick folds, and the first swipe of his tongue pulled a sharp gasp from your lips.

“Shit, baby,” you gasped, your voice trembling as his tongue licked a fat stripe from your entrance to your clit.

Jungkook let out the softest whimper, already addicted to the taste, the smell of you lingering in his nose. He wanted more. Needed more.

Your boyfriend's hands slid up to grip your thighs as his lips wrapped around your clit with vigor. He suckled greedily, his tongue flicking over the slick bud, and the strangled sound you made pulled a loud moan from his throat.

He was ravenous, going at it like he hadn’t shared a big lunch with you during your free period at school or scarfed down three strawberry pop-tarts the second you got back to your house. His tongue licked and lapped with sloppy desperation, his muffled whines vibrating against your pussy as he buried his face deeper. His hands tightened on your thighs, holding you open as the nose you always called angelic brushed against your clit devilishly. Every shaky breath he took rode right through you as he nuzzled his face in deeper.

“Kookie,” you choked, your hands flying to his hair, threading through the growing strands as your hips jerked up involuntarily. “S-so good, baby. You’re so good. What the fuckk.”

The praise drew another whimper from him. His tongue dipped lower, teasing your entrance before sliding in, his face pressing as close as he could get. He didn’t know what the fuck he was doing, but if there was anything your boyfriend excelled at, it was learning fast.

Groaning into you, the vibration sent sparks racing up your spine, and your back arched off the bed as a loud cry spilled from your lips. Jungkook was lost, consumed, his tongue working over you with messy hunger. Every sound you made spurred him on, his moans growing louder, more desperate as he tried not to press into the mattress and put pressure on his throbbing cock. He was worried even that wouldn’t be enough, though, afraid that the scent of your pussy alone was enough to make him cum.

“L-love it, baby, thank you,” he whimpered into you, his voice muffled as he refused to pull away, his big tongue immediately going back to circling and lapping over your clit.

You could barely respond, your throat raw from your little cries as his movements grew sloppier, needier. His whines were constant, muffled by your pussy lips.

He was relentless, his lips and tongue moving with an urgency that had your thighs trembling around his head. The room felt so warm, the wet, lewd sounds of his mouth against your cunt filling the air, each slick movement sending you higher and higher.

“Kookie,” you gasped, your fingers threading through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. His body jerked at the touch, a muffled groan vibrating against your folds. Your hand in his hair pushed his head just a little until he— oh, there.

“Shitt! I’m gonna, uh, I’m gonna cum, baby. F-fuck, bunny, let’s do it.”

He whimpered in response but didn’t stop immediately, his tongue slipping over your clit a few more times. His nose brushed against you as he took a deep breath, savoring the smell, before finally pulling back. Panting softly, his lips and chin shone with your slick as he blinked up at you, drunk and breathless.

Jungkook’s body trembled as he crawled back up, his hands bracketing your waist until he was fully resting over you. For a moment, neither of you moved, both staring into each other’s flushed, panting faces.

Then your lips curled into a grin, the tension in your chest breaking, and Jungkook couldn’t help but follow. His bunny smile spread wide across his pink face, his eyes soft and adoring.

You reached up, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down into a kiss. He melted into you immediately, his lips soft and sticky against yours, his body pressing into you like he was trying to become part of you.

“Love you so much, baby,” he whispered into your mouth.

“I love you more, bunny,” you murmured back, your fingers brushing over the back of his neck as you pressed another soft kiss to his pout. His lips lingered against yours for a moment before you pulled back, your gaze excited as you watched him catch his breath.

Jungkook swallowed hard, his gaze flickering down to your body beneath him. Slowly, his hand moved to wrap around his cock, the sight making your breath hitch. He was so focused, his lips parted slightly, his bunny teeth worrying at his bottom lip as his brows furrowed in concentration.

He lined himself up with your entrance, the tip of his cock brushing against your folds as you both looked down, watching the moment. His chest rumbled with a quiet, shaky whine, his whole body bracing itself for a quick death as he pushed forward slightly, the head of his cock breaching your entrance.

Your breath caught, the stretch foreign but not unpleasant — a sharp heat that quickly melted into something deeper and so much fuller. “Kookie,” you sighed out, your fingers scratching softly at the nape of his neck in encouragement.

Jungkook’s breath stuttered, his gaze darting up to meet yours, searching for reassurance that you were okay. You read the look instantly, nodding softly. “I'm good, baby. So good. Keep going, bunny.”

His lips trembled as he nodded, his hand tightening around the base of his cock as he slowly pushed in further. The wet heat of your walls enveloped him, and his head tipped forward, a broken moan spilling from his lips as he rested his forehead against your shoulder.

“O-oh my god, l-lovie,” he stammered, his voice cracking as his body shuddered against yours. He fed another inch of his cock deeper, the sensation causing his free hand next to your head to curl into a fist.

a/n if you're gobsmacked at the sudden ending, that's what u get for not reading the author's note :P sorry guys dklsdfskl LOVE U and so sorry this was shite oop 🩷 good night

perm taglist: @elinaki92 @parapiop7 @photogenius-530 @vantaebearr @crazy-eight17 @aalisiyahxstar @jungshook-v @lovieku @apobangpogirlyyy @jungkookmyoneandonlybaby @whoa-jo @kooeuphoria @junecat18 @fr0ggieth1nk @joonwater @myjungkookthighs @nikidream24 @whothefuckisthishoe @4noirre @gaebestie @uzum-uzum @lllucere @dragonflygurl4 @kissyfacekoo @rpwprpwprpwprw

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eemamminy-art · 11 months ago

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OC kiss week day 1 - Almost

OCs are Glassi (femroe) and F'lihn (miqo), she/her for both!

#ockiss24 #ockissweek #ffxiv oc #my ocs #miqo'te wol #femroe #oc: f'lihn #oc: glassi #wlw art #ffxiv #ff14 #final fantasy xiv #final fantasy 14 #f/f ship #flassi

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vitreousglassy · 4 months ago

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Ohh shes a little dumm...

#digital art #digital drawing #oc #glassy

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muniimyg · 2 months ago

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𐙚₊˚⊹ bbydaddy!yoongi (7) ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

series m.list // taglist

note: yoongi and oc have the what r we talk,, have a few awh moments,, and r jus so cute... anyways,, my apologies as i'll be fixing my taglist next week ,, too busy n just trying to push out content lol !!! also PLEASE BE SURE TO LEAVE UR @ IN THE COMMENT BOX FOR SPECIFIC FIC TAGLIST STUFF (in the taglist form)

EDIT: mochi < injeolmi

as yoongi stands outside your door with a plastic bag swinging in one hand—all he can really think about is how amused he is from the 2AM craving text.

he takes a breath, raises his hand to knock, but the door opens before he can and there you stand with puffy cheeks streaked with the telltale signs of crying.

his smile drops instantly.

“hey,” yoongi’s voice softens, concern etching into his features. “___, what happened? w-why are you crying?”

you try to muster a smile but fail. your lips tremble as you glance at the bag in his hand. letting out a shaky laugh, you wipe your face and take a deep breath in.

“i don’t even really want pickles and peanut butter,” you admit. “i just… it’s… this isn’t about a pregnancy craving, yoongi.”

yoongi’s brows knit together and he steps forward. closing the space between you two, suddenly you feel a rush of guilt.

“okay, then what is it about?” his voice is gentle. he places the bag on the floor so he can rest a hand on your arm, grounding and reassuring. "everything okay? you okay?"

you looks up at him, eyes glassy and full of a vulnerability.

“i just…” you take another breath, steadying yourself. “i didn’t know how to tell you i wanted you here. just you. no excuses, no weird cravings.”

yoongi’s eyes widen, confusion and something else flashing across his face.

“wait—you could’ve just asked me to come over. i would’ve dropped everything to be here. you know that, right?”

a tear slips down your cheek. shaking your head, a sad smile forms.

“yeah. we’re friends, yoongi, but we’re not friends.” you say, emphasizing the word. a pang of bitterness lingers. “we’re not close like that. i guess i’m just freaking out because as much as i want this—fuck, i want this so bad… i’m upset that i’m having a baby with someone i can’t even ask to come over without making up an excuse. does that make sense?”

yoongi’s heart clenches.

he’s struck speechless for a moment. then he sighs and runs his hand through his hair.

“i get it,” he says quietly. his hand still rests on your arm. he squeezes it lightly. “can i come in? let’s talk about this please.”

you nod and move aside for him.

yoongi steps into your apartment, closing the door softly behind him.

he heads to the kitchen, methodically placing the jars of pickles and peanut butter on the counter. his movements are slower than usual as the weight of the moment settles in.

when he turns, he watches you retreat toward your bedroom and for a second—confusion prickles at the back of his mind.

why aren’t we sitting in the living room? he wonders.

he’s never been inside your bedroom before.

… but he follows you anyway, trailing behind you like a shadow.

the room feels more intimate than he expected.

the walls holding a quiet familiarity, but also the tension of something unspoken. you two stand there for a beat, the silence stretching until you blurt out;

“s-sorry. uh, the couch makes my back hurt if i sit there too long. i’m more comfortable in here. is that okay?”

yoongi takes in your words, a small pang of concern for her comfort, and nods, his usual nonchalance cracking just a bit.

then, you both settle on the bed.

the awkwardness between you two is palpable. yoongi braces himself for the conversation they both know is coming, hoping the closeness will bridge the distance they’ve been struggling to cross.

“are you regretting this?” you ask, voice quiet and afraid.

yoongi shakes his head instantly.

“no. i’m not,” he answers. “are you?”

you also shake your head.

“no… but, i do wish i thought it through more.”

he titls his head. “specifically about what? about me?”

you bite bottom lip, trying to find the words to explain how you feel about him. how you feel about everything between you two…

and it’s hard.

it’s difficult because you never had to think twice about yoongi and your friendship.

friends.

until sometimes, when you two are alone.. it’s friends.

“let’s be honest,” yoongi begins, cutting your thoughts short. “we’ve always had this weird… in-between thing. but if you need me, you don’t have to make excuses. i’m already here, aren't i? and i’m committed to the baby—our baby. to you, even… so, tell me where your headspace is at. i’ll match it. i’ll place myself in between where you need me and where i want to be for you. you just have to tell me what you want, ___.”

you look at him, eyes searching his for something… then, yoongi continues, his voice sincere and steady.

“we’re about to have a child together, yeah, but more than that… i care about you. always have. so, please don’t think that you have to put up walls or hide what you need from me, okay? i want to see through it. i want to see through you.”

you take a breath, relief washing over her as you nod.

“okay.”

and in that small word, a bridge starts to form between them—something real and raw and hopeful.

you and yoongi have never been close.

there has never been a moment where you were in trouble and thought to yourself; shit i need yoongi’s help.

no.

there was always hyemi, nam joon, jin, hoseok, jimin, taehyung and jungkook before yoongi. not that you liked him the least—if anything; considering the current happenings—maybe you like him the most. but besides that, you two are truly just decent friends.

everyone in the friendgroup is.

you laugh at the same jokes, make fun of nam joon when he says something ridiculous, and have each other’s backs when needed—but that’s it.

or at least it should be.

again, until you’re alone together... then, it’s different.

there’s this undercurrent.

something unspoken that takes all makes it hard to breathe. it’s the way he leans in when he’s talking to you. it’s the subtle touches he probably doesn’t think about… all these vague flirting moments leave you second-guessing… but you know what is it. you know who he is.

and that’s what’s confusing.

in the midst of this in-between—you don’t know how to word what he makes you feel.

safe?

nervous?

loved?

and now with the baby; it should be more complicated. everything in your life feels more complicated but somehow; what you are—or what you aren’t—hasn’t changed at all.

you’re still friends.

friends.

“can we talk about this?” you speak out. “like first… what are we?”

yoongi’s eyes widen.

he wasn’t ready for this question, but he also doesn’t hate it. he’s been wanting to know too. he’s been thinking about it too.

“what do you want us to be?”

you gulp, not knowing if he’ll like the answer you’re about to give.

“friends,” you tell him. “is that ridiculous?”

yoongi shrugs. “only if you make it to be.”

“it’s just… i feel like i need to get to know you more. i didn’t even save your number in my phone until last year. we’ve been friends for over 3 years, yoongi… also, i don’t know your favourite colour. i don’t know your birthdate because i always confuse it with hobi’s… yours is in february, right?”

“march.”

you throw your head back, letting out a sharp and loud hiss.

“fuck—s-see what i mean?” you take a breath and regulate. then, you reach for his hand and squeeze it. “i’m sorry. we’ve been decent friends but truth be told sometimes i feel like a stranger to you. i didn’t think this through—”

“it’s fine,” yoongi says, patting your back. “we’re not complete strangers. you know things about me, ___. don’t act like you don’t just because you’re scared. and, you know what? we can get to know each other more as the pregnancy goes on. besides, once the baby comes out—you’re stuck with me for life. i mean, it’s our baby.”

your lips curve into a small smile.

“is our baby gonna have two cribs?” you blurt. “hyemi made a passing comment and for some reason i keep picturing it. two cribs.. two sets of clothes.. two homes.. two car seats—”

“one then,” yoongi simplifies it for you. “move in with me or i move in with you.”

you blink at him.

“...hear me out,” yoongi says, voice calm but his eyes serious, holding yours as if he’s trying to make sure every word sticks. “we already spend so much time together—in our friendgroup setting at least… and i know it won’t be perfect. we’ll annoy each other, i’m sure, but it’ll be easier. for both of us. we won’t have to juggle back and forth or worry about where the baby should be or whose place has what.”

you swallow.

the image of two cribs still lingering in your mind, mixing with the new picture he’s painting—one home, one set of everything, a shared life that feels both thrilling and terrifying.

“yoongi…” you start, your voice wavering. “it’s not just about convenience. moving in together means… a lot. and what if we make things harder? what if it complicates everything more than it should?”

he nods, understanding the hesitation even as he inches a little closer, his presence grounding you.

“i get that,” he says. “but we’ve already made things complicated, haven’t we?” his lips curve into a small, almost hopeful smile. “this way, at least, we’ll be complicated together. and if it doesn’t work, we’ll figure it out, for the baby’s sake. we owe it to them—and to ourselves—to at least try.”

you want to say yes.

to fall into this idea of a shared space, of yoongi always being just a few steps away, but the weight of uncertainty keeps you frozen.

“i don’t know,” you murmur, dropping your gaze to your hands. “it’s a big step… and i’m scared of what it could mean… for us.”

yoongi reaches over, his fingers brushing lightly against yours.

“i’m scared too,” he admits softly. “but i’d rather try and fail than not try at all. just… think about it, okay? no pressure. maybe a timer though. baby is coming soon.”

you finally look up, meeting his eyes, the sincerity there chipping away at your worries. a small, reluctant smile tugs at your lips.

“hahaha… okay. yeah, i’ll think about it,” you promise, and the room feels a little lighter, hope lingering between you both. "... what if we buy baby things and leave it at yours? i think... i do want to move in with you. i think your points make sense and honestly? i've been thinking about us a lot... let's just do it slowly, okay?"

yoongi leans back slightly, studying your expression before he continues.

“okay, if we’re doing this, I want to do it right,” he says, the seriousness of his tone making you focus. “since we're confessing.. truth be told, i’ve been struggling with this entire thing too. ___, i don’t want to be the dad who just shows up when it’s convenient or only takes half the responsibility. until we figure out the whole moving-in thing… i need you to keep me in the loop. not even the loop—in it. everything, okay? every appointment, every little thing the doctor says. even if it’s something silly, like craving pickles at 2 in the morning, call me. i want to be here. i meant it when i said i need you to figure out how to need me.”

you nod slowly, his words settling into your chest. the way he’s looking at you—it’s like he’s already preparing himself for every moment he might miss if you don’t.

“and i'm serious about appointments,” yoongi adds, his voice softening just a little, the corners of his lips turning up in a small smile. “i want to know every detail. hear the heartbeat, see the ultrasounds, even if it means i have to reschedule work. screw it, honestly. you and baby are my priority… i’m gonna do everything to make you know that you deserve to feel like we’re doing this together.”

a lump forms in your throat, and you swallow, feeling the weight of his commitment.

“you really mean that,” you say quietly, more to yourself than him. “yoongi…”

“of course, i do.” he pauses, his eyes holding yours with that steady, unwavering calm. “we might not be close, but this baby deserves two parents who are trying their best. and maybe…” he hesitates, his voice dropping lower. “maybe this will help us become more than just friends who share stolen glances. more than whatever weird, in-between thing we have.”

a beat.

“shit, do we have to talk about that now?”

he laughs.

“no,” he shrugs. “i’m not in a rush. i’m cool with taking things slow. i have a lifetime with you anyway. also have a feeling you'll be moved in with me in a week or two.”

you roll your eyes and he chuckles.

then, you’re silent for a moment, processing the vulnerability he’s showing, the way he’s extending himself for both you and the baby.

“okay,” you finally say. “i’ll call more. i’ll update you on everything. breakfast and prenatals and all.”

yoongi snickers at you. “... and when we’re finally living together… we’ll figure out a routine that works for both of us. we’ll make it as easy as possible… for all three of us.”

before you know it, you launch yourself at him.

you wrap your arms around his neck and he wraps his around your torso, returning the hug without hesitations. for a moment, it feels safe, like he’s anchoring you to something solid amidst all the uncertainty.

when you pull away, you glance up at him, nerves tightening in your chest.

“can you… stay the night?” you ask, your voice softer than you mean it to be. “i guess that’s what i meant with the pickles and peanut butter.”

yoongi snorts at you.

“i knew it.”

he earns a hit to his chest, but he takes it like a champ. even though he’s teasing you, there’s something so reassuring in the way he says it.

“i'm already in my pajamas... i’ll just use the bathroom real quick. be right back.”

as yoongi makes his way to the bathroom, he flicks on the light and notices the little details of your life scattered around the sink. toothpaste, skincare products, and…

a blue toothbrush placed neatly next to yours.

his heart stumbles at the sight, realization washing over him.

it’s for him.

you had thought about him even in the smallest of ways, planning for him to be here.

what the fuck is his heart supposed to do with this?

it tugs.

it skips a beat.

it races.

it falls for you a little more.

when he returns to your bedroom, he finds you already lying in bed, looking smaller and more vulnerable under the soft glow of the bedside lamp. he hesitates, unsure of how to fit into this space with you. the silence stretches awkwardly between you both as he slips under the covers.

neither of you knows quite how to lie together.

you both fidget, trying not to make it more awkward, until you shift uncomfortably, a small wince escaping your lips.

“ugh,” you mumble, “my back hurts.”

yoongi is at your side instantly. his nonchalant demeanor slipping away as he sits up.

“here, let me help,” he murmurs, carefully guiding you to reposition. his hands are gentle but firm as he encourages you to lie partially against him, your body leaning into his. he wraps his arms around your belly, cradling you and the baby, and nuzzles his face into the curve of your neck. the warmth of his breath sends a small shiver down your spine, but it melts away as you sink into his embrace.

you both stay still, letting the comfort settle in. slowly, the awkwardness ebbs, replaced by a sense of calm as you relax against him.

just as you’re on the edge of sleep, you murmur something faintly.

“yoongi?”

“mhmm?

“injeolmi...” you whisper.

yoongi stirs, confused.

“huh?” he whispers back, trying not to disturb you too much. “are you craving injeolmi? i’ll get you some tomorrow–”

you smile sleepily, eyes already closed.

“no.. our baby looks like injeolmi,” you explain, your words trailing off into drowsiness. “the ultrasound… injeolmi. let’s call our baby injeolmi for now.”

yoongi heart squeezes at the endearing name, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“injeolmi,” he repeats, pressing a soft kiss into your hair. “okay. baby injeolmi it is.”

wrapped in each other’s warmth, you both drift off, with yoongi holding you close. all he thinks about before falling asleep is;

baby injeolmi, you are so loved.

#bts dilf au #bts daddy au #yoongi daddy #yoongi dad au #yoongi x yn #yoongi x reader #yoongi fluff #yoongi angst #bts fluff #bts angst #bts scenario #yoongi imagine #yoongi series #yoongi smau #bts smau

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joelscurls · 11 months ago

Text

stalemate

pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader

words: 7.2k

summary: Frankie Morales is your best friend — until a drunken hookup tears you apart.

warnings: 18+ minors dni; friends -> enemies -> lovers, TF characters without the TF plot, no Tom (in this house we hate Tom), alcohol consumption, smoking, angst, jealousy, pining, Frankie & reader being idiots in love, explicit smut, size kink, brief mentions of drunk sex, bad / regretful sex (between reader & OC), oral (f!receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, multiple orgasms, use of pet names (bebita, querida, baby, etc.), grilled cheese as a love language, happy ending, I think that's it but let me know if I missed anything!

a/n: thank you so much to @javisashtray & @pedgito for beta-reading this for me <3 this is for all my frankie lovers out there (aka bitches with good taste). dividers are by cafekitsune. follow @joelscurlsupdates for fic notifications! enjoy :)

Frankie Morales makes the best grilled cheese you’ve ever had. Perfectly golden bread; gooey, melty cheese — just the thought of it makes you drool. He says he has a secret ingredient. Won’t let you in the kitchen while he cooks for you, lest you find out.

Sometimes, upon entering his apartment, you can already smell melted butter. He’ll have started on one without even asking if you want it. He knows you always do.

Sit, he’ll shout from the other room. I’ll be right there. Feel free to put something on — but please, not 13 Going on 30. You’ll thank him and question his distaste for Mark Ruffalo in the same breath: you’re the best, but it’s not my fault Matty is the dream man.

He’ll bring you the wafting plate along with a Corona, and insist that you eat before it goes cold while he makes one for himself. Ever the gentleman, ever the friend — at least he was.

Because the two of you haven’t spoken in a month; not since the drunken hookup that you’re both pretending didn’t happen.

You’d laughed the entire cab ride home from the bar. That last round of tequila shots had left you feeling good, all warm and giggly, and Frankie mirrored you in the backseat with his drunken grin. Eyes glassy, lips pulled wide, he’d smacked you lightly on the shoulder as you recalled Santiago’s pitiful loss in that third game of pool. “When he pocketed the eight-ball…” he trailed off into another fit of laughter.

“And then—“ you attempted, voice caught in your throat as another giggle barreled out. “—the cue hitting his drink!” Your entire body folded over, hands braced on Frankie’s thighs as the two of you struggled to regain composure. Through labored breaths, you squealed. “He’s never going to live that down!”

After a few particularly stressful months at work, you lived for these nights out with your friends. You’d met Frankie through your best friend Mal, who was dating his friend Benny, and your circles had eventually meshed into one. Sometimes it felt like it had always been that way, like you’d known the guys your entire life.

Especially Frankie.

Your friendship was a special one — punctuated by frequent trips to the movies to watch the latest horrible slasher film; by nights spent yapping on the phone about nothing in particular. He’d become a constant in your life. Never, in your right mind, would you even dream of doing anything to jeopardize that—

“You look really hot tonight, by the way.”

He shouldn’t have said that. He shouldn’t have. But then it was you who leaned in closer, you who rested your hand on his hip and plucked the Standard Heating Oil cap off his head, placing it atop your own.

It was you who kissed him first.

He deepened it though — that was all him — large, restless hands grasping at your sides, your back, your face; tongue pushing past the seam of your lips to press against yours. He’d groaned into your mouth when the cab stopped at the curb in front of your building. Cursed under his breath when you pulled away.

And then, your voice ragged and breathless, you’d asked, “do you want to come in for a bit?”

It was a mistake. A horrible, blissful mistake. Waking up with sticky thighs and Frankie’s thumbprint bruised into your hip, you’d found his side of the bed cold; your inbox empty. He hadn’t called, hadn’t texted. Still hasn’t.

The aftermath is cursory glances. Half-assed greetings and pleasantries murmured across the bar. Which you don’t mind, really. You don’t want to speak to him. He’d probably just feed you some lie about losing track of time, not remembering what happened that night.

You wish you could forget it.

The visual is fuzzy; fleeting. But his voice — god, his voice — it still rings in your ears, drips at the nape of your neck like a leaking tap: fuck, baby, knew you’d take my cock; feel so good wrapped around me.

Your friends don’t know. They can’t; they wouldn’t let you live it down. Benny has made plenty of offhand comments already about you and Frankie being perfect for each other, having the same stubborn disposition. Mal does nothing to shut him up. Instead, she encourages him. Tells him he’s so right.

You’re pretty sure your eyeballs are going to fall out someday from glaring too hard.

Because you’re not perfect for each other — far from it, actually. Fuck, you can’t even communicate effectively. How could you ever be in a real relationship?

Not that you want that. Frankie is…well, Frankie. Sure, he’d felt undeniably incredible on top of you, inside of you — but he isn’t the type to settle down. In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever heard Frankie talk about dating.

Besides, he’s clearly not interested in being anyone’s anything right now. Not even your friend.

It hurts; cuts deeper than you care to admit. Just weeks ago, you’d spent an entire weekend at his place, marathoning the X Files and gorging on cold pizza. Now, he won’t even look your way for more than a few seconds.

Won’t make you a fucking grilled cheese.

It’s a Friday night, which means you’re meeting your friends at Sid’s. The glow of neon seeping through the windows of the old dive bar is warm and inviting as you step out of your rideshare and make your way toward the doors.

Frankie is sitting at the bar with Santiago when you enter. Hunched shoulders, narrowed eyes trained on his bottle of Corona, he appears detached from whatever Santi is saying to him. He doesn’t acknowledge you when you stroll up to them — not until his friend’s hand lands hard on his back, pulling his attention away from the beer. He offers a half-assed hello and an even more half-assed half-hug, and then he’s sliding back onto his barstool.

Ever-oblivious, Santiago doesn’t seem to notice the way Frankie curls in on himself; the way your back is up like an agitated cat’s.

Mal and Benny turn up minutes later, immediately ordering a round of shots for the group. You down the liquor eagerly, not bothering to lean on salt and lime to numb the sting. You want to feel it. You order another before joining Mal and the guys at a pool table in the back, letting the acid slide down your throat with no more than a wince as Santi racks the balls.

“Alright Fish, you’re up,” he says. “Me and you. Whoever loses buys the next round.”

You watch as Frankie quirks a brow at him. Takes a swig of his beer. “You sure you want to make that bet, Pope?”

Santi grins; nods confidently. “Hell yeah, I do.” The rest of you don’t bother to suppress your laughter. You catch a glimpse of Frankie, head thrown back, his broad, glistening neck exposed, and you have to fight to ignore the sudden panging in your chest.

When Santi inevitably loses, you order a vodka soda. You’re already feeling a bit tipsy after two shots in less than twenty minutes, so the drink goes down smooth; quick. There’s a rush to your head as you settle back at the bar and fiddle with the wrapper to your straw, letting the slightly soggy paper roll between two fingers.

You barely notice when Frankie slots in a few seats down, your attention drawn only when you hear his voice. It’s deep — sounds just like it did when he had his chest pressed to your back in the dim light of your bedroom — and his intonation nearly gives you whiplash.

When you snap your head up to look at him, you find he’s speaking to a woman. Her back is turned to you, long, dark hair tossed over her shoulder and her elbow resting casually on the bartop, but you imagine she must be beautiful by the way Frankie is visibly fawning over her. You’re staring, you hear her tease. Can’t help it, comes his reply.

Something like discomfort builds in your throat. Rises up up up. You take a long sip of your drink, letting vodka and sugar push it down.

You’ve never seen Frankie flirt with anyone, apart from you. It’s strangely unsettling, listening to him smooth-talk her. I’m a pilot, you know, he brags; could take you up in the sky someday if you wanted. Her giddy squeal comes seconds later; really? You’d do that for me?

You feel bad for her. She doesn’t know yet that all he’ll do is disappoint her.

He feeds her lines as you sip on your drink, citrus and grain burning only when he tells her: yeah, I came with friends; they’re all over there. Gestures toward Benny, Mal and Santi standing around the pool table in the back.

Scoffing, you stand from your seat at the bar and retreat to the patio. You don’t bother to check if Frankie is looking.

It’s cooler here, a sobering breeze carrying salt air with it as it wafts by. A few patrons have spilled outside, most smoking on faintly glowing cigarettes as they talk and laugh boisterously among themselves. You’d planned to sit alone, to plant yourself on a bench and enjoy your drink in solitude. But then a stranger is approaching you — a man, cigarette grasped between two of his fingers — and he’s asking you for a light.

He’s in his mid thirties, if you had to guess. Curly, dark hair sprouts every which way from his scalp; rounded, green eyes studying you as he awaits a response. He’s tall, though not as tall as Frankie. His shoulders aren’t nearly as broad and his chest isn’t quite as wide. His t-shirt hangs loose around his torso, swallowing his narrow frame — dissimilar to the way Frankie’s button-down clings to him.

Then again — why are you even comparing? Maybe the opposite of Frankie is exactly what you need.

You’ll have to seduce this stranger first, though. Not that it seems like it’ll be very difficult. His eyes are already raking over you, lips turned up at the corner as you take a casual sip of your drink.

“I don’t smoke,” you admit apologetically.

“Ah — that’s alright.”

He has an accent; midwestern, maybe? You don’t bother to ask. You don’t care, really. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is—

“You here all by yourself?”

“Yeah,” he laughs at your lack of subtlety. “Are you?”

“No,” you say. “My friends are inside.” Lowering your voice, you add, “but I was thinking about leaving soon.”

“Why’s that? Early morning tomorrow?”

You shake your head. Rub at your neck as if working out a knot, a contented hum pushing past your lips at the press of fingers into skin. Your stranger’s eyes trail rather conspicuously downward.

“Just over it,” you sigh exasperatedly. “I’d much rather be home…in bed…out of these clothes.”

You pull gently at the strap of your dress, as if you can’t bear the sensation of it against your shoulder any longer.

Your stranger’s gaze darkens, and the grip on his box of cigarettes grows tighter.

“You uh — want some company — once I find a light?”

Too fucking easy.

“Sure,” you giggle.

He slips away only for a minute or two, giving you just enough time to second-guess yourself. You know nothing about this man, not even his name; only that he smokes American Spirits and smells like tobacco. Should you really go home with him?

But then you think of Frankie inside — talking up a woman at the bar, pretending that you don’t exist — and that just about makes up your mind for you.

Your stranger reappears, now-lit cigarette dangling from his lips. The tip of it rages red and angry, and you think you know how that feels.

He smirks at you as he stuffs the pack into the front pocket of his jeans. An unceremonious silence hangs in the air as he sucks on the filter and puffs out a string of smoke. You wait patiently for him, quietly.

He snuffs the butt of his cigarette out in a nearby ashtray. Takes your empty cup and discards that too.

Can’t wait to get you home, he whispers in your ear then. You feign arousal, peering up at him and batting your eyelashes. Me neither, you mewl. Let’s go.

You lead him back through the bar, finding Mal and letting her know that you’ll be going. She seems a little perplexed, quirking a brow at you as you grip tightly onto your stranger’s arm, but she tells you to have fun anyway. Text me, she mouths as you make your way to the exit.

You only get a few feet, though, before you’re intercepted.

Frankie is blocking the door, arms crossed, a panic-stricken look on his face that you can’t quite comprehend. “Hey,” he says, “can I talk to you real quick?”

Your stranger backs off. Lets go of your arm and starts out the door. “I’ll wait outside,” he says, slipping away with a wink before you can protest.

The bar is bustling with noise, people in every corner drinking and laughing and dancing. Strangely, though, you’ve never felt so alone. So vulnerable. And you hate that Frankie has this power over you, the innate ability to make you feel so fucking small. It’s infuriating, it’s—

“Are you sure you want to leave with him?”

“Excuse me?” you scoff.

Frankie stares you down, face red, eyes inky-black. “You don’t know this guy, do you? What if he’s a murderer or something? Or like — a pervert?”

He’s grasping at straws, you know it. It’s why you laugh; roll your eyes.

“What are you, my keeper?”

“No, it’s just — I’m just concerned for your safety, okay?”

You’re briefly stunned. After weeks of ignoring you, he cares about your wellbeing? How can he be so hypocritical?

“I’m fine,” you bite back. “Why don’t you go back to your girl at the bar? Worry about getting yourself some instead?”

He’s wounded, if only slightly. His lips part like he might retaliate, but he’s silent. Dejected. Satisfied, you brush past him. March out the door without so much as a parting glance.

Finding your stranger leaning against the bar’s brick exterior, you force a smile. He outstretches a hand and you take it, reluctantly. “Ready to go?” he asks.

You’re not so sure anymore, but you nod anyway. Squeeze your stranger’s bicep and preen under his lustful gaze when he tenses in your grip. “Yeah,” you purr. “I’m ready.”

Cold air bites at your toes the following morning. It wakes you from a deep slumber; bitterly pulls you into consciousness. Confused, you yank at the covers. But a mysterious weight holds them in place, and only then do you remember then that you’re not alone.

Eyes sliding open reluctantly, you scan the room. Your dress from the night before is draped over the chair in the corner, your stranger’s clothes piled up on the floor nearby. He snores next to you, an arm raising to hang above his head, and you shift. Slip out of bed and pull a t-shirt on before padding into the bathroom.

Early morning light spills across tile, bounces off the mirror above the sink. You squint, shuffling over to the window and yanking the blinds closed. Then you check for damage in your reflection. Your makeup from the night before has stained your cheeks and your eyes look as tired as you feel, but otherwise there appears to be no physical evidence of your rock bottom.

The sex wasn’t great — not even good, really. Your stranger had lasted all of three minutes, had fanned his hot breath across the shell of your ear as he came, and then collapsed on top of you. Rolled over and drifted to sleep. He’d started snoring before you could even process what had just happened.

Cold water splashed across your cheeks does nothing to cool the burn of regret that scorches your skin. You feel uncomfortable, almost as if your body is tainted, now, remnants of your stranger leaking from between your thighs as you steady yourself at the edge of the sink.

He must’ve heard the tap, or maybe the pounding in your chest, because he emerges seconds later. He yawns and stretches, feline-like, in the doorway. “Hey,” he mutters. “How’d you sleep?”

“Pretty good,” you say, eyes twitching slightly as you will them to stay put above his waistline.

“You always up this early?”

You nod. It’s a lie, but he doesn’t need to know that you’d nearly jumped out of bed at the sight of him still there. He doesn’t need to know that for a split second, you’d almost hoped it was Frankie.

He asks if you want to get breakfast. You shake your head in faux-sympathy. “Sorry, can’t. I was hoping to get some cleaning done.”

“I could stick around and help,” he offers.

Jesus Christ. Just take the fucking hint.

“That’s so nice of you; I’m just more efficient by myself,” you lie again.

If Frankie were here, he’d grab the cleaning rags out of the closet just off the kitchen. He knows where they’re kept: second shelf, on the left. He’d wipe down the counters and the coffee table while you’d work on clearing dishes, disposing of pizza scraps. And he’d probably put on his dad-rock playlist — against your wishes — though you’d inevitably find yourself dancing to Foo Fighters and giggling when he’d sing along and mess up the words.

It begins to sink in then, as you shoo your stranger, now dressed, out the door, that your attempt to use sex as a way to get Frankie out of your head was useless. He’s still there, refusing quite adamantly to budge, all mussed curls and big eyes and deep voice. There’s no evidence that he’ll be leaving any time soon.

The revelation renders you nauseous. You spend the rest of the day with a hangover that you’re sure has not been induced by alcohol. And by the time night falls, darkness descending over your bedroom like a fog, you still feel sick.

A week later, you drag yourself to Benny and Mal’s for their monthly game night. You’d tried to get out of it, told Mal you haven’t been feeling great — which isn't a total lie — but she’d begged you until you broke.

Will is coming, and it’ll be the first time we’ve all gotten together in over a year, she’d whined through the receiver.

And then-

I know things were weird between you and Frankie last time at the bar, but you can’t let that stop us from seeing each other.

How do you know that, you’d asked, chewing on your bottom lip, the phone tucked between your ear and your shoulder.

He basically moped around the rest of the night after you left. Kept bitching about you leaving with that guy. He seemed really…agitated. You don’t have to tell me what happened, just please don’t bail.

So you’re here, steeling yourself as you climb the steps to the front door, hoping that if nothing else, you can make it through the night without strangling Frankie for his lack of discretion.

You enter the house with baited breath.

Your eyes immediately catch Frankie, tucked into the corner of the sectional, fingers wrapped tightly around his beer. He meets your gaze briefly before letting it slip to the floor by his feet, as if he’s trying to pretend he hasn’t seen you at all.

“Hi,” you try.

He looks back up at you, or rather past you. Taps his fingers along the bottle for a long moment. “Hey,” he says finally, to the wall behind your head.

“How have you been?” the words come out forced, almost foreign. You shift your weight awkwardly and he sighs.

“Fine. I’m fine.”

“Right,” you mutter. More silence. “Me too, in case you were wondering.”

“Good,” he says, voice cold. “That’s good.”

You’re not sure whether you want to slap him or kiss him. Because as infuriating as he’s being right now, he looks gorgeous, denim shirt hugging his biceps, his shoulders; stray curls peaking out from under that stupid Standard Heating Oil hat. You yearn to rip it off his head, run your fingers through his hair, nip along the sharp line of his jaw; the broad expanse of his neck.

You long to feel something other than the prominent ache that’s permeated your body for weeks, now. And you fear that he’s the only one who’d be able to alleviate it.

Your mouth opens again just as Benny emerges from the kitchen. Whatever words you were about to utter are lost in the ether as he pulls you into a suffocating hug and thanks you for coming.

“Mal’s in the kitchen,” he says. Grabs a handful of Lays from a bowl on the coffee table and shovels them into his mouth. Still chewing, he adds, “we got those wine coolers you like; they’re in the fridge.”

With a hurried thanks, you slip away unscathed.

You find Mal crouched in front of the open fridge, rustling through a produce drawer stocked with beer cans.

“Hey,” you announce.

She seems almost surprised to see you when she cranes her neck toward your voice, despite your promise to show. Eyebrows raised, mouth slightly agape, it’s as if she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. She pulls another drawer open. Fishes out a wine cooler and passes it to you with an outstretched arm.

You take it in one hand. Help her up with the other.

“You’re here,” she says, and it sounds like more of a question than a statement.

“Yeah. I said I would be.”

“I know, I know. It’s just — I wasn’t sure. The whole Frankie thing…”

“It’s nothing; I promise,” you lie. “Water under the bridge. We’re fine.”

She quirks a brow at you, disbelief coloring her features, but she lets it go. Closes the fridge with a thunk and adjusts her sweater at the hem. “Good,” she says. “I don’t want you two ruining game night.”

It’s half a joke, but you know deep down she means it. She takes this all very seriously. Back in college, she’d forced you and your suitemates to play Cards Against Humanity with her every weekend. None of you had the heart to tell her when it started to grow monotonous, and so the tradition carried on well past graduation, eventually evolving into a new tradition with new friends.

Games bring people together, she’d said once over a round of Monopoly that had stretched well into the night, resulting in delirious laughter and a warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest.

You’d believed her at the time. Now, you’re not so sure that it’s foolproof.

The two of you rejoin the guys in the living room, Santiago and Will having shown up in your absence. You greet them as Benny pulls out a stack of game boxes. Settle on the couch, as far away from Frankie as you can manage.

It starts during the second round of Charades.

The first round had gone fine — good, even. Teamed up with Santi and Will, you’d avoided eye contact with Frankie for the whole of it. Focused only on guessing Santi’s horribly-mimed clues in between handfuls of trail mix and sips of watermelon-flavored bubbles.

It’d felt a bit like old times, all of you in one room again. Mal snuggling into Benny on the loveseat; Will catching his brother up on time spent touring the country, giving motivational speeches to recently discharged veterans. He’d asked you how you’ve been as Santi studied his next word, and you’d remembered then that everything was very much not how it once was.

And you hadn’t missed Frankie’s discomfort at the question; the way he set his beer bottle down on the table with a bit too much force, glass clanging against wood. Though if Will noticed too, he hadn’t said anything. Just moved into a story about some woman he met on the road that reminded him of you.

Santi’s turn had ended with a whopping zero points for your team, and now Frankie is standing at the front of the room, unfolding the scrap of paper in his hand and reading it to himself. In the lull, you find yourself staring at him, eyes near glazing over at the sight of the tiny paper pinched between long, thick fingers. Fingers you remember the reach of, the weight of.

He crumples the paper and stuffs it into his pocket, signaling that he’s ready to go. Mal flips over the sand timer on the table. And you almost don’t notice at first when he starts, mind occupied by equal parts lust and annoyance, that he’s fucking mouthing the phrase.

You watch, enraged, as Benny squints to read his lips. He raises his hand excitedly and jumps to his feet; yells out the answer with a sureness that Frankie affirms with a nod.

“That’s right. It’s the Empire State Building.”

“That’s fucking cheating!” you shout, a bit angrier than the situation calls for, and the room grows quiet. Fury coursing through you, you add, “are you fucking serious, Frankie?”

You feel the eyes on you; the awkward sheen you’ve cast over the room. Mal shifts across from you, glaring when you turn to face her, and you laugh defensively.

“What, nobody else thinks that’s unfair?”

“Please,” Frankie sneers.

“No, she’s right,” Santi tries — ever the peacemaker. “We’ll just add a rule going forward; no mouthing the words.”

“Fuck that,” you hiss. “I want their point taken away.”

Frankie scoffs from the other side of the room. “Bullshit! We earned that before the rule was added.”

You’re fuming now, standing to get a bit closer to his height; though he still towers over you. Mal is right on your heels, placing a hand on your shoulder in an attempt to placate you. You brush her off. Take another stride toward Frankie.

“There shouldn’t need to be an official rule against it, Frankie. It’s common fucking sense — which clearly, you have none of.”

Visibly offended, he says nothing. Just tenses his jaw.

“Why did you come tonight?” you continue, voice more level now; direct.

You hear your name uttered behind you, tone pleading, warning. You ignore it.

“Seriously, why?”

He’s quiet for a long, drawn-out moment, eyes pointed at the floor again.

“What are you talking about?” he spits, finally.

You laugh, amused and irritated, and these things somehow feel one in the same. “I mean, clearly you don’t want to be in my presence or even acknowledge my existence — unless it’s to cockblock me — so why are you here?”

His brows furrow; lips twist. For a second, you think he might actually leave. He adjusts his cap, jangles the car key in his pocket — but Benny stops him before he can take a step.

“Just — cut it out, okay? Both of you.”

“He’s the one-“

“I don’t care,” Benny interjects. Scanning the room, you catch sight of Santi and Will and Mal, all visibly agitated, and you sigh.

Guilt washes over you, then. The twisting of Santi’s face, Mal’s doleful stare, the wordless look exchanged between Benny and Will. All confirm your fear that you’ve effectively ruined their night.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble.

Frankie echoes your apology. Still, the others aren’t impressed.

“I don’t know what’s been going on lately with you two, but you need to figure this shit out,” Benny says. He sounds like a parent: stern and slightly disappointed. “Can you please just — go in the other room and talk through it?”

Though you haven’t much cared for Frankie’s opinion as of late, you still turn to him to gauge his reaction. He appears just as hesitant as you are, just as guilt-stricken. But something more lurks behind his eyes — something like fear, anxiety. Why, you aren’t sure.

You raise a brow at him, a wordless question. He answers with a sigh.

“Fine,” you both say at once.

“Thank goodness,” Mal chimes. Herding you two like cattle with a hand on each of your backs, she leads you out of the living room and into the adjoining hallway.

Her voice drones behind you as you make your way toward the third door on the right. Shall we continue the game?

The guest room is primly kept. It appears almost untouched at first glance, though you know that to be untrue. You’ve stayed here before, after blurry nights spent drinking shitty gin and singing karaoke. That must’ve been years ago now, though, after Mal and Benny first bought this house, and you begin to wonder if your tumultuous friendship with Frankie only made you neglect your friendship with her. And that only adds to the anger stirring inside of you — because what was it all worth, if it’s ended up like this?

Frankie closes the door behind him with a click, and the air in the room feels exponentially thicker.

“What the fuck was that?” you hiss.

He scoffs. “Me? You’re the one who freaked out and started an argument over nothing!”

“It wasn’t nothing. You were cheating.”

“Please.” He rolls his eyes. Takes two steps toward you. “That’s not what this is about and you know it.”

“Oh,” you laugh, “so you are aware that you’ve been an asshole?”

He says your name, voice suddenly lower, softer. Your entire body tenses as you struggle to keep strong, to not think about how it sounded in your ear in the midst of pleasure.

“I wasn’t trying to be-”

You throw a hand up; silence him. “Well you have been,” you groan. “You’ve been a huge fucking asshole. You hurt me, Frankie. You were my best friend, and then you just… stopped returning my texts. You won’t even look at me when we’re in the same room together. Did you regret it that much?”

The room goes still. You watch as Frankie’s chest rises and falls arduously, his eyes settling on you. They’re dark, pupils blown wide, squeezing shut as he exhales long and hard.

“No.”

You quirk a brow at him, confused.

“No?”

“No,” he repeats, averting his gaze. “And that’s the problem — I didn’t regret it at all.” His eyes lift slowly, finding you again, voice more sure when he adds, “I’ve wanted it for a long time”

You can barely comprehend what he’s saying, your heart climbing its way out of your ribcage and up your throat. You gulp, feeling the shape of it there as saliva slowly slides past.

He takes another two steps forward, mere inches from you now, and your breath hitches.

“Do you know how difficult it’s been to look at you without getting fucking hard?” he whispers. “How many times I’ve fucked my fist in the past month imagining it was you?”

Your mouth falls open, stunned. “That girl at the bar-”

He shakes his head. “I thought maybe if I fucked someone else, it would help.”

“And did it?”

“I didn’t — I didn’t go home with her,” he admits, a little bashfully. “I couldn’t do it.”

His hand lifts, then, cautious and shaky. It finds its way to your face, grazes your jaw so softly you’d think you imagined it if you couldn’t see.

“Why not?” you squeak.

He nods, as if he’s finally accepting something he’s known to be true, admitting it to himself before he does so out loud.

“Because she wasn’t you.”

It feels as if your entire world has spun on its axis.

Without thinking, you wrap your hand around Frankie’s neck and pull him toward you, crashing your lips into his with a groan. He’s quick to respond, desperately tangling his fingers in your hair and winding his tongue around yours, a broken moan slipping from his throat.

For a long moment, that’s all it is. It’s clashing teeth and restless hands; the draw of blood and the taste of it, earthy and metallic on your tongue. It’s the two of you, reconciling for lost time and unshared feelings and the overlooked need for each other through tangled bodies.

And when you finally pull apart, his lips are swollen and his eyes are glazed over, and you’re sure you don’t look much different.

“Frankie,” you whine as his mouth latches to your neck, warm and wet. He doesn’t retreat; just hums against you.

“Need you,” you say breathlessly. “Need you to touch me.”

His large hand skates down your front, under the waistband of your leggings. He presses two fingers against your clothed clit, and your knees buckle. You lean into him, bracing yourself with a hand on his chest as he begins rubbing small, deliberate circles into cotton.

Lips trailing up to your ear, he nibbles at the lobe. Presses his tongue just behind the shell of it and sighs. “Been wanting this since that night. Want to make you feel good. Want to do it right.”

You mewl in response, high-pitched and too loud, and you have to bite into his shoulder to keep from crying out again. He’s still working you toward the brink, pace relentless, beseeching you every time you buck into his hand.

There you go baby, that’s it; I got you.

You know he does, can feel the support of his unoccupied hand at the small of your back, holding you to his strong body. And god, how you’ve missed the feeling of it pressed to yours. You think that that alone could make you come.

You feel yourself slipping as your orgasm approaches, legs slumping underneath you more and more with every pass of his fingers. “Frankie,” you warn, teeth still anchored in his skin. “I’m going to-“

The words are muffled, but he gets it. Presses down harder and works his fingers faster. “Come on baby,” he growls in your ear, “come on.”

Your orgasm hits you so hard that you collapse, your body dead weight in Frankie’s grip as you writhe. He grasps onto you tightly, working you through it with his unyielding touch, swiping back and forth, back and forth as the final waves crest.

You’re panting when it ends, and still when Frankie helps you to the edge of the bed. Perched there, staring up at him with glassy eyes, you realize you’ve never felt so sated and so needy at the same time.

“Frankie?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“Please fuck me.”

He should probably say no. After all, you’re in your friends’ guest room, people just a few hundred feet on the other side of the door. But then again, he’s already made you come.

You watch him consider it, eyes flickering to the door and back to you, dark and deep and pooling with want.

In the end, he can’t help himself.

“Can you be quiet, querida?”

You nod, though you’re sure that even if you said no, he wouldn’t care. He’d do just as he’s doing now: pressing your shoulder, encouraging you to lay down on the bed; helping you pull your sneakers off, then your leggings, then your shirt; stepping back to marvel at your half-naked form before him.

“Fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, and your entire body heats from the inside out. You feel like you’re on fire, his stare keeping you alight as he undresses down to his boxers.

He climbs over you with a hand on either side of your head, pressed into the mattress. The lip of his hat bumps you, and you immediately rip it off of him, tossing it aside and tangling your fingers in dark curls.

You tug at them, dragging him down until his face is hovering just above yours, and he responds with a strangled moan. His body pressed to yours now, you can feel the weight of his hard cock against your clothed pussy. Your mouth finds his again in a languid kiss — slow and deep. You feed each other sighs and moans, taste each other’s longing. His hips roll into yours with every exhale, teasing you — reminding you, and you feel like you’re steadily going insane.

He pulls back, panting. Rests his forehead on yours.

“Can I take this off?” he asks, plucking at the strap of your bra. You nod furiously. Lift the upper half of your body so that he can undo the clasps.

Breasts suddenly exposed, you feel your nipples begin to harden. Frankie groans at the sight of them, so pert and needing. Wordlessly, he dips his head, buries his face in your chest. His tongue wraps around one of your nipples and you cry out, hand flying to your mouth in an instant.

“Oh fuck,” you moan into your palm.

“Feel good?” he asks, knowing smirk playing on his lips as he shifts his focus to the other nipple. You feel so sensitive everywhere, the heft of his tongue going straight to your clit, and you can barely answer him. A shaky yes tumbles from your mouth — the best you can do. He hums, so low the vibrations burrow under your skin and barrel through you, and you keen at the sensation.

“God, you sound so pretty,” he sighs as he rolls one of your stiff peaks between two fingers. His other hand drifts down your body, dips between the two of you and pulls your panties aside.

“Fuck,” he curses, fingertip brushing over your seam just barely. “You’re soaked, bebita. That all for me?”

“Mhm,” you whine. “All for you Frankie; fuck-“

He’s shifts down your body, hooks both arms under your legs and drags you toward him in one swift motion, leaving you no time to process before his tongue is on your pussy. “Have to taste you,” he babbles drunkenly, plunging into your leaking cunt and lapping at you.

“Oh, oh shit,” you moan as he drags his tongue up to your clit. “Please baby, please.”

“I know; I got you,” he soothes. Then he begins to lave your clit with the soft flat of his tongue, warm muscle encircling the throbbing nub. Wide eyes staring up at you, he observes intently. Responds to every sound, every tell with a switch in direction or an increase in pressure. He’s so attentive, so desperate to make you come on his mouth, and it sends you into a sort of delirium.

Your second orgasm hits you out of nowhere, slams through your body with so much intensity, you don’t even have the strength to warn Frankie before your release is gushing all over his face and, undoubtedly, the bed below.

He growls against your cunt. Comes up for air and kisses you hard, letting you taste yourself on his tongue as he tugs his boxers down and frees his aching cock. Notches at your entrance without detaching his lips from yours.

It’s a stretch — you recall it being so last time too — though the alcohol had done wonders to loosen your body. Now, you feel every devastating inch of him as he pushes in. He’s gentle. Tells you how good you’re doing as he feeds you more and more of his cock. There you go, that’s my girl, taking it so well for me. And for some reason, him calling you his nearly makes you come again.

He notices the way you preen in response. Thumbs across the slope of your jaw as he settles inside you. “You like that, baby? Like me calling you mine?”

“Yes, Frankie — fuck. Want it.”

You don’t specify whether you mean him or his cock. You’re not entirely sure. Not that it matters. You know he’ll give you both, give you anything. Can feel it in the way he gazes at you through heart-shaped eyes as he lets you adjust to him.

“So fucking beautiful, you know that?”

Your eyes roll back and saliva pools in your mouth. “God,” you breathe.

“I’m serious,” he says, finally beginning to move. The slow drag of his cock brushes your g-spot and you gasp. “Was so stupid before, fucking you drunk. Wanna remember every second, every noise you make, every inch of your perfect fucking body.”

“Jesus, Frankie.”

He pushes back in with one deep thrust. Sets a pace that, while not rough, definitely isn’t gentle. You begin to babble and writhe under him. Hook your legs around him so he can get even deeper.

He groans. “Tell me how it feels, baby.”

“It’s so fucking good,” you cry. “Feels like fucking heaven, Frankie.”

“Nah, that’s you.” He lets his head fall on your shoulder, drives into you faster. Pants into the crook of your neck. “Perfect fucking pussy.”

It ends all too quickly — with your fingernails dug into his back and his sweaty curls sticking to your forehead. Your cunt clenching around his cock, pulling his orgasm out of him just as yours begins to roll through you. You free fall from the cliff’s edge together, breathless moans spilling between your slotted mouths, his warmth flooding you and leaking from the place you’re still connected.

As the room around you slowly comes back into focus, you hear the sound of distant laughter. Benny’s boisterous chuckle and Mal’s much softer one. Clearly distracted, they’re likely blissfully unaware of what’s just happened. You giggle, covering your face as Frankie pulls out.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, prying your hands away.

“We’re gonna have to get them a new bedspread. We just defiled this one.”

He stands, then, pulling you upright with him. You squeal as blood rushes to your head and your vision goes staticky.

“Worth it,” he smirks. Gives you a chaste kiss. “Got my girl back.”

You dress and rejoin the group as inconspicuously as possible. Pray they don’t notice the way you’re wobbling on your feet, or the sheen of sweat that’s coated your skin.

“You sort everything out?” Santi smirks knowingly as you reassume your place on the couch, Frankie settling back into the corner.

“Yeah,” he mutters, refusing to make eye contact.

“It’s about time,” Benny shouts from the kitchen. Frankie’s head shoots up, pivots toward his voice.

“What do you mean?”

He emerges in the doorway with a shit-eating grin. Mal stifles a laugh from the loveseat.

“Just saying it’s about time,” he shrugs. “That’s all.”

Shit; apparently you hadn’t been as quiet as you thought.

The others chuckle as you and Frankie exchange a mortified look. The embarrassment is short lived though, Will clapping his hands together, asking what game you all want to play next.

An hour later, after a couple rounds of Codenames and another wine cooler, you head out the door with Frankie right beside you. It feels odd, not hiding anymore. But more so, it feels right.

He leans you against your SUV under silver moonlight. Kisses you with plush, soft lips against yours; restless hands roving up your sides. Pulls back with a suspiciously large grin.

You cock an eyebrow at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” he says. “Just glad I stopped being an idiot.”

“I don’t know about that,” you tease, and he smacks you gently on the arm.

“Come over?” he asks, his hand draped over your waist.

You think on it for only a second. Nod. “Yeah. As long as you make me a grilled cheese.”

“That can be arranged.”

end notes: thank you so much for reading! if you enjoyed, please consider commenting and/or reblogging :)

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