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awrkive · 3 months ago

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THE LOVE PROGNOSIS, pt. 1 — JJK (m.)

for as long as you can remember, you’ve always been a hopeless romantic.

the girl who’s always dreamt of cheesy encounters with her soulmate, grand love declarations, and a cute little beach wedding to boot. but reality pretty much slaps you hard right on the face, because love, unfortunately, doesn’t come grand — it’s simple and it’s quiet, but it is quite painful, especially when the love that you’ve been seeking for all your adult life has just been right under your nose all this time.

PAIRING jungkook x female reader // mingyu x female reader

GENRE r18+ (angst, fluff, smut) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

CHAPTER WORD COUNT 20k 😍

CHAPTER WARNINGS/MISC medical!au, roommates!au, surgeon!jk, surgeon!reader (they are both 4th year residents and are co-workers), corporate lawyer!mingyu, oc and jk are bffs since med school but their love language is fighting each other <3, jk and mingyu are bffs during undergrad, jk sluts it out quite often😞, hopeless romantic!oc, countless mentions of weddings and engagements, angsty undertones, it’s the… yearning? 97liners assemble lmao, the surgeons gang: jk, oc, nayeon, doyeon, taehyung <3, explicit sexual content [dry h*mping, making out, c*nnilingus], alcohol consumption, arguments 🤓, i personally have only acquired a degree on Bingewatching Grey’s Anatomy so my medical knowledge is.. you see.. greys anatomy 💔 BUT! i did a lot of research for this pls dont crucify me 🙏🏼 belated happy birthday jaykay, my forever muse❤️❤️

NOTES hello awrkive nation!!!!!!!!!!!!! sorry this got delayed!! gave up on trying to make this a one shot cos it stretched out into 50k words IM SORRY! anyways check out my trello page for updates on my writing progress 🩷 make sure to comment down ur thoughts and like and reblog to circulate hehe !! asks are deeply appreciated!! scream your takes!! let me know what you think!! also made a spotify playlist for this mini-series soooo if u wanna listen to the songs that i think embody this fic, i've linked it below 🫶🏼

[ TLP MOODBOARD ] // [ SPOTIFY PLAYLIST ]

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

For as long as you can remember, you’ve always been a hopeless romantic.

The girl who’s always dreamt of cheesy encounters with her soulmate, grand love declarations and a cute little beach wedding to boot. You’re the kind of girl who thought her high school jock boyfriend would make good on his promise of keeping contact until college. That girl who thought the guy she met at nineteen at some sleazy frat party wanted more than just sex. The girl who thought that her boyfriend at twenty-one would finally be The One after introducing her to his parents on New Year’s Eve. You’re exactly the kind of girl who thought that it was smart to get a boyfriend in her first year of med school and get proposed to in fourth year.

Reality pretty much hit you hard with a big slap on the face; because you soon found out that your love interest doesn’t suddenly come into your life while you clock in your shift at a coffee shop, and there is no such thing as grand love declarations – no one wanted to profess their love to somebody at airports anymore, or even in the pouring rain, for god’d sake! And there is never going to be a beach wedding when there’s no one to do it with in the first place.

Because even if you do everything right, men just always somehow manage to do you wrong.

Your first boyfriend, Changsub, just suddenly ghosted you after you moved to a different town for college. When you saw him again for winter break, he was dating the girl from his History class – the blondie who was always the cause of your heated arguments in the lockers because you’ve always been jealous of her. Needless to say, you never talked to him again, and Changsub never bothered to reach out either.

At nineteen, you met Soohyun at a frat party your roommate invited you to. He was part of your college’s football team – the regular famous jock, and you felt a little bit special when he showed you a little bit of attention. When he chased you for a while, you caved in and had sex for the first time. You soon realized that was his thing – “popping them girls’ cherries” – as what you’ve overheard from his equally asshole teammates when you made an impromptu visit at their sweaty, stinky locker rooms – and that he apparently had a thing for girls in the cheerleading team (you were a part of it for awhile). Soohyun just told you it wasn’t working anymore. He was out and about with another girl three days later.

You swore at twenty-one, you were smarter. Heck, you got your heart broken two times already by then by the same brand of asshole with two different names and faces! You must’ve been a bit wiser, no?

But in your defense, Jaehyun was totally different from Changsub and Soohyun. He wasn’t an athlete. He was low-key… an introvert, and a total nerd. A film major guy who was so good at getting you through his art. He told you you were his muse, and you believed it wholeheartedly for the almost three years you’ve dated, most especially when he brought you to his hometown that one New Year’s Eve and introduced you to his family on your first anniversary.

You don’t exactly know what happened then… he just ran cold. Backed out of your plans of moving in together. Suddenly got so busy with his gigs when he normally would make time. Until the elephant in the room was acknowledged and it was just over before you knew it.

That relationship was your first “I love you”, Jaehyun said it was the same for him.

Fast forward, he gets married two years into the break-up, which is six years ago from the present. He has three kids now, two lovely girl twins and one boy. You didn’t go to the wedding, just sent him a post-it card that said you’re happy for him.

Which is true. He was your first love, but the heartbreak didn’t last long like you thought it would.

Because lastly, there was Eunwoo. The guy you met during the construction of the condominium near the apartment where you were staying at for med school.

Cha Eunwoo was an intern architect around that time, a nice one at that that it didn’t really take long for you guys to hit it off. Too many encounters on the street made you think that maybe it wasn’t just a coincidence anymore that he was there whenever you walked passed by. You really thought it would be difficult for you to love somebody again like how you loved Jaehyun… but Eunwoo made it easy. He did everything right. From the cute encounter, a grand love declaration in your fourth year together wherein he proposed to you in a romantic cruise ship dinner, down to the beach wedding he promised you during that night.

What was supposed to be a three-month engagement lasted longer than you both wanted, though. And it was mostly due to you because you told him you couldn’t marry yet. Not until you pass your licensure exam. Unintentionally, it stretched into a year. Eunwoo blamed it on your internship, said you were too busy that you couldn’t really give him time anymore.

You still remember that argument so vividly inside your head. When you said you told him already that it was life for you in residency. He rebutted with the sentiment that if you wanted to, you would. But you knew it was unfair of him to say that – not when he was also volunteering himself for the mountain of projects at his firm just so he could impress the senior architects there. Eventually, the engagement was called off. You two broke up. You both settled that it was the schedule conflict… you were just both so busy with your careers. Such big ambitions. So much to prove, passionate to a fault.

But two years ago, Eunwoo got married, and his wife is a general physician. The last time you two accidentally bumped into each other at a café downtown, he said he was “so happy and contented” that he felt like “taking a sabbatical to focus on being a husband”.

You guessed then he doesn’t actually mind dating doctors. Doesn’t mind making sacrifices for them. He just minds specifically you.

Your long, tragic dating history should already stop you by now from believing in love altogether. You mean, it just never works out for you, do they? The universe gives you a taste of what it’s like to embark on that journey, but it never takes you to the final destination.

But what can you say… love is just so special to you; romance, falling in love… they hold a significant place in your heart that you can’t help but bet on it every time it comes. You just have so much love to give – but unfortunately no one to give it to, because the men you date always don’t want you in the end of it all.

It bubbles up frustration in you, especially when you see all your exes getting fucking married left and right and them having the audacity to send you an invitation – and even thank you for what you’ve helped made them become. Eunwoo made that lame ass speech in the café. It’s such a subtle physical act of slapping you right on the bone of your cheeks and violently hurts you psychologically.

You’re frustrated that marriage seem to come easy for them, but never for you.

It’s why you unintentionally spat water out of your mouth when one of your co-residents, close friend, Nayeon, announced:

“Minhyuk proposed!”

Naturally, your other friends at the cafeteria attend to your spluttering, with Doyeon patting your back and asking, “Girl, are you okay?”

You shake your head repeatedly at them, tapping your chest to regulate your breathing, putting on a tight smile before turning to Nayeon.

“I’m sorry— what? Minhyuk proposed?” You ask her, and you don’t intend it to sound incredulous.

Nayeon, thank god, doesn’t notice it. And you realize it’s because she’s in a lovesick haze to care about anything else.

“Yep!” She almost squeals. “You guys are all invited to the engagement party next week on Friday.” She giggles when Doyeon pokes her side, lightheartedly teasing her about the wedding.

“Oh my god, I’m so happy for you!” You say, grinning widely, but your jaw hurts from the way you forced it. You look at each one of them; Nayeon, Doyeon, and Taehyung. “You guys are soon gonna be… married.”

Taehyung turns to Doyeon, taking a bite of his sandwich. “Doyeon’s still single, though.”

Doyeon throws a napkin at him. “It’s because your kind are bums. Anyway, Taehyung is also still not married.”

Taehyung pauses. Then, he purses his lips into a thin line, raising his eyebrows, nodding slowly.

“Well… about that…”

“He’s planning to propose to Hyerin!” Nayeon exclaims and quickly covers her mouth when some of the doctors in the cafeteria turned their heads to look in your direction. She shrinks herself small, as if realizing what she’s done, and then her eyes widen when she sees your guys reaction. “Oh fuck, I’m so sorry, Taehyung!” Nayeon quickly apologizes to him who looks like heaven and earth fell on him. She scrambles to say, “It’s just that I saw the ring in his locker today and so of course I have to ask and you guys met Hyerin, she’s an amazing woman and I’m so excited for her and Taehyung and she are a good couple aaand… I’m shutting my mouth.” She stops, closing an imaginary zipper over her lips when she notices the death glare Taehyung’s sending her way.

He turns to look at the rest of you.

“Well… you heard it from her.”

“Oh my god, Tae! This is insane!” Doyeon tells him. “When are you proposing?”

Taehyung shakes his head and rubs his nape. “I don’t know… she has this, uh, case that she’s confident on winning this Thursday. Maybe I’m going to do it when she gets home that day…” he trails off, and Nayeon coos at him when she sees his ears turning red. Doyeon throws back the napkin Taehyung threw at him, and she receives a juvenile pinch on the arm from Taehyung back.

You laugh along with them.

But deep inside, you’re finding it hard to process all the information that you learned today. You were just letting out words when you said that they were all going to be married, an exaggeration at best, because Nayeon is apparently now a fiancé, Taehyung has been in a long-term relationship with his prosecutor girlfriend that it’s easy to assume their next step is tying it down, and Doyeon is single but you refuse to believe that’s the case. It’s a wild theory that your friends have but you all feel like she has a secret boyrfriend or something.

Apparently, though, you’re not exaggerating at all. Because Taehyung is indeed planning to tie it down.

“It seems like everybody is getting married these days, no?” Doyeon mentions. She looks at you and you feel your heart beating abnormally for some reason. “What about you, __? How did that blind date last week go?”

She’s talking about the guy whom your cousin set you up with a few months back and have only gotten around to meet a week ago, Park Hyungshik.

They all seem to eagerly wait for your answer, and you can only meekly shake your head, sipping on a juice box so your jittering fingers can have something to do.

“It was okay.”

You can see the way their shoulders deflate, and you know you don’t need to explain the details for them to know how bad the date actually went.

“Fuck men.” Doyeon sighs.

“I agree.” Taehyung affirms, followed by Nayeon.

It earns a laugh from you.

“Fuck off, you guys.” You say, rolling your eyes, knowing they’re blindly judging Hyungshik in unconditional support for you. The joke is appreciated though, as it makes you light up and forget about the sudden grey that washes over your insides at the terrifying thought that maybe you’re never going to be married at this rate.

“You’re laughing right now but I’m still scared that you’ll just put up an IG story of you and Jungkook getting married on a random Sunday.” Nayeon suddenly says which elicits quite a violent reaction from you.

“Fucking gross, Nayeon!” You slap her on her arm and she gives you an ingenuine, “Owe!”

Taehyung laughs and adds in another nonsensical input, “That’s where my grandma and grandpa started, by the way. The line between love and hate is thin, after all.”

Your face contorts into a deeper frown every passing second as they continue to tease you.

“Fuck you, Taehyung. I’ll kill you in your sleep and me and Doyeon will hide the body.” You threaten him with your eyes and when he only laughs more, you make quick work of your hands and snatch out his egg omelet, putting it in your mouth fast enough he doesn’t get the chance to take it back.

“Aw, man! Hyerin cooked that for me!” He whines, going back to his seat, defeated after trying to get back the food from you.

But Nayeon is more concerned about another thing.

“Why is it only you and Doyeon? I can help hide Taehyung’s body, too!” She says, face painted with an expression so solemn as if you betrayed her.

“You made the joke first, you don’t get the privilege.” You cross your arms under your chest.

“I’ll commit perjury for you in court. Doyeon can’t do that ‘cos she still hasn’t told us about her secret boyfriend.” She insists.

Taehyung deadpans. “You guys really do love me a lot here, no?”

“We never pretended to love you, Taehyung,” Doyeon taps his arm, giving him a contrasting look of faux sympathy. “And for the nth time, I do not have a secret boyfriend,” She says dryly, sounding exhausted for having to say it again. And then, she turns to you, “Where is that punk, Jungkook, anyway?”

You scowl at her. “Seriously guys, why do you always look for him from me?”

“It’s just that you always know where he is, babe.” Nayeon says as a matter of fact. “No offense.” She says, looking straight into your eyes. When she sees your eyebrow raising higher, she adds quickly, “And malice!” And then she continues some more, “Even though I personally think you’d be cute together and all but we understand perfectly you both just have this sort of weird relationship where you’re platonic roommates and you’re like best friends but you argue all the time for no reason—”

“Oh my god, shut up, Nayeon.” Doyeon cuts her off before she goes on a spiral again.

“See why it’s only me and Doyeon who gets to hide Taehyung’s body when I kill him? You’re gonna tell the police word for word how exactly I did it.” You tell her, and she pouts at you.

“And we’re back to killing me again.” Taehyung comments, sighing, and you stick your tongue out at him in that juvenile manner, only that Taehyung does the same because he’s an even bigger child than you.

“Kids, stop fighting.” Doyeon warns. “Seriously, where is Jungkook?”

“He told me he has a laparoscopic cholecystectomy.” You say.

“Damn.” Comments Taehyung.

Everybody including you nod in understanding.

It’s always been an inside joke in your friend group that Jungkook and you are gonna end up marrying each other because you’ve known each other for a long time, the closest to each other, live together – and you both are also the ones that can’t keep a relationship.

After your breakup with Eunwoo in the middle of your internship which was four years ago, you took a break from dating for a very long time. It’s only two years ago that you picked up going on casual dates, having quick flings, all that sort of stuff. It’s an occasional thing and they never end up as something more.

It’s why you’re still single up until now, and it’s not even that you want to be so – you prefer to be in a happy, loving relationship, thank you very much – but you yearn for a deeper connection with someone, and every date just doesn’t seem to click. And even though you find a little ugly bitterness when somebody brings up marriage, you would never, ever want to settle down with somebody just ‘cause you feel like you have to.

Meanwhile, Jungkook is a special case. He’s single because he wants to be. He’s single because according to him, the bachelor life has “chosen” him and he can’t do anything about it.

It’s why he goes to this myriads of dates… with those… women. Sleeps around. Never attempted a serious relationship as far as you’ve known him except that one time in your last year of med school when he exclusively dated Min Sora for about a year.

You don’t judge him for the kind of life he lives. He’s just an admittedly good-looking, liberated guy who hooks up with good-looking women who are looking for the same fun as him. When you asked him if they ever do fall, he told you that they always agree prior sex that it’s just going be a one-time thing (two or three or four times if they particularly like each other… or whatever the hell he said).

Despite that, Jungkook is – and always has been your best friend. You met each other in med school and were in the same study group together with Doyeon and Taehyung.

As much as heartbreak is a constant in your life, Jungkook is a frontrunner in it as well because from being in almost all the same classes during med school for four years, you both decided to live in the same apartment unit together.

It has two different bedrooms, of course. The apartment’s a big unit he and Taehyung owned three years ago until Taehyung moved in with his girlfriend. Jungkook couldn’t pay for it all by himself, and the only logical roommate choice was you because when he proposed it to Doyeon, she just looked at him disgusted beyond belief.

You’ve been with each other for so long it’s quite impossible to not know the other like the back of their hand. You’ve seen him during his worst in med school days up until the years of your residency as does him you. You both shared the highs and lows of life with the other’s presence, and as much as you both quite differ in the way you approach certain things in life – he’s ultimately your person, the one-call-away friend (or the one-knock-to-the-door-friend), and the guy you can always lean on when things are just particularly hard to bear.

Jungkook may not be the most ideal when it comes to romance, but he’s the guy you’d certainly wish was your friend.

Why you don’t understand when the rest of your friends tease you both is because you’re so… platonic with each other. Sure, you’re closest – you knew each other first – but you and Jungkook never acted borderline sweet for other people to be making assumptions. You aren’t the kind of friends who call each other siblings but then get weirdly clingy towards each other behind everyone’s backs.

You may have had a tiny bit of crush on him when you first saw him during first year of med school – it’s a common fact that he’s handsome and whatever, okay – but he had never shown interest; from post grad all throughout the years of your shared residency. You never, either.

But maybe it’s the teasing, since you always fight like goddamn children whenever you’re near each other. There’s nothing romantic about it, though, you don’t think so. In your defense, that’s how your dynamic works! That’s how your friendship with everybody works! If you didn’t banter with a person, you probably hate them.

Shaking the thoughts of Jungkook in your head, you continue to eat your lunch, asking questions about Nayeon’s further plans, squeezing your break with the rest of your friends, knowing your pager is going to beep anytime soon.

What Doyeon said, though, everybody does seem to be getting married these days. If you could sigh, you would, but you have to do with a little bit of internal mulling for now lest one of the gang notices and you get interrogated for it. You don’t want to get aired out for feeling suddenly weird at the tough realization that again, everybody seems to be getting married and proposed to except… you.

You’re happy for them – you really are! You’d be such a shit friend if you weren’t. But there’s a pang in your chest and you know exactly where it’s coming from.

There was an added case to the OR schedule when you checked it earlier this morning, and you were assigned to it as per instruction from the chief of your team – a melanoma excision.

After your lunch, you went to scrub in for the surgery and it was what made you busy including the paper works needed to be done, so busy that you thought you’d forgotten the pain from a while ago.

Turns out, it sat at some bench at the far end of your heart, hiding and shrinking itself for a little while, only showing up when it’s time for you to clock out; in the quiet of the locker room, alone while you change out of your scrubs.

You let out a heavy sigh and lean your forehead to your locker door, closing your eyes and getting your breathing even.

You’re just tired from work. You tell yourself. You had two surgeries today; it would be true. But you know it’s not entirely that. It’s the reminder of your loneliness when you see an envelope peeking out from your locker.

You take out the invitation card for Nayeon’s engagement party she’s given you this afternoon. It’s a thick off-white material that has her and her fiancé’s name printed on gold beveled font. So intricate to the touch; you deduce once you run your fingers over it.

“Yo, what are you up to?”

You quickly stand up straight and hide the envelope behind your back, your other hand going right above your chest when you turn around only to see Jeon Jungkook approaching the inside of the room.

“Jesus christ, learn to knock.” You say, genuinely surprised and taken aback. Jungkook cocks a brow at you.

“Feisty.” He muses, and the way his eyes fall to your chest makes you realize you’re still in your bra having not put yourself into a clean and fresh top yet since you decided to have a sentimental moment in your locker door like some high school girl.

“Asshole.” You mutter under your breath, making quick work of putting on a shirt.

Only when you’re done wearing it do you see Jungkook stripping out of his own scrubs until he’s left with only his boxers across from you.

“Some decorum, please?” You tell him, turning around to sit on a bench to change out of your sneakers and wearing a more comfortable pair of sandals.

You hear Jungkook laugh behind you.

“What can I say? I’m a bit of an exhibitionist, you see.” You take a quick look at him so he can see how far your eyes roll to the back of your head. Jungkook ignores that, wearing his shirt while he says, “You’re out the same time tonight?”

You take out your ponytail and comb your hair through your fingers to fix it.

“Yeah. You?”

Jungkook smirks and suddenly there’s something flying at your direction. You’re quick on your reflex and manage to catch it on time, only to realize it’s his keys.

“You’re driving.”

It earns an instant groan from you.

Jungkook puts on another pair of shoes while laughing. “What? I drove us here this morning.”

You’re about to give him an attitude but then you realize making him pity you may be more effective. Stepping closer to him, you sit on the bench where he placed his foot to tie his shoes on. You look up at him and try your puppy face on.

“But I had two surgeries today, Kook.”

Jungkook stares at you, his expression unreadable. A few seconds pass by, with you blink up at him, and you think he’s gonna cave.

Instead of getting swayed by your poor attempt to get his sympathy, he takes down his leg and says with a sarcastic smile on his face, “I did a major one. Yours were both minor.”

Your shoulders deflate, making sure to jab at his thigh that was at eye level and snark, “And two is more than one. Fuck off, Jeon.”

Jungkook follows behind you while his boisterous ass is laughing.

“Don’t get pissed at me, are you kidding? It’s your turn to drive. Favor for a favor.”

You turn back to him, and because you were walking in a faster pace, he crashes to your back. He grips your shoulder, pursing his lips into a thin line, obviously holding in another fit of laughter.

“You’re gonna drive us tomorrow here, do you understand?” You say, giving him an ominous glare.

Jungkook raises his hands up. “Okay, okay.” He nods his head, and to piss you off more, he adds, “Bossy.”

That earns him a pinch to the side which he quickly dodges. Rolling your eyes, you shake your head and continue to head towards the exit.

You both enter his car soon after.

“I miss my car…” you longingly say, turning on the ignition to start driving.

“It’s still in the shop?” Jungkook asks while rummaging around his compartment glove to look for a snack. He always has a few in it. It’s convenient.

“Yeah, the mechanic told me it’s gonna take a few more weeks. So,” you look at him bitterly.

“That’s tough.” Jungkook comments, opening a granola bar and biting on it. He extends his hand to you. “You want some?”

You stretch your neck to the side, eyes still on the road while taking a bite off his food.

“Tough because you can’t bring your girls here anymore?” You joke a little. Jungkook gives you a dirty look. Your eyes widen a little, realizing what you just said. “Please say you don’t fuck in your car. I’ve touched your passenger seat and your backseat.”

“Give me more credit, yeah? I don’t fuck in my car, that shit is unhygienic as hell,” Jungkook rolls his eyes, and you heave a sigh of relief upon his confirmation. “I wine and dine my women before we do the deed, thank you very much.”

“You’re just so sweet, aren’t you?” You say with a straight face.

Jungkook sing-songs. “Just like how they like it.”

“You’re really beating them off with a stick these past few years, huh?”

“A gorgeous stick, might I add.”

That earns a disgusted groan from you, which he laughs at, and you drop the subject before it even goes to another place.

There’s a comfortable silence that sits on the air for a while until Jungkook speaks.

“Hey, what was that earlier?”

“Hm?”

“In the locker room.” He says.

You shift uncomfortably in your seat. Clearing your throat, you answer, “Oh, it’s just, uh… Nayeon’s getting married. Do you know that?”

“Yeah.”

You turn to him in surprise. “Wait, how? You didn’t eat lunch with us.”

Jungkook snorts. “I saw the invitation cards in her locker yesterday, she thought she was being discreet. She threatened me to keep it a secret when I asked her about it, though. I guess she told you guys today at lunch?”

“Oh my god, you really need to stop snooping in everybody’s locker.”

“I do not snoop in in everybody’s locker.”

You give him a certain look. Jungkook rolls his eyes. “Don’t change the subject.”

Letting out a heavy breath, you look straight ahead as you say, “I don’t know. I wasn’t doing anything…”

“Just getting a little sentimental in the locker room?”

“A bit.” You purse your lips. “But it’s not a big deal.”

Jungkook doesn’t say anything to that. From your peripheral vision, you can see him staring at you but you choose to ignore that, focusing on driving instead.

“If you say so.” He says after a while.

You’re thankful for the dismissal. Jungkook’s usually insistent that you tell him everything – he’s just nosy like that – but deep down you know it’s because he cares. And if you’re in any trouble, he’s always willing to be there for you may it be listening to you vent or eat unholy amount of Chinese take out in the middle of the night.

As you went on the road, he played a few of his playlists and they served as background noise as you both talked about your day, like how your surgeries went. It’s a usual drive when you’re both in the same car together – which you’ve done quite a few times now because after all, you work in the same building and gas is expensive. It’s the most logical way to save up in this economy.

These past few weeks, though, it just so happened that your car got a little bitchy and started to act up so you made a bargain with Jungkook.

Anyway, you both arrive at your apartment shortly, with Jungkook and you taking turns in the shower.

“You wanna order in something?” Says Jungkook who’s currently drying his hair, a towel wrapped around his lower half.

He wasn’t kidding when he said he’s some kind of exhibitionist. Jungkook has the habit of walking around the apartment shirtless and sometimes with just even his boxers on, and it’s not like you aren’t used to seeing it! You admittedly see a lot of it when you guys would change in the locker rooms back at the hospital, but that is work, and you have more things to worry about at work other than your co-worker changing in front of you.

Still, it’s hard to get used to his exhibitionist tendencies. You had a hard time with it especially in the first few months of living together, but you had to adapt, and right now, even though you can say you’re partly immune to it, his naked upper half still bothers you. A little.

Listen, you’re a human being with primal instincts and men who have good bodies do, in fact, distract you a tiny bit.

“Nope.” You take a sip of the glass of water, closing the refrigerator with your foot, looking at Jungkook who groans at your answer. “What?”

“I was hoping we could split the delivery fee.” He deadpans.

“Wow. And they say chivalry is dead.”

Jungkook laughs while you head towards your room. He follows you until you reach your door so you turn to him, putting your hand on your hip as you ask, “What?”

“Don’t think too much about it.”

Your furrow your brows. “How do you mean?”

“The wedding,” Jungkook says with a soft smile. “And weddings, in general. I know you’re thinking about a few things up in that smart brain of yours. Don’t.”

You’re completely taken aback by his words, but at the same time, you’re not at all that surprised. Jungkook can read you almost like an open book.

Still, you decide to lie.

“I’m not thinking about weddings, weirdo.”

“Liar,” Jungkook’s brow arches, and you know he’s figured out your shit. “Your nostrils flared up. You’re lying.”

You groan, giving him a light jab at his bicep. Jungkook chuckles.

“My nostrils do not flare up.”

“It does so,” Jungkook points out. “Like this.” He stands there on your door and start to purposefully enlarge his nostrils to imitate you.

You roll your eyes. “My face is not like that when I lie. Go back to your room,” you say, pushing him slightly out of your doorway, ready to close it in front of his face, but you add more, “And don’t bother me.”

Jungkook stands up straight and gives you a salute. “Yes, ma’am.” he says in a register octave lower, walking away with laughter as you tell him he’s annoying. You roll your eyes once again before finally closing your bedroom door.

A lot of people may judge your love for romance as naivety, but you really couldn’t care less. Even if you get heart broken countless times, love will never fail to make your heart soft and make you feel like you’re floating.

It’s exactly what you think as you look at Nayeon and her fiance, Minhyuk, on the stage huddled so close together, laughing and giggling to each other. They look so incredibly happy. So connected. So sweet. It brings a feeling of warmth to your heart – to see one of the most important people in your life finally meeting the person she wants to spend the rest of her life with. It makes you melt on the inside to see two people so deeply in love that it emanates in the whole venue of the garden their engagement party is being held at today.

The weather is sunny – not too hot, like the universe knows not to fuck it up for Nayeon and her fiance. There’s also a lot of people; their families, some of Nayeon’s friends and probably Minhyuk’s – people you’ve never seen before. You assume it’s Minhyuk’s friends or acquaintances. The guest list for their wedding must be big, but it isn’t surprising, given that Minhyuk comes from the big corporate world.

“You want more champagne?” Jungkook whispers beside you, ready to stand up from his seat.

You stare at him, and you notice his eyes are not even on yours. He has it glued towards a woman across from you. A pretty woman wearing a satin dress that shows off her slender figure. You notice Jungkook’s been looking at her since the beginning of the party.

Shaking your head, you scoff. “You’re just gonna pick up some woman.”

Jungkook sputters and quickly take his gaze off the woman. “No, I’m not. I just think she’s familiar.”

You raise your brow. “Let me guess… one of your hook-ups?”

Jungkook huffs. And then off he goes.

Everybody has their plus-ones except you two, and now that Jungkook is probably off his mission to find a hook-up for the night, you’re left alone as usual.

You don’t feel bad about it. The champagne is good and there’s hors d'oeuvre on the table.

“Miss?”

You look up, finding the owner of the voice.

And holy hell.

“Hi.” You greet reluctantly, not sure if he meant you. You’re also trying to contain a blush from spreading across your cheeks because goddamn, was the man beautiful.

He smiles. Wow. Whoever this is… he looks pretty damn good.

“Is this seat taken?” The stranger says, pointing to the now empty seat beside you. You look around but can’t really spot Jungkook.

So, you shake your head, gesturing to the chair beside you. “No, not really. You want to sit here?”

He nods. “Alone?”

“No, not really… but I’m Nayeon’s friend. I’m her co-resident at the hospital.” You smile, taking a sip of your champagne that’s already about to run out. “Are you one of Minhyuk’s friends?”

“You guessed right. Law school friends. Worked at the same firm when he was a practicing lawyer until he quit some time ago,” You nod at that, and he gives you a boyish smile again. He offers his hand for a handshake. “I’m Mingyu, by the way. Kim Mingyu.”

You take his hand.

“I’m ___.” You both laugh when you shake your hands together.

His hands feel rough but at the same time warm. It’s nice.

“You’re a doctor?” Mingyu asks, keeping up the conversation.

“Yeah. A resident surgeon.” You glance at him. “I’m assuming you’re a lawyer?”

Mingyu nods. “Yeah. Corporate.”

“I see.” You nod, looking in front of you again, trying to stray from any eye contact. He’s way too attractive for your own liking.

“Say… I hate to make this about work but I just need to ask real quick,” Mingyu says, and when you look at him, you furrow your brows at the worry in his eyes, suddenly growing nervous at the depth of seriousness it’s showing. “So, I got here, and I suddenly have this sort of… feeling of heart palpitation. Increased heart rate. It’s like it’s missing a beat and it’s been making me real nervous.”

“Oh,” you look at him in concern. “That’s— did you drink uh… coffee?” He shakes his head. You place your champagne glass on the table and turn your body to him so you can face him properly. You don’t know if it’s just the doctor in you, but you forget about pretty much everything when you see or hear someone feeling under normal. “Are you a smoker, then?” You continue your line of questioning.

“I quit years ago.”

“I see… okay, uhm…” You look around, trying to look for something. “There’s a lot of roots for heart palpitations. Does your heart feel like pounding right now? Flip-flopping or something like that?”

Mingyu nods.

“Okay… well I can’t say for sure – I wish I have stethoscope with me right now. But I’m gonna lay out all the possible reasons why you might be feeling so. Smoking’s out of the question. You didn’t drink coffee, but do you drink more than one cup in a day?”

“Not in the past few weeks, no.”

“So, you’re not overcaffeinated, then. I really don’t want to lay this out on you, but you might want to check in with your doctor if this is not your first time feeling this. Heart palpitations is normal most of the time but I’ve seen lots of people get in these situations and it ends up being arrhythmia, which is a really serious condition.” You look at him straight in the eyes.

Mingyu looks stricken back. “Well… are there any more reasons out there that’s not… as dangerous?”

You still in your position.

Oh, right. There is more.

“Are you feeling certain emotions right now? Like, really, strong emotion?” You say, internally face-palming yourself because how can you not remember one of the very basic roots of palpitation!

“Yes, I am.”

“Well… certain emotions do trigger your heartbeat to accelerate. It might be anxiety… fear, panic, stress…” You look at Mingyu, noticing that his once serious face is now forming a smile. That makes you back-track, but you hesitantly continue. “... infatuation.”

And then he says, “I think you’re right off the bat with that one.”

Your lips part slightly. A few seconds passed and then suddenly, what he’s doing registers in your head, and you can’t help but to let out a laugh.

“Oh my god,” You say in disbelief. “You weren’t– you weren’t actually asking for medical advice?”

“Bad way to flirt with a pretty woman, huh?” Mingyu smiles and it’s so dashing that you shy away from his gaze, but you’re still laughing at the turn of events.

“God, no. I can’t believe I didn’t get it earlier.” You say, gingerly placing a palm on your forehead at the embarrassment.

But Mingyu just laughs along with you.

“It was just bad flirting. I’m sorry,” He says, sipping from his glass and takes a glance at you. “I can do better.”

You arch your brow. “Oh?”

“Yeah. If you let me. Say, Friday, ten o’clock?”

You chuckle. “That was really smooth.”

Mingyu was about to say something when suddenly, you hear a familiar voice approaching your direction.

“Mingyu?” When you look up, you see Jungkook. You eye him in confusion, wondering how the hell he knew Mingyu’s name.

But then Mingyu speaks and you grow even more confused.

“Jeon Jungkook?”

“Oh hey, it’s you,” Jungkook says, and he looks genuinely surprised. Mingyu stands up from his seat to give Jungkook a hug, slapping him on the back – kind of like how guys usually greet each other. You watch as Jungkook reluctantly reciprocates it.

“You work with Nayeon?” Mingyu asks, and even with a smile on his face, you can see he’s also in disbelief to be seeing Jungkook.

Jungkook nods at him, still looking a bit stricken. You can’t figure out if it’s just his surprised face or something else. You’ve never seen him look so… stunned like this before. Nevertheless, he says, “Yeah. How ‘bout you?”

“Been with Lee and Song for the past three years, Minhyuk’s previous firm before he quit and went out to the business world.” Mingyu chuckles, tapping Jungkook’s back.

Jungkook smiles. “That’s crazy, man. I can’t believe we’ll meet here again.”

Mingyu, seemingly sharing the same sentiment, says, “Man, it’s been, like, what– almost ten years?”

“Yeah, yeah, too long, man.” Jungkook nods, chuckling slightly.

You hate to interrupt, but you’re confused, and you need to confirm something.

“Wait,” You butt in, making them both look at you. “You know each other?”

Jungkook sits across from you while Mingyu follows.

“We did pre-med together during undergrad.” Mingyu says.

“You did pre-med in undergrad?” You look at Mingyu incredulously, and he nods with a bashful smile on his face. You squint your eyes at him, feeling slightly betrayed that he asked you all that stuff earlier when the whole while he has a pre-med degree.

Jungkook cuts in.

“How the hell do you two know each other?” He said, leaning back and pointing between you two. It seems like he’s finally out of the trance he was in earlier.

“I just met him today.” You tell Jungkook, blinking your eyes at him.

“Well, how about you two? How do you know each other?” Mingyu asks and the whole thing suddenly feels like watching a game of tennis somehow.

You’re about to answer when Jungkook beats you to it.

“We’re co-workers. Together with Nayeon.”

Mingyu nods his head and then turns to you, “So not his girlfriend, then?”

“What? No!” you didn’t mean for it to come out that violently, so you repeat it in a gentler manner this time. “I mean no. What?”

Mingyu turns to Jungkook who’s now looking confused.

“I was just asking her out for a date.”

You suddenly feel blood rushing to your cheeks at his straightforwardness. In front of Jungkook, out of all people! You aren’t embarrassed! You just feel weird and shy.

But Jungkook looks at you as if silently asking you if Mingyu’s being serious. You tuck your bottom lip under your teeth.

Then he nods his head slowly. “Really?” Jungkook chuckles, looking at you. “What’d you say?”

Mingyu looks at you with a hopeful smile. “What do you say?”

You feel weird about doing the whole thing in front of someone, but you look at Mingyu again – how attractive he is, his charming smile, his physique, and his charisma… and you don’t think it’d be too bad to chance at least one date with him.

So, you nod, avoiding Jungkook’s sudden way too intense gaze.

“I would like to,” But he cocks his head to the side. You chuckle, adding, “Yes, Mingyu. I’d like to go out with you.”

“Woah!”

“Jungkook, please knock!”

You look at Jungkook irritably while you lock your stud earring, standing up from your chair in front of the vanity table to pick up your purse from the edge of your bed.

“I was just going to borrow your hair dryer.” Jungkook says, trudging inside your room freely which makes you roll your eyes at him.

You watch as he expertly makes his way to your vanity table and slides one of the drawers, taking out the hair dryer.

“You need to buy your own one.” You say with a straight face.

But Jungkook just stands there for a while, and when his stare goes on longer than necessary, you start feeling conscious.

“What.”

“What are you so… dolled up for?”

You jab him on the chest when you get near him, enough to make him wince. “What an asshole way to say I look good.”

Jungkook laughs. Your heart drops.

Most of the time, you understand that your dynamic consists of teasing and bantering with each other until one of you gets pissed off. That’s usually you. But they never go too far – you’ve built a foundation of respect in your relationship which you love. However, sometimes, there are moments when you’re under a certain kind of pressure – like right now in which you only have twenty minutes before Mingyu arrives to pick you up outside of your building complex and you still haven’t done your hair – and Jungkook laughing while looking at you is not helping.

The faux confidence falls as fast as that.

“Okay, Jungkook, can you just tell me nicely if this dress looks ridiculous or if I put too much make-up on?” You say, failing not to sound defensive.

Jungkook’s quick to halt his laughter, and he looks taken aback at your clipped tone.

“What? I didn’t say anything.”

“You were laughing at me.” You point out, turning around to rummage through your make-up products scattered on the top surface of the furniture, thinking that maybe you overblushed. So, you look at yourself in the mirror.

Jungkook situates himself on your vanity table so you’ll look at him.

“Wha— you thought I was laughing at you?” You don’t answer, checking if your cheeks are way too pink, purposefully ignoring him. “Okay, that’s– I wasn’t. I’m sorry if you thought I was. I laughed at your words, not the way you look.”

You let out a sharp breath, look at him angrily, ready to present more argument, but you see the look of sincerity on his face and you realize then that you’re being borderline sensitive.

You sigh. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” Jungkook places a gentle hand on your shoulder.

You pout at him. “It’s just… first date jitters. I feel slightly anxious, I don’t know,” You sigh again, “I bought this dress two days ago.” You say, looking down at it. It has a tube top with thin straps, fitting your upper half like a glove but flows prettily to the bottom, stopping just about four inches above your knee.

“It looks good on you.” Jungkook comments, and you quint your eyes at him.

“You swear?”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “Why would I lie?”

“To make me feel better, I don’t know,” Then you can’t help but chuckle. “Anyway, does my make-up look okay? I didn’t put too much blush?”

“You have lipstick on your teeth,” Jungkook says, baring his own to emphasize what he meant.

“Shit.” You panic, quickly ducking down to check it in the mirror.

You soon realize Jungkook was fucking with you when you hear him laughing beside you.

“I hate you.” You hiss, pushing his thighs so he can get off your vanity table. He remains on his seat, fighting your force while laughing. “Ugh, don’t you have a date of your own or something?” You groan as you take the hair straightener on the side, sitting back down again on the chair to straighten a certain part of your hair again so it’s looks nothing but perfect.

“Ohh, so you are going on a date.” Jungkook says as if he wasn’t there in front of you when Mingyu asked you out.

You give him a weird look. “With Mingyu, remember?”

“Oh, right.” He’s quiet for awhile, and then, “You’re really dating him?”

You put down the hair straightener.

“Yeah… why?”

Jungkook shakes his head. “Nothing.”

But you want to insist. “He’s your friend. You told me he’s a nice guy.”

He nods his head. “That’s true.”

You eye him suspiciously. “You’re making me nervous.”

Jungkook chuckles and pats your head. You scowl at him and slap his wrist.

“You’re like a cat,” Jungkook comments. “Anyway, I told you, it’s nothing. It’s just…” He trails off. You look at him, waiting for his continuation.

You don’t expect the genuine smile he sends your way.

“I wish it works out for you this time.”

Lips parted, you think about what to say to that, but nothing comes out of your mouth.

Jungkook gets off the table and brings with him your blow dryer. Before he heads out completely, he tells you, “And don’t worry about how you look. Mingyu likes pretty women. You’re exactly his type.”

“Really, mini-golf?” You ask Mingyu, but he already has his fingers intertwined with you as you both enter the course.

You’ve just had dinner at some fancy restaurant that served, admittedly, good steak. He told you it was some sort of special place for him; where he takes himself to whenever he closes a deal or wins a case. You tried not to think too much about what it meant that he brought you there – given that you’re only on your first date.

But hey, maybe he thought you deserve to eat good steak? That’s probably what it was.

You don’t ask.

You thought the night was over when you finished your meal and good two glasses of Malbec, but Mingyu commented in his car that he’d love to burn off the food for a moment – and you didn’t really want to leave just yet.

So, you end up at Pier 26, and Mingyu’s enthusiastic.

“Come on, it’ll be fun.” He says, and you have no choice but to follow behind him.

“I really don’t know how.” You tell him, smile bashful as you watch him carry the golf club, walking towards the direction of the ball.

“What’s up with that? I’ll teach you,” Mingyu says, putting down the club and unbuttoning his cuff to push his sleeves up to his forearms.

You try not to focus too much on the veins that show up at the action and how his biceps are almost fighting to pop out of his sleeves. His hands look so big compared to yours when he offers it to get you to stand beside him.

“Really? You’re gonna teach me like a big… macho man?” You tease, taking his hand nonetheless.

Mingyu smiles once you’re beside him, placing himself behind you, guiding your hands so you can hold the club together.

You can feel his breath on your neck as he instructs you what to do. “You just have to stand like this,” He lets go of your hands in favour of your hips, and your breath hitches when he whispers, “Look ahead, and you just… let go.”

The golf ball jumps out of the line and you giggle at the way it completely misses the hole.

“That was… wow.” Mingyu says, staring at the ball.

“Shut up! Okay, okay, I’ll try it alone.” You say, dismissing his incredulous look, a bit embarrassed at your performance.

From your periphery, you see Mingyu closely watching you as you grip the golf club a little less tight this time so it’s not too tense when you hit the ball. Squinting your eyes, you eye the goal and let out a controlled breath. You relax your posture just like he taught you and when you finally hit the ball, it lands right in the hole perfectly.

You turn to look at Mingyu immediately with widened eyes, and when he gives you a huge grin, you do a little jump out of excitement.

“Oh my god, I did that!”

Mingyu chuckles at your enthusiasm. And due to the high of hitting the goal once, you agree to another round until it turns into a session.

You only stopped when you got tired. Nonetheless, you realize it’s actually something you’re good at, and that geeks you inside. Meanwhile, Mingyu suggested you walk around the park for a little while.

Mingyu told you he was just going to buy some food at a stall, but as you sit on the bench to wait for him, you think about how you’d like to go with Jungkook here some time to challenge him to mini-golf. You almost always never beat him to any games… surely, he must not know mini-golf, right? You can finally have the upper hand, if ever.

“Ice cream?” Mingyu returns from the stall and extends the cone to you. You try not to show your wince. You’re lactose intolerant.

“Thanks.” You say, not wanting to make a big deal out of it. It’s not that bad, and you want this date to be perfect. Mingyu joins you on the bench.

The night’s cold and you regret not bringing your blazer with you and leaving it in his car instead.

“You know,” you start to strike up a conversation. “I’m still pretty shocked you studied pre-med.”

Mingyu chuckles. “Why?”

“I don’t know… but in hindsight, I should’ve known the moment you asked me about “heart palpitations”.” You say, quoting the last two words, trying to tease him.

“I really thought that was a good idea, huh?”

You snort. “It was–” you gesture with your hand, pursing your lips. “Pretty lame, yeah. But admittedly… it was cute. So, there.”

Mingyu laughs. “Thanks. I also thought that was a brilliant way to flirt with a doctor.”

You shake your head, laughing at him.

Silence sits in the air for a while until he speaks.

“You know what they say? Study law when you don’t know what to do after getting a degree, so law it was.” Mingyu shrugs.

“You didn’t see yourself as a doctor then?” You ask curiously.

“Not really. Didn’t really think too much about it when I chose a pre-med program as my major. Soon realized it wasn’t for me. I was lost in law school too for a good couple of years, though. But I love it now,” Mingyu looks at you who’s intently listening. “You? You always wanted to be a doctor?”

You look ahead, nodding. “For as long as I can remember.”

“Just like Jungkook, huh?” Mingyu chuckles. “He really wanted it a lot. I remember him excelling during those moving tests. He had a lot of people getting jealous over him for balancing his school and basketball lives so well, you know?”

You furrow your brows. “He did basketball?”

“Yeah. We were in the varsity team together.”

“Hah.” You smile. Jungkook. A jock. “That makes sense.”

“That I’m a jock?” Mingyu asks with a teasing smile on his face.

You didn’t mean him, but regardless, you nod, finding that it also applies to him. “You look like someone who plays basketball.”

“And what’s the diagnosis of that, doctor?” Mingyu leans closer.

You nibble on your bottom lip.

“Let’s say you have a… chronic jock face.” You say, not backing down from Mingyu’s sudden challenge of eye contact.

“I don’t know if that’s a good thing. Is that a good thing?”

You chuckle. “It just means that you are conventionally attractive.”

“Ah,” he nods, but you notice his hand making its way around your waist. You don’t make a move to protest it. “Then, can a conventionally attractive guy like me chance a kiss with a pretty girl like you?”

Your breath hitch when he leans his face closer. One more inch and his lips will lock against yours.

“Yeah.”

Mingyu doesn’t waste a second longer and leans in to plant his lips on yours. It’s nothing short of a peck when he breaks away from the contact, but when you look up at him with parted lips, he goes back to kissing you again, cupping your cheek and angling your face towards him better, this time taking you closer by your waist.

It starts off as something experimental, like he’s testing the waters first. But when you take out your tongue to prod the side of his mouth, he does the same and inserts his tongue in yours.

You did not really think that you’d end up making out of some bench at a park, but here you are.

“Oh,” you unintentionally let out a low moan, and you hear a guttural sound coming out from his throat. Your hands come up to fist his collar as some sort of support, and Mingyu responds with a slight pinch to your hip.

You break away from the kiss to regain your breathing, and Mingyu takes that as an opportunity to plant kisses across your cheek down to your jaw. Sighing at the sensation, you close your eyes as you let yourself get drowned in the feeling of his soft lips against your skin.

But when you open your eyes, you see people walking by at a short distance and that’s when you wake up from your trance.

“Mingyu,” You call him, but he’s too busy kissing your neck. “Hey, I think we shouldn’t do this here.”

Mingyu stops. Then, he looks at you, eyes hooded, hair a mess, his lips swollen, some of your lipstick getting on it.

Your blood flows to your cheek at the sight. He looks unbelievably hot. God, what more if he was under you and you were doing more than just kissing and– no, no. Not going there. Absolutely no thoughts of … there.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Mingyu says after seemingly snapping himself out of the trance as well. “Shit. I really am.”

He looks so apologetic, so you put your hand over his arm.

“It’s fine. Just uh… let’s take it slow?” You tell him.

Mingyu gives you a small smile.

“Slow. Yeah. Let’s do it slow.”

What's the definition of slow, anyway?

The tension at the park was too much and you made out some more in his car with heavy petting that may have included Mingyu copping a feel of your boob and you coyishly feeling out the bulge in his pants.

Safe to say, you haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since.

You started coming over to his place, but you still haven’t had sex. Not yet at least. You haven’t even taken off your clothes in front of each other yet. Suddenly, you remember being eighteen and just making out with your boyfriend – the territory of any form of sex prohibited for some reason. Somehow, you two have never gotten around that for the past few weeks you’ve hung out. It may be because you always stop it before it happens, but it’s not because you don’t want to; just that it feels like you’re going to a place you won’t know how to go back to.

So, it’s mostly date nights, a sneaky coffee hung during the afternoon when you’re not particularly busy and your schedule aligns, and making out in his car until your pager beeps or when his phone rings.

And as good as Mingyu may be with his lips when he locks them with yours, he’s more than what you thought he was.

You have to admit that you had doubts when you first met him. You don’t trust a lot of good-looking men, because they always end up being assholes. He also has the face of a guy who – in a cliche fashion – likes to break women’s hearts on a regular basis. You went to the first date a little hopeful of something real, but you knew your luck with romance isn’t the best – may be the worst you’ve ever known – but recently, you’re starting to think that maybe the poison’s wearing out and Mingyu may just be… decent.

Decent enough to be a boyfriend. Your boyfriend.

And it feels so weird to think so. You’ve been single for so long, and sure, you went to a lot of dates during the past two years but Mingyu’s going on two months, and everything just seems so… right. Like this can be it.

You hate having wishful thinking. You hate getting your hopes high. But god, he makes it so hard.

“You going with us later?” Nayeon asks, stretching her neck while looking at you.

You’re all currently at some abandoned ward at the hospital where you take quick breaks from your shift to eat or talk for a while.

“Where to?” You ask, taking a bite off Taehyung’s egg sandwich which he gave you earlier.

“We’re going out for barbecue tonight. Jungkook didn’t tell you?” Doyeon says, coming back from her quick trip to the vending machine.

You look at them confused. “No, he didn’t tell me about… barbecue or going out.”

As if on cue, Jungkook arrives in the scene.

“She’s not coming with us,” Jungkook says, and you look at him with visible offense on your expression. “She’s going out with her boyfriend tonight.”

The room quickly becomes rowdy at the declaration, and you flip Taehyung off when you hear him let out a lighthearted “boo”.

“Oh my god,” Nayeon squeals. “Mingyu’s your boyfriend now?” She asks, going over to the bed you’re sitting on, huddling closer to you ready to hear some gossip.

Doyeon looks surprised as well.

You look at Jungkook to give him a death glare. The fucker just puts his hands up in the air.

“No, god– why would you believe him?” You huff out, rolling your eyes. “Mingyu’s not my boyfriend.” Nayeon’s shoulders deflate. “Yet.” You add, and suddenly, she smiles. You take a glance at Doyeon who looks at Jungkook subtly. Or not so subtly, since you saw her. She didn’t seem to notice.

But Jungkook just wears a smug expression as he approaches you closer.

“See?” He shrugs, plopping himself on the same bed beside you. He looks at everybody. “She barely goes home nowadays.”

“Shut up, Jungkook!” You say, continuously hitting him on the arm as he makes little effort to dodge them.

But as usual, your friends love to bully you and join in the teasing.

“So, you joining or what?” Taehyung says after a while.

You actually had plans with Mingyu tonight. Just the usual dinner at his place and some movie and some fooling around, but you remember Jungkook’s teasing and felt the competitive need for him to not be right.

Besides, you don’t want to be the kind of friend who suddenly ditches their friends just because they’re starting to date – and you know that beneath their good-natured chaff is a genuine feeling of sulk because you’ve been admittedly bailing out on all your hangs lately.

It isn’t even that much because you don’t get to hang outside the hospital often – but you usually do go out on Fridays or Saturdays for some barbecue and go to a KTV bar afterwards. It’s sort of like became a tradition at this point, and it dawns on you that you haven’t been present in them for the past few weeks, which makes you feel bad.

“I’m coming with.”

Jungkook immediately eyes you with an arched brow. “For real?”

You challenge him with a look. “Yes, why?”

“I just remember you mentioning you’re going to Mingyu’s tonight.”

“Eh,” you shrug. “I’m just gonna tell him I’m hanging out with you all. No big deal.” You say, believing what you said. Mingyu’s come accustomed to your group of friends and you’re both adults who live separate lives. As far as you know him, he wouldn’t be making a big deal out of you cancelling on a plan. You think he’ll understand. You hope he does.

“Oh my god, don’t!” Nayeon cuts in. “Don’t worry about us. Go date your hot lawyer boyfriend right now. Are you insane?”

You look at her incredulously. “What are you talking about?”

Doyeon looks at you, nodding her head. “Nayeon’s right. If it’s between a date with my boyfriend or having barbecue with Taehyung and Jungkook, I’d rather be with my boyfriend,” She looks at the two guys. “No offense.”

“As if I don’t want to be with my girlfriend either tonight?” Taehyung says in disbelief.

Doyeon rolls her eyes, but she lets out a low chuckle.

“Wait– why are we fighting right now? If __ wants to cancel her date with Mingyu to come with us for barbecue night, then let her be.” Jungkook says.

In the corner, Taehyung crosses his arms and sends a certain look Jungkook’s way.

“Don’t get too excited, Jungkook.”

Jungkook and you pretty much have the same exact reaction at that.

“What the hell does that mean?”

You feel a slight pinch to your arm.

“Aw!” You slap Jungkook’s bicep for what he did. “What the hell!”

“I said it first.”

“You’re a child.” You roll your eyes.

Taehyung raises his hand. “I think you’re both twelve-year-olds trapped in thirty-year-old surgeons’ bodies.”

“Twelve’s too generous, I think they’re mentally still in first grade.” Doyeon comments.

You don’t get to rebut as you see a glimpse of the resident chief coming your way. It seems that the rest noticed the same thing, and suddenly, you’re all scrambling from your comfortable positions on the ER beds and going your separate ways to the hallways.

You went to your go-to-barbecue restaurant as soon as your shift ended for the day.

The eating becomes a drinking session until everybody tapped out but you and Jungkook. More like, you, because Jungkook wasn’t drinking at all. Doyeon was the first one to call herself an Uber, and then Nayeon and Taehyung had to leave because they have an early shift the next day.

“Don’t you have a shift tomorrow?” You ask Jungkook, downing another shot glass of soju. Your alcohol tolerance is not that high nor is it that low, but after two bottles – you admit you’re starting to feel a little dazed.

“Yeah. Afternoon.” Jungkook responds. When he sees you pouring yourself another glass again, he takes the shot and downs it himself.

“Rude!” You pout at him.

“You’re all red and shit, it’s time to tap out.” Jungkook chuckles when you show him an even deeper frown. “Come on, it’s nearing twelve.”

“I’m so tired.” You whine, not even bothering to take your glass back from him, just letting your shoulder deflate and bowing your head down, your eyes becoming droopier by the second.

After four years of residency, you feel like you have started to operate on autopilot somehow. Wake up at fuck-ass o’clock at dawn to prep for work and finish a varying number of hours of shift for the week. You admittedly barely get time to partake in leisure activities – and it’s not new per say. It’s just like in med school except you’re actually doing the real thing now and instead of grades, real lives are involved and at stake – which puts an even bigger weight on your shoulders.

It’s why you’re thankful to Mingyu; for his presence… for starting to invite you to his place rather than eat out. Don’t get it twisted– you love the bougie dinners and all that, but his penthouse is definitely way more comfortable.

But lately you’ve forgotten about what it is like to hang out with your friends outside of the five-minute breaks in the hospital – and times like these you love letting yourself loose and relax because, hey, you deserve it a little!

“Should I buy you soup to drink in the car?” You can hear Jungkook ask. You don’t answer. “Yeah, I should buy you soup.” He tells himself.

And then you see him going to the counter only to come back after a few minutes with a paperbag in his hand.

“You’re drunk.” He announces.

You snicker. “I’m not.”

“You sure are.” Jungkook shakes his head as he takes you by your waist to help you stand up.

“Just feeling a little dizzy, ‘s all.” You mumble when you fall against his neck upon straightening your legs.

“You’re not just a little dizzy, silly.” Jungkook whispers against your head.

You hum as a response and you can feel the vibration on his chest as he laughs at you. He doesn’t say another word as he guides your steps outside of the restaurant, and before you know it, you’re situated in the passenger seat of his car, with him wearing your seatbelt around you.

“Thanks.” You give him a lopsided smile, shifting around in the space to get more comfortable.

“Welcome, your highness.” You giggle at his response. “Drink up, it’s gonna help you sober up.” He says, handing you the paper bowl of soup he bought from the restaurant a few minutes ago.

You groan, taking it from him and slowly sip from the cup. Jungkook tells you to get his water flask from his backpack on the back seat when you finish your soup.

The soup and water relieve you from the acid reflux you feel in your stomach. Only slightly. Because when you close your eyes and lean back on the seat more comfortably, that’s when you feel something in your throat.

“Jungkook,” You call him.

“Hm?”

“I think I want to puke.”

Jungkook immediately turns to look at you. “For real?”

You bite your bottom lip, nodding your head repeatedly.

“Okay, shit– wait,” Jungkook looks around for something. Probably a plastic bag or whatever. But when he finishes scoping the area around the interior of his car, he seems to find nothing. When he glances at the rearview mirror, he takes a reverse and suddenly, he turns off the ignition of his car. “I’ll park here for a while. Let’s go outside.”

He gets out of the car first before opening your door. You think you’re fine to walk on your own, but you don’t oppose to Jungkook wrapping his arm around your waist and leading you to a…

Playground. The swings, in particular.

“Sit here for a bit.” He instructs, holding the chains steady for you as he waits until you’re sitting on it. He runs towards the car, and you feel way too weird in the throat to ask him why.

You recognize the place that’s not exactly far away from your complex. Maybe a ten-minute drive away.

Jungkook comes back with a crumpled plastic bag. It’s from a familiar provision shop. Probably was in his compartment glove the whole time.

“Here,” he hands you the plastic. “I’ll help you.”

You get it from him and shake your head.

“No, it’s fine.”

“I don’t mind.”

You look at him straight in the eye. “You’re not gonna help me puke, Jungkook.”

Jungkook stares at you for a while and then sighs. He holds the chains of your swing again, standing beside you, putting his hand in his pockets.

“Okay. Puke your heart out.”

You snort. You open the plastic bag and get a feel of that weird invasive push in your throat – until you realize Jungkook is watching you.

Looking up at him, you whine, “Jungkook. Don’t watch.”

Jungkook furrows his brows. “I’m not watching.”

“It’s gross.” You say, a bit embarrassed. The whole thing’s embarrassing, to be honest. Jungkook taking care of you because you got stupid drunk. It’s not the first time, and there were definitely a lot more occurrences worse than this – you’re just grateful he hasn’t kicked you out of a curb. Yet.

“Watching somebody puke?” He scoffs as he says your name. “We literally amputated a leg today, and FYI, I’m just scared you’re gonna have some serious complication while puking.”

You frown because– okay. Fair. He has valid points.

“Okay. Well. I’m not gonna die puking. So, turn around or stand back there at the slides far from me.”

“Seriously?” Jungkook asks, disbelief painting his voice.

You just nod. Thankfully, he doesn’t say any more and obediently walks about five steps away from you, acquiescing to your request.

It takes you a few minutes to settle yourself before you let out the accumulation of what you’ve digested for the day. Your throat feels crass when you’re done, and your stomach feels empty. When you look ahead, your head still feels like it’s floating. But at least you feel a little better now.

“Drink this,” Jungkook approaches you again and gives you his tumbler once again. You drink from it quickly and quietly. “Feel okay now?”

You hum, nodding and smiling up at him.

“Thanks, Kook.”

He only mirrors your smile and goes to sit on the swing beside you. “You wanna go home now?”

You nibble on your bottom lip, contemplating his question. As you look around, you notice it’s so... solemn. It’s midnight, after all. There’s a sort of eerie calmness with the cricket sounds but the wind is nice and the dark skies project twinkling lights.

“It’s so nice here,” You say instead.

“I’ll take that as a no.” Jungkook chuckles and you follow.

You look at him and sincerely, you ask, “Just for a few minutes, please?”

Jungkook’s quick to say, “Okay.”

His voice is just as gentle as the night breeze.

“Thank you.”

“It’s nothing. You’re sobering up?”

“Eh. I’m getting there.”

“Good.”

You look at him again. “Thank you.”

Jungkook sends you a confused look, but there’s a smile on his face.

“I heard that.”

You chuckle. “And I’m saying it again. Thank you.”

Jungkook shakes his head. “Alright. You’re welcome. Times two. And you’re not allowed to say it again.”

You both laugh at the exchange. The silence that follows after that is comfortable.

“You know, you still remember Changsub? My first boyfriend?” Jungkook nods at your words. “He asked me to be his girlfriend at a playground. Some old one in our hometown.” You pause for a while, recalling that memory. You laugh because it was just… so long ago. But the pictures are still so vivid in your head.

“Sweet. Too bad he’s an asshole, huh?” Jungkook comments, having known most of your relationship history.

“Yeah,” You shrug, laughing still. “But I, uhm, I remember a day after that– I had, like, this whole scenario in my head. I pictured a few years down the line, he’s on his knees and he’s showing me a ring asking me to be his wife on the very same playground. I thought it would be really sweet if he proposed to me at the same place.”

“Wow.” Jungkook muses, and you chuckle at the reaction.

“I know. It was crazy. I mean, why the hell was I thinking about getting married at that time? I was literally only sixteen and I think I had an AP assignment due the day after that. I was just so in my head.” You say, looking at Jungkook who has a smile of amusement on his face.

And then your laughter fades.

“I was so naive that time. But then I was also naive at twenty. And Jungkook…” You bite your bottom lip, feeling it quiver when you look into his eyes this time. “I’m afraid that I’m still naive at thirty.”

Jungkook calls your name softly, noticing the drop on your tone and the shift from playful to… melancholic.

You close your eyes and draw a deep breath.

“I like Mingyu. I really like him a lot,” And the declaration feels weird verbally announced. You’ve thought it for the past few weeks you’ve been with him – but you’ve both never said it to each other. Not yet. But saying it out loud now – it feels different. It feels real. And you’re so scared. “And we enjoy each other’s company a lot that I feel like he likes me just as much as I like him. You know, we kissed on the first date. I don’t usually kiss on the first date. But I like him so much that I did.”

You look at Jungkook sadly. You gauge the look on his face, but he just sits there with an unreadable expression on his face, though he listens. He always does. You’re not particularly looking for any response, anyway. And he just seems to know so well that right now, you just want to vent.

“It’s so embarrassing to say but I feel like he’s it, Kook.” You swallow the lump in your throat. “And I feel like… like the last time I felt this way about someone was with Eunwoo. And that was four years ago—” You let your head fall slightly. “And I’m so scared.” You don’t intend the crack in your voice when you say it.

“Hey,” Jungkook calls you again, turning his body towards you, reaching out to hold your arm.

“What if I’m wrong? Again?” You tell him.

It takes Jungkook a few seconds to answer.

“I think, __, that you’re a person with a big heart,” You scoff with a smile on your face at that. You get that a lot. But Jungkook insists, “I think you have so much love to give, you know? And I think… Mingyu’s a lucky guy if he gets to receive it.”

That makes your lips curl. Touched.

“You think so?”

Jungkook only nods.

“Why can’t you be nice to me like this all the time?” You crack a joke.

“I’m always nice to you,” Jungkook says in disbelief, obviously finding your words absurd. You only laugh but now Jungkook turns serious, and you fear you might have induced a genuine worry in him. “Am I not always nice to you?”

“You always tease me and shit in front of our friends but so incredibly sweet when we’re all alone.”

Jungkook stutters when he says, “Well… that’s my love language. Teasing you.”

You squint your eyes at him. “Awe, you love me?”

“Okay, fuck off.”

You burst into laughter when Jungkook rolls his eyes at you.

“Hey, swing me.”

You tell Jungkook, situating yourself more comfortably on the wooden platform attached to the chains.

“A dollar per minute.” He says, standing up from his own seat and placing himself behind you.

“I thought you hate capitalism? What is this?”

“This is forced labor.” Jungkook says with a groan that you think is a feigned exasperation, since you begin to feel movement right after it.

“You broke my hairdryer the other day. Consider this your compensation.” You look up at him to give him a smarmy smile.

Fom where you’re seated, you realize just how… big his presence is. It’s not the looming, ominous type, though – it’s quite the opposite. When Jungkook surrounds you, you find a bit of comfort in it – a huge one if you want to be honest to yourself.

“And I already bought you a new one. We’re even.” Jungkook squints his eyes at you.

You laugh.

“You’re gonna borrow and break it again.”

He visibly winces. “Touché.”

Jungkook swings you while you talk about your day, just like usual. He asks you about your laparoscopy that kept you from having lunch with the rest of your friends at the hospital earlier that day, about your new scrub cap, and you gossip a little about the new lab tech having a crush on the scrub nurse you both know.

For all his complaints earlier, Jungkook seemingly doesn’t seem to mind having swung you for the past ten minutes now. He’s relaxed and gentle with his movements, and his voice is quaint and soft as he talks to you.

But then you start to feel bad for him so you tell him to stop, standing up from the swing.

“Okay, your turn.”

Jungkook gives you a big grin.

“Nice.”

You chuckle at his enthusiasm when he sits on the swing chair this time around. But when you attempt a push, he barely moves, prompting him to laugh.

“What weak ass push was that?” He says incredulously, looking at you.

You jut your bottom lip out. “You’re heavy and I’m drunk.”

The second time you push him is more forceful but then Jungkook voices out a complaint after the third, fourth, and every single time you do it. You roll your eyes at his tantrums, but then suddenly, you think of a much better idea.

You push him off the swing with all your remaining strength even though your body feels like jelly from all the alcohol you consumed an hour ago.

“What the fuck, __?”

You burst out in boisterous laughter at Jungkook’s state, his hands and knees planted on the ground. He then sits on it, clapping his palms together to get rid of some dust that gathered on his skin.

Without thinking too much about it, you make quick steps over to his direction and situate yourself beside him.

Jungkook looks at you, confused, but you only give him a grin.

“Let’s lie on the ground.”

“What? No!” Jungkook immediately opposes it. As you expected.

You scrunch your face. “Oh! Look at me! I’m Jeon Jungkook and I’m a germaphobe and I’m afraid of dirt!” You say, intentionally making your voice a pitch higher.

Jungkook deadpans. “Pathogens can kill your cells’ metabolic machinery, so, yeah? I’m afraid of dirt.”

You roll your eyes at him and while he goes off about how they can also cause a toxic massive immune reaction, you push his chest forcefully which catches him off guard, prompting him to lay on the ground. Before he can say anything, you take his arm out to spread beside you and you use it to rest your head on.

Jungkook stops his rambling after that.

“See, shut up.” You say, backhanding him slightly on the chest. You fix your gaze at the skies.

“The sky is beautiful tonight. Worry about your pathogens next time.”

Jungkook chuckles, and you feel the vibration of his body as he does so, being so close to him.

As you peer up to look at him, you see him folding his other arm to lie his head on it.

You smile, going back to looking at the sky.

“This is like in The Notebook.” Jungkook says after a beat of silence.

“Right?” You grin. “And with the pathogens, too.” You tease.

Jungkook laughs, pinching your arm in his reach. “God, shut up about your pathogens.”

You chuckle at the irony.

“That’s me,” you point upwards, referring to a big twinkling light in the sky. Then, you move your finger towards the star beside it. “And then that’s you, ‘cause I’m a bigger star than you.”

You feel Jungkook look at you from his position. “You are so drunk.”

That causes you to giggle, clutching your stomach because you can’t stop laughing at pretty much everything tonight.

“I feel like I'm not anymore. My head just feels like it’s floating but no, definitely not drunk.”

“Whatever you say.” Jungkook says, chest vibrating from laughing at you.

“Hm. Race you to sleep, Jungkook.” You snuggle on his armpit. As you do, you smell a waft of your water lily springs body wash from Bath and Body Works. “Can you stop using my body wash?”

“What?” You can hear Jungkook say, but as he calls your name and more, his voice starts fading. “__? Hey, don’t sleep on me.”

You hum, eyes still closed.

“__, hey!” Jungkook grazes your arms. You can feel your head moving as Jungkook starts to sit, guiding your back to sit upright. He calls you again, gently tapping your cheek to wake you up.

The truth is, you’re really sleepy, but not so much that you can’t hear him anymore or move on your own.

Jungkook gives up trying to wake you up, though, convinced by your acting. Soon, he goes over in front of you, reaching for your arms and placing them around his neck.

“Just put your legs around me, yeah?” He whispers against your hair once you’re glued against his back.

You hum, intending it to sound like a mumble so Jungkook thinks you don’t actually understand.

Jungkook fixes your legs around him, standing up, bouncing a little to get you nice and snug in his back. You smile at the prospect of a piggyback ride.

“I know you’re awake, silly,” He says suddenly, his voice painted with amusement.

You stifle your laughter against his neck, breaking your supposed to be convincing act.

“Race you to the car, Kook.” you whisper into his ear.

Jungkook scoffs, but he doesn’t say anything more until you reach his car. He wears your seatbelt for you, though, and tells you to drink more water from his tumbler.

You fall asleep easily mid-drive.

In the morning, you wake up with a banging headache, your eyes catching the sight of a post-it note on your desk with one tab of Advil.

morning/afternoon stinky i made porridge before i left for my shift just heat it up again when you wake up ps: your medical bill from my personal care will be discussed later when i get back home. no friends discount allowed — your angelic friend, kookie

You chuckle at the (annoyingly elaborate) sketch of an angry bunny on the side.

“Mingyu,” you call his attention. Mingyu turns to look at you. “This is a really nice place.”

He smiles at your remark. Mingyu moves his hand from your waist to your lower back as he leads you to the entrance door.

“I’m glad you think so. I’ve been wanting to bring you here for a while.”

When you both reach the door, Mingyu introduces himself to the butler. You let the two of them talk for a while, him confirming his reservation, your eyes roaming around the restaurant and taking in the classy interior.

“Please follow me, Mr. Kim and Ms. __,”

The butler gestures inside and you both follow behind him.

It’s another one of your date nights. While it isn’t unusual for you both to get fancy with dinners, you’ve gotten used to the casual dinners you’ve been having at his own place with take-outs and his impressive cooking.

But tonight is a little different. There’s a certain something in the air – especially when Mingyu especially asked you to dress a little more formally. He always has a suit on naturally with his line of work, but tonight he’s wearing a particularly shiny one. The tie is something you’ve never seen before, but maybe you just like to think that. You on the other hand settled for an indigo satin dress that hugs your figure like a glove and shows just enough skin. You’ve always thought you looked good in it.

And you think it’s perfect for when Mingyu asks something that will change the trajectory of your relationship for good.

Today marks the third month since you started seeing each other. You don’t know if he’s aware of it – but it’s been, indeed, whole three months. An monthsary some sort? Granted, there’s no official label to it, at least not yet. But with the fancy set-up and the way he cryptically replied to when you asked him what the whole thing was for tonight, you think he does know. And this is his idea of surprise.

Of course, you don’t let yourself get obsessed with the idea lest you end up with only mere assumptions.

“Thank you.” You both say to the butler as he leads you both to your table. He gives you the menu book and you take your sweet time to choose from the selection, giving the butler your orders after a few minutes.

When he leaves, Mingyu looks at you wearing his usual charming smile.

You don’t think you’ll ever tire of his face.

“This is really fancy,” You tell him, smiling.

“It’s sort of like special place,” Mingyu chuckles. “You know, Mr. Yang– the senior partner over at work– officially announced me as partner here.” He tells you, eyes looking into yours.

You feel your heart do a somersault at his gaze and the possibility of his words.

“Good steak?” You say, trying to act oblivious to the weight of his confession. You also don’t want to assume he’s saying what you think he’s saying…

“Yeah, yeah,” He nods his head, chuckling, then his laughter fades as he begins to look more serious when he continues, “So… it’s been three months since we started seeing each other.”

Your heart skips a bit when you listen to his words. You didn’t think what you were thinking earlier was true, but now that he’s brought it up, you deduce you might not be too far away.

“__,” Mingyu calls. You hum, leaning in closer to let him know you’re listening attentively. He gives you a coy smile, then his hand on the table moves over towards yours. You don’t fight your big smile off when he places it on top of yours, especially when you feel the warmth it radiates and how it looks like it could just easily enclose your own. “You said you wanted to take things slow, and I respect that. I just want you to know that this is – this thing between us – it’s serious for me.”

“I’m serious about us two.” You say immediately.

Mingyu chuckles, simpering when he looks at you again. “I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

“So?” You ask, waiting.

“I want to be your boyfriend. If you let me.” Mingyu says, clear and firm. “It’s just… I’m happy with our dates. And I just love hanging out with you. But I think I’ll be even happier if we go out together as boyfriend and girlfriend – officially – from now on.”

You nibble on your bottom lip; couldn’t contain the big smile you’ve been fighting against since earlier.

You’ve been expecting the question ever since you got here, but you’re quite surprised for your assumptions to be right.

“Okay.” You say coolly.

Mingyu furrows his brow. “Okay– as in…?”

“Okay, as in, I wanna be your girlfriend.”

His lips part. “Are you… for real?” You nod your head repeatedly, stifling a giggle as Mingyu begins to smile so widely. “Fuck.”

“Hey,” you lightheartedly scold.

Mingyu nods his head, still smiling. “I’m sorry, I’m just—” he cuts himself off with a chuckle. “You’re my girlfriend now.”

“Yeah.” You chuckle.

“I wish I can kiss you right now.”

You feel your cheeks heat up as you look around. There are too many people. But the hopeless romantic in you tells you it’s okay.

“Why won’t you?” You challenge him, and Mingyu arches a brow at that.

He looks like he’s giving in, but then he shakes his head. With a smile that borders on flirtatious, he leans closer to you and whispers, “Later.”

Mingyu’s sweet promise at the restaurant ends up with you straddling his lap on the driver’s seat, your dress riding over your thighs and the thin straps falling off your shoulder.

"Fuck," Mingyu breathes in your ear, hands full of your ass while you continue to grind against the bulging crotch of his slacks.

You're not any better, panting on the crook of his neck as he encourages you to move on top of him. You feel the wet kisses he bestows across the column of your neck, moaning at the delicious friction from one particular thrust of his hips.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this, in your defense. Your dinner ended on a really good note and Mingyu was just supposed to lean in for one sweet kiss once you were situated in his car.

But then you swiped your tongue over his lips and Mingyu threw away his gentlemanly act for the night, granting you back with a kiss that had more fervor in it. Forceful in a way that says he wants you.

And the feeling’s more than mutual.

His coat’s long gone now, stashed away on his back seat, and you’ve already undone the top three buttons of his dress shirt. Mingyu squeezes your boob over the thin material of your dress, prompting you to let out a low moan.

“Why—” Mingyu cuts himself off to kiss your lips one more time.

“Why don’t we go to your place?”

You don’t register his words the first time, too drunk from the sensation of his touch over your body.

“Yeah?” You mindlessly say, eyes shut as Mingyu peppers kisses to your jaw down to your neck once again.

“You’ve never invited me to your place.”

At that, your eyes open and you still on top of him.

“What?”

Mingyu looks up, and you’re about to be distracted by his messy hair and his swollen lips but then he says, “We’ve never gone to your place before.”

“Oh.”

He’s quick to gauge your reaction. Cupping your jaw, he plants a kiss to the side of your lips. “I’m not insisting if you don’t want to.”

“N-no, I want to,” is your immediate response. “It’s just…” you trail off, thinking about how to approach the subject.

Mingyu hums, waiting for your next words, rubbing his thumb over your cheek. It helps you regulate your nervousness at the sudden mention of your place.

“I have a roommate.”

There you let it out.

Somehow in the past three months you’ve been dating, you never mentioned that you’re living with Jungkook. The subject just never came up – until now, that is – and you didn’t really feel the need to tell him when he never asked in the first place.

But deep inside, you’re a bit hesitant to tell him about it. Sure, Jungkook’s his friend, and Mingyu did say they were close and knew each other well, so it shouldn’t be a problem for him that you’re residing with his close friend – but that’s exactly what makes the whole thing weird. It’s one thing as a woman to live with a man in one place, and it’s another if that man is a friend of your – well, now boyfriend.

And you know to yourself that you and Jungkook are purely platonic so there should be absolutely nothing to be worried about. It’s not even that you don’t trust Mingyu to understand – it’s just that it’s not as easy to tell him straight up. Not when you’re just starting a relationship right now with an official label to it – not when you’re finally in a serious relationship after four whole years of looking and waiting.

You don’t want to ruin it. Not right now.

“Oh, okay.” Mingyu nods at your confession, understanding. “Is it why…?”

You nod your head, already getting what he means. Licking your lips, you look anywhere but his eyes. Instead, you focus your gaze on the exposed upper part of his chest and let your fingers toy with his collar. Mingyu lets you.

“But… roommate’s away for the night.” You tell him. And it’s true. Jungkook told you he has a date tonight and that usually means he won’t be going home.

And you want Mingyu so bad it’s not even funny anymore.

That puts a smile on your boyfriend’s face.

“She is, huh?”

Your heart skips a bit, and you give him a smile you hope he doesn’t recognize as fake.

Somehow, you don’t bother to correct him even though Jungkook – your very roommate – is most definitely not a she.

“And here goes my bedroom,” You say as you open your door, letting Mingyu in. You’re not really worried about its state because thank god you cleaned up before leaving for your date tonight. Jungkook’s the cleaner one though, and that’s an advantage because he’s kind of obsessed with cleaning the whole apartment and not just his room when he has the time. It’s exactly why Mingyu pays you a compliment on the neatness of the place.

“Cute,” he muses, looking at the Sanrio plushies on your nightstand.

“Yeah.” You nod, feeling a little shy. Mingyu’s place is the definition of bachelor – his bedroom’s literally out of an Architectural Digest page. And while you’re proud of your Sanrio plushie collection – they’re your childhood gifts and you’ve collected them until college and they were expensive as hell – you can’t help but think that maybe you’re coming off as childish right now. You wish you could’ve hidden them or something…

You hope Mingyu doesn’t think too much about it.

“I like the room,” Mingyu says, looking at you who’s sitting on the edge of your bed. “It feels very… you.”

“Really?” You chuckle. “I mean, I’d hope so. I’ve been here for two years.”

Mingyu chuckles, following you to the bed. You feel the mattress sinking in when he sits beside you.

“I wanted to give you something at the restaurant earlier, but I kinda chickened out,” He says.

You arch your brow. “What is it?”

You watch as Mingyu takes something out of his pocket, your heart skipping a few beats when it turns out to be a jewelry box. Mingyu looks at you and smiles, hands slowly opening the velvet box, and your lips part when it reveals a dainty silver necklace with a small drop diamond pendant.

“Wow.” You utter, eyes blinking repeatedly, not knowing how to react.

“Well…?” Mingyu says, gauging your reaction.

“You’re giving that to me?” You ask in pure disbelief. He only nods. “That’s really– it’s really pretty.”

“I thought about you when I picked it up. It made sense.” He says smoothly, and you giggle at his words.

God, you like him so much.

“I honestly don’t know what to say,” You chuckle, cupping your face with your hands as if it could make the blood go away from your cheeks. “Thank you.”

“I’d love to wear it on you.” Mingyu smiles.

“Of course.”

He takes out the necklace from the box and asks you to turn around for a bit. You do so, helping him put your hair over one shoulder. You can feel him scooting closer to your back, his breathing on your nape, and the way he slowly caresses your shoulder first before his arms go around your neck to lock the necklace around your nape.

The cold of the material hits your skin, just on time when you feel Mingyu planting a kiss on your clavicle.

“It’s really pretty.” You say in awe, touching the pendant.

“Hm,” Mingyu continues to pepper your skin with small kisses. “You’re beautiful.” You turn to look at him, smiling. He mirrors that and cups your jaw to give you a peck on the lips. “God, you’re so fucking beautiful.”

You giggle when he squeezes your waist.

“Thank you.” you say in between your laughter. You hold his arms and stand up from the bed to place yourself in front of him. Mingyu looks up at you with one brow raised, but he’s quick to manspread when you begin to straddle his lap. As you situate yourself on top of him, you wrap your arms around his neck and let him run his hands across your body when you do so. “I really appreciate the necklace.”

“Yeah?” Mingyu whispers against your lips.

You hum, trailing your fingers down his collar then start to unbutton his shirt. When you get the few undone, you look Mingyu into his eyes and he meets your lips that crash into his in a few seconds.

You suppose it’s not exactly surprising that the kiss turns heated way too quickly. After all, you were both humping each other in his car earlier.

Sighing into the kiss, you tug at his hair, and it prompts his hands to squeeze your ass a little too tight. Mingyu breaks the kiss and there’s a barely noticeable string of saliva when your lips move away from each other. He trails kisses from your jaw down to the base of your neck, taking the straps of your dress down, hands beginning to rub your bare arms.

“So beautiful,” Mingyu sighs, lips travelling back to your own. He prods his tongue in your mouth that you gladly open for him. You let out a moan from the sensation of his tongue against yours, clutching his shoulders so hard you're sure you're gonna imprint your nails on his skin despite the shirt he still has on.

"Mingyu," you whisper, mouth ajar and gaping uselessly against his hair as his mouth leaves yours eventually to go down to your cleavage. His wandering fingers go around your back to fumble with the ribbons that are holding the dress, and you’re quick to help him tug it down completely until your chest is out for his full viewing.

Mingyu hisses at the lack of bra – except the nipple tapes – when the top of the dress comes off. He stops and stares, then takes a long and deep breath, as if the sight of your breasts intoxicated him; sighing as if he's long wished to see you like this.

"Fuck, sweetheart, you're so hot." He cups the swell of your chest in his two large palms, fondling them as you continue rolling your pelvis against his straining crotch area. He grazes the silicon material covering your nipples, looks up at you as if to ask.

“Y-yeah,” you sigh out, knowing what he meant with the look.

Taking them off gently, Mingyu earns a moan from you, the sound getting a bit louder when he puts one of the two peaks in his mouth, and the sight is nothing short of erotic.

It elicits a sharp breath from you, hands flying to his soft and brunette locks. You almost feel bad thinking that you've been grabbing at them since earlier.

But you have more important things to mind than attending to Mingyu’s silky and healthy hair.

You seek for his lips which he gives you almost automatically when he notices you asking for it, the two of you meeting in a hungry kiss, your nails on one hand clawing at his back as you cup his jaw in the other. But his hands don't leave your breasts, palming them roughly but just right; squeezing so hard all the while tugging at your nipples.

For a moment, you take a halt, catching your breath and look at him with your hooded eyes. You kiss the corner of his mouth. "Take your shirt off."

He does as you say so, and you help him unbutton the entirety of his dress shirt to get the thing off him faster. Mingyu lets go of your boobs but quickly holds them as soon as his shirt is off. This time he flicks at both your nipples, and you can’t help but bite at his neck. The pleasure’s too much and you can feel yourself dripping down your thong, the sticky feeling of it making you squirm on his lap.

As if Mingyu has read your mind, he grips your waist and sets you down on the bed. He hovers over you, fingers idly exploring under the skirt of your dress until he finds the band of your panties.

You groan when you feel the cold brush of air on your bare thighs, suddenly feeling impatient. "Mingyu,"

“You want me to eat you out?” He whispers, pressing a quick kiss to your lips.

You almost cry at his question.

“Yes,”

Mingyu drags his fingers on your clothed core, groaning when he feels how soiled your thong is. "You're so fucking wet, sweetheart. Look at you," he sighs, hands leaving your pussy as he leans back and palms the strain of his pants. Your toes curl at the sight, uneven breaths puffing from your lips. "Look so sweet under me."

And you're also a mess under him, writhing and completely getting lightheaded from his actions.

You let out a mewl when he pushes up the skirt of your dress to your hips, dragging down your underwear to your thighs.

Lifting your butt off the mattress, you help him get it off of you completely and you don't miss the way the flimsy thong sticks to your pussy before he takes it off you entirely. Mingyu seems to notice as well, judging from the way he hissed under his breath.

Your pussy is slick and sloppy, wet and dripping for him.

"So fucking pretty for me, god, I can’t believe I get to have you like this," he whispers against your throbbing heat, leaving a small kiss on your clit.

You arch your back when he uses his finger to run it through your slit, adding another one to spread your walls. Mingyu groans at the juices that stick to his digits.

As he adjusts himself on the mattress, hands gripping the back of your knees, you push them up until you're bended in almost half. You hold up your own legs, getting whiplashed when he licks a long, firm and deep stripe over you, making your eyes roll from the back of your head, breath hitching as you keep yourself steady in your own hold.

"Oh my god – Mingyu!–"

He starts slow, kissing around your labia, the tip of his tongue teasing your clit. Your head falls from the mountain of pillows under you, suddenly feeling frustrated.

"S-stop teasing me. Please, Mingyu,"

Ending your misery, he spreads your thighs, puckers his lips and dusts a few pecks over your bare heat and dives in for it seconds later with too much fervor. He savors every drop that oozes out from your hole, licking and lapping until you feel his tongue inside you. Mingyu could be spelling out his name for all it matters, but you really couldn't give a fuck.

"Oh, fuuuuck–" you groan, trying so hard to keep yourself steady. "S-so good,"

He hums in your pussy, and you don't help the way one of your legs drop to the mattress, the other one hooking on his shoulder. It makes you grab for his hair, pushing his head down and thrashing underneath his face.

It felt like minutes passed and you're almost crying by how good it all feels, his tongue doing wonders in the walls of your heat.

Soon, tears start to well in your eyes because of the pleasure, drawn out moans and heavy breaths filling the room. You couldn’t care less about the volume. Right now, you just want to cum.

"Your fingers, Mingyu,” You sigh out, and before you could even prepare yourself, he's inserting his middle finger inside you, pushing it in until it's knuckle-deep. "Oh god!"

“Yeah?”

He starts at an average pace until he adds another finger in your entrance, this time picking up his speed – and it makes you drip everywhere.

When he settles on scissoring his fingers inside you, moving at an abnormal pace that have you gasping under him, your body shake and your toes curl on the sheets. Mingyu swoops down to kiss your pussy again, two digits being repeatedly swallowed by your warm hole, slurping every juice that comes out of it. As he feels you tremble, the precedence of you nearing your climax, he takes his thumb to your clit.

"Oh, fuck, fuck," your pant, "I'm coming–fuck–“

Mingyu removes his fingers from you, exchanging them with his tongue instead and you cry out while he continues to rub your clit vigorously.

And when you arch your back higher this time, you spasm around his fingers, moaning uncontrollably.

“That’s it, sweetheart, that’s it,” Mingyu whispers, pecking your heat a few more times to calm you down from your high. After a few moments, he removes your thigh from his shoulder, quickly coming up to kiss you on the mouth.

You taste yourself on his tongue but you couldn’t pay much attention to it when you feel his dick against your thigh. Closing your eyes, you let exhaustion wash over you.

Mingyu lets you stay still, and when you open your eyes again, you see him staring at you with a warm smile dancing across his lips. Your heart skips a beat, could no longer feel it but hear it instead, and you bite your lip, pushing his chest away slightly in an attempt to get on top of him.

“Let me suck your cock.” You say, but Mingyu shakes his head, firm on his place: on top of you.

“Let’s do that next time. Tonight, I have to fuck you well into the next day.”

And he does.

You didn't cum again – you usually don't from penetrative sex – and your first orgasm exhausted you way too much to let yourself go the second time. Mingyu didn't mind, telling you it was fine when you gave him an apology about it.

You wake up panicking at the thought that you’re going to be late for work.

Scrambling to sit on your bed, you take your alarm clock in your hands, letting out a dramatic “Thank god” when you see it read as 5:06am. Your alarm goes off at 5:30 as your weekday shift starts at seven.

Which means it’s still early. And you’re not going to be late for work like you feared.

You remember last night’s events though, and your eyes quickly go over to the other side of your bed.

Mingyu’s not in it – but it feels warm. An indication of the fact that he stayed the night over after what you did. You also deduced that he must’ve only gotten out a few minutes before you woke up.

Thinking he’s outside your room, you begin to stand up – groaning the way your thighs ache a bit as you do so. You’re only dressed in your panties and camisole, and you thought about going out in them – but then it made you feel a little weird. Okay, sure, Mingyu’s already seen everything there is to see – you had sex last night – but being naked in a non-sexual fashion in front of someone is kind of a little different, so you opt on putting on a pair of short shorts.

As you head towards your door, fingers ready to twist the knob, you’re surprised to see Mingyu meeting you halfway.

“Hey—”

“Why the hell is Jungkook here?”

Your smile drops and you look at him in confusion.

Mingyu wears an expression you’ve never seen him in before. He’s pissed. Eyebrows furrowed, gaze not soft like it usually is when it comes to you, and above all… his tone borders on accusatory.

“Why is he in the living room saying he’s your roommate?” Mingyu asks once again when you don’t say anything.

“I—” but you’re rendered speechless, frozen in your position. Your mouth moves but nothing comes out. Your brain is a jumble of thoughts and all you can think about is Mingyu seemingly getting mad at you.

“__?” A voice that’s absolutely familiar speaks up. You hear Jungkook’s steps getting closer to your door when he finally shows himself to you. “What’s Mingyu doing here? And why doesn’t he know we live together?”

Mingyu forces himself inside your bedroom and bumps into you a bit as he faces you with a venomous tone. “I’m going.” He declares, grabbing his shirt from your desk chair and putting on his belt.

“Mingyu, it’s not—”

“Save it, __.” He cuts you off before you can finish your sentence, hastily buttoning up his dress shirt.

Jungkook frowns and butts in. “Mingyu, let her talk. I told you earlier, we’re roommates—”

“Jeon,” You turn to look at him, almost spitting out his name. “Not now.”

You see Jungkook visibly recoiling at that. But you’re too concerned over Mingyu already on his way out the door, ready to leave.

“Mingyu, just hear me out.” You say, looking at him sincerely.

“I don’t wanna hear it. Not right now.” Mingyu tells you with a cold look paired with a cold tone. You deflate, taken aback at how nothing on his face screams like he cares about you. He glances at his watch. “I have to go to work.”

He heads towards your apartment door and you follow him there, hoping to change his mind about hearing you out.

“I know what you’re thinking right now, and it’s not that, Gyu.” You tell him once again, following him outside your unit.

Mingyu stands there for a while. Then, he sighs, putting his thumb over his temple. He heaves out a breath, looking into your eyes as he says, “I just don’t want to talk about it right now, okay? Let’s just… let things cool down for a bit.”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “How do you mean?”

“I’m flying to Chicago this afternoon but I’ll be back in the evening. I’ll call you later after work.” He says, and now his face doesn’t look so devoid of emotions like how it was earlier.

But you worry about his words.

“You’re flying to another state.” You reiterate, just so you know you heard him right.

“It’s just for a few hours, sweetheart,” The petname soothes you a little but then he continues to add, “Look, I’m not sure of how I feel about… Jungkook being your roommate. You didn’t tell me about it– just imagine my surprise when I saw him after I went out of your room. It’s not a nice feeling to get lied to,” He says, and you feel an arrow shooting straight to your heart at that. You blink your eyes, feeling like there are tears forming on the sides. Mingyu seems to notice that as he steps closer to you and rubs your arm. “We’ll talk later, __. Just not now. Give me time to process this.”

You give him a weak smile.

Mingyu cups your cheek, and you lean towards his touch. Rubbing a thumb over your skin, he leans down to kiss your lips.

When he breaks away after a quick moment, he tells you, “Later, hm? I promise.” You nod. Mingyu gives you a smile. “And thank you for last night.”

That erases your worry. Not all, but some of it.

“Thank you too.”

“Alright, I’m going, okay?” Mingyu lets go of your face and you look at him as he turns around after you bid your goodbye.

You watch his retreating back in the hallway from your position, nibbling on your bottom lip trying to process the turn of events – and it’s only five fucking am still.

When you enter your apartment again, you see Jungkook sitting on the couch of your living room. And he looks just as pissed when your gaze falls to him.

“What the hell was that?” He welcomes you with.

“What the hell is this?” You point back at him. “You told me you weren’t coming home.”

“Yeah, but I have work – which we both go to at the same time, by the way. Apparently, you’re bringing boys now to this goddamn place.”

You do a double take at his tone.

“What the fuck do you mean by that?” You say, voicing starting to pick up volume. You feel irritation bubbling up inside you as Jungkook stands up from the couch and turns his back to you, ignoring your question as he heads to the direction of the kitchen.

“I said we’re both gonna be late for work.”

You follow his steps. “No, you said I’m “bringing boys here”, what do you mean by that?” You grab his arm and that’s effective enough to make him turn around and look at you. But he avoids eye contact. “Don’t turn your back to me when I’m talking to you, Jungkook.”

“I’m so sorry then, I’ll make sure to look into your eyes when I say every word that comes out of my mouth from now on.” He sarcastically says, and your annoyance grows.

“Watch your goddamn tone.”

Jungkook scoffs. “You’re the one to talk about watching tones when you literally just told me to shut up in front of your boyfriend?”

Your frown instantly. So you were right to think that moved him a little. But you tell him your confusion, “Where the hell did you get that? I didn’t tell you to shut up.”

“Yeah, you just told me “not now” like I’m a child trying to insert himself in mommy and daddy’s little argument. You might as well just have told me to shut the fuck up.”

The way he phrased your argument with Mingyu “little” rubs you off the wrong way.

“Oh, I am so sorry,” you sarcastically say. “Did getting told to shut up by a woman in front of another man hurt your big macho man ego?”

“You’re making it about another thing.” Jungkook rolls his eyes, opening the refrigerator and taking out a loaf of bread.

“You think I forgot about your little “bringing boys here” comment?” You point out, but Jungkook decides now is the time to be an asshole and starts acting nonchalant instead, putting jam all over his bread. But you see the tick in his jaw, the tongue prodding against his mouth. He’s just as pissed as you are right now.

“And you sure as hell did. I don’t know what to tell you.”

You seethe. “Fuck you. I don’t bring “boys” here. Mingyu’s my boyfriend,” You say, and to be petty, you add, “As if you’ve never ever brought girls here before?”

Jungkook looks at you instantly. “Don’t you dare pin that on me. That was in the very first week that we lived together, mind you. But you told me how uncomfortable it made you feel and I thought about boundaries since then and never did it again. Why do you think I come over at their place instead of just hanging out here, huh, __? Even when we didn’t verbally agree on not having sex around this place, I thought it would be a goddamn principle. Heck,” He looks somewhere and scoffs, “Mingyu didn’t even know I’m your roommate. What did you tell him?”

You open your mouth to make a rebuttal, but nothing comes.

Because you realize in the middle of his outburst that… he’s right.

The first time that you saw a woman coming out of his own room and Jungkook noticing your discomfort about it, he just stopped doing his… thing in the apartment. It wasn’t a verbal agreement, as per his words, but he’s right. It should have been a principle.

In the past two years you lived with each other – that was the only time he ever did it. It became an unspoken rule: don’t bring your hook-ups here. But you never really had to worry about that unspoken rule because you didn’t do one-night-stands often, and when you did hook up with people over the past two years, it was rare so it was easy to do it in their place.

It has become a norm for you that you don’t see other people here anymore except for your friends when they invite themselves over – but you aren’t aware that Jungkook’s apparently making an active choice to specifically not hook up in here this whole time.

Coupled with the fact that you didn’t tell Mingyu about him being your roommate and him being caught up with your argument earlier – you feel a sense of guilt. A huge one at that.

But the stubborn part in you thinks that Mingyu’s different. He’s not a mere hook-up. He’s your boyfriend now! Couldn’t that be an exemption to the rule that’s unspoken in the first place?

“I…” you trail off, scolding yourself internally for not forming a coherent thought faster than you’d like.

When you don’t follow it up with anything, Jungkook takes his plate with him, turning on his heels away from you.

“See you at work.” He says, but it’s sarcastic and clipped.

Jungkook leaves one piece of bread for you though – just like he always does. And you take that as a sign that he’s not all that mad at you.

… Maybe?

You stand there in the middle of your kitchen island like some stupid stoned individual, going over the things that happened for the past – what – twenty minutes? You don’t even fucking know. Your wall clock in the living room had run out of battery, and your brain is too occupied with messy thoughts scattered all around you can feel a headache coming.

One thing’s for sure, though: you’re in the wrong. With Mingyu and with Jungkook. And you need to make it right somehow.

PART TWO | PART THREE

#jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #bts imagines #jungkook imagines #jungkook scenarios #bts angst #mingyu smut #mingyu fluff #mingyu angst #svt smut #svt x reader #bts x reader #fic: tlp #awrkive

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hiiikiko · 28 days ago

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𝖘𝖕𝖎𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖒𝖆𝖓!𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖎𝖊 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖈𝖆𝖓𝖔𝖓𝖘

tlou m.list | caught in your web m.list

[a/n]: hi! i hope you’ll all accept this, i hv work today n i’ll be workin until like 9 p.m but i’ll make sure to write tmrw !! n ty for all the likes on this series ♡

‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

♰ before ellie got bitten, she wore glasses but after she didn’t need them anymore. she still wears them with the lenses popped out though because she thinks she looks weird without them, although she doesn’t wear them at school that often

♰ when she gets in a fight with tommy or maria, she sneaks out her window and finds a nice quiet roof to sit and listen to music, sometimes smoke but she’s cut back since her vigilante career began

♰ she has backpacks hidden all over the city so she can make a quick change. there’s one at school, the library, oscorp labs, the planetarium, and your apartment

♰ she knows you can handle yourself but that doesn’t stop her from following you home, like, come on! new york city is pretty dangerous and don’t you like having your very own vigilante??

♰ might be a little stalkerish but she sometimes hangs out on the roof of the building across your apartment building so she can watch you go about your evening, she doesn’t mean to do it but somehow she always ends up there

♰ she carries pepper spray even though she has literal superpowers

♰ she’s trained her spider sense to be even more heightened so that she can fight with her airpods in

♰ she has a playlist for fighting bad guys

♰ even though she’s city renowned spiderman, she still helps the elderly cross the street and help cats out of trees (she’s a little hesistant to help the cats because of how hard it is to mend scratches on her suits fabric)

♰ she owns a spiderman figurine like what did you expect? she’s a fan girl of the avengers, she owns all their figurines and they are in mint condition so why wouldn’t she own her own?? like that has to be the coolest thing to her

♰ concert tickets are expensive so sometimes she uses her powers for “bad” and sneaks into venues (she says it’s anti capitalist but really, she’s just being cheap)

♰ she has nightmares about turning into a real spider, kinda like franz kafka (she actually read this book in freshman lit and it scarred her)

♰ another one of her biggest fears is like what if she’s having sex with someone and she’s fingering them and her webs somehow shoot up into them?? like how do you explain that to a doctor?? this keeps her up at night

♰ seeing you in spiderman merch makes the tips of her ears go red and her heart race

♰ she cringes whenever she sees spiderman edits on her fyp

♰ onlyfans ppl who make content in her suit kinda scare her LMAO

♰ she actually doesn’t mind that everyone assumes spidey is a man, it helps her hide her identity but it kinda pisses her off that people can’t tell she’s a girl?? like do you not see the boobs . (her suit actually flattens her and all the protection gear inside gives her a pretty boxy figure so you can’t really tell)

♰ she has a hate/love relationship with her webs because on one hand she’s scared of touching people and on the other, she likes that she can ‘glue’ her camera to her hands when she’s on more dangerous photo ops and that she doesn’t have to get up from her bed to get her guitar (although, one time she hit herself in the face because she didn’t get it fast enough)

♰ ellie’s a different type of spiderman.. she’s actually very violent! especially against criminals who hurt others just for fun, she’ll beat them to a bloody pulp and leave them their for the ambulance to find (she leaves a note apologizing to the emts and sheriff, but it’s not like she killed them! nobody thinks that spiderman could do this so they assume there’s another vigilante out there, a more violent one *ahem* deadpool)

♰ she met deadpool once.. never again

♰ much like her infected bite from the game, her spider bite has caused cobwebs to grow in her veins

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jjunieworld · 4 months ago

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#WIP ⟢ THE SALT UNDER THE SEA ˒˒ 심재윤 ⨾ 박종성 ▸ part two of the player’s game series⌇playlist & series tag

the death of your grandma has you returning back to your mother’s seaside hometown—the same town you left jake in a year ago—for good. now that you’re back, so are the feelings you really desperately wished to leave behind. it doesn’t help that now you’re caught in the crossfire of two guys with a rough past who want to be with you.

pairing ‎⸝⸝⸝ sim jaeyun x reader, park jongseong x reader 𓄵 iηcℓudᥱs 𓈓 cousin jungwon, bestfriend!jay, player!sunghoon, and oc hana (jake’s ex)

genre﹙📓﹚⸝⸝⸝ exes to lovers, bestfriends to ???, angst, smut, fluff, lifeguard!jake, ex player!jake, bestfriend!jay, lifeguard!jay, lifeguarding inaccuracies, love triangle, slice of life, some h2o references, beach au, summer romance

warnings ‎⸝⸝⸝ if you didn’t like reader in the first part then you won’t like her in this one, reader’s grandma passing and mentions of reader’s dad passing, multiple unprotected sex scenes, soft dom!jake, mean dom!jay, toxicity, jayke constantly one-uping each other, arguing, semi-public sex, size training, corruption kink full smut tags in actual post . . . !

kipo’s note ‎⸝⸝⸝ this was a long time coming lmao i’m so so sorry to everyone who has been waiting (◞‸◟；) with my month long break and adjusting to writing again i’m finally ready to start working on this series again! this is my main priority so i will try to get it out as soon as i possibly can!! this post will be updated as i work on it! ^^ all feedback and asks on suggestions are welcome! ♡

release date ⸝⸝⸝ sept 20th, 2024 ⋆ progress updates here!

∿ [ teaser wc: 0.7k ] ∿ [ current wc: 26.1k ] ⋆ [ continue to . . . wips , masterlist ]

send an ask or reply to this post if you want to be tagged when finished! minors and ageless/blank blogs will not be tagged. please have a visible age. my permanent taglist will already be tagged!

⟢ READ HERE!

your heart beat fast as you looked out the plane window to your mother’s seaside hometown—your new home. there was no need for your mom to nudge you awake since you weren’t able to sleep for the entirety you were on the plane, the nerves were eating at you.

you never thought you’d be back here, never thought that you’d ever say goodbye to your own hometown—which was also your late father’s—but here you were.

when your mom told you that you’d be moving here permanently you didn’t know how to feel. one one hand, you understood your mom’s decision. it was just you and her out there miles away from your family and everything must’ve reminded her of your father. it reminded you of him too. on the other hand, you desperately wished she would change her mind.

it was enough seeing that one glimpse of jake nine months ago, but to see him over and over and over again? you didn’t think you could take it. he still texted you, even more now since, and you still haven’t answered. things between the two of you still remain unsaid.

but you also couldn’t help but count down the seconds until you laid your eyes on him again. it set your skin alight and you couldn’t help the small smile on your face and the giddiness you felt. was it selfish, yes, but after everything you think you’re finally ready to face him again.

to give your relationship another chance. to give him your heart again and not be fearful that he would break it, that he’d keep it guarded and safe. after all, he said he would wait for you.

and if he didn’t protect your heart, you’d pull back and it would be as if you never had anything to do with him again.

“y/n? are you listening?” you heard your mother’s voice call out. you snapped back to reality, blinking a couple of times to get your wits.

you were no longer on the plane. now you were lugging suitcases into your aunt’s house. your aunt was delighted to hear that you and your mom would be moving here. there was plenty of room in the house until the two of you got your own place.

“mhm,” you mumbled, though you definitely weren’t listening.

your mom sat the suitcase she was carrying in front of you and grabbed your shoulders. “is it that boy from last summer?” what was his name? jacob?”

“jake,” jungwon answered for you as he walked out the front door to grab more boxes.

your mom snapped her fingers. “jake! that’s it. listen, i know you had some problems moving here because of him, but use this as a way to put yourself out there more than last summer! there’s more wonderful people here than just jake.” she gave you a sympathetic smile and continued carrying stuff inside while you remained planted to the same spot in the driveway.

it wasn’t “just jake” that worried you. it was all of his friends and hana. you didn’t want another summer full of drama, especially if you and jake did start dating again.

getting all your boxes and suitcases into the house went quick and relatively easy. you decided on unpacking all of your things later, right now your mind was too clouded.

jake’s letter sat carefully in your anxious hands. you must’ve read it a million times over now and still you could barely wrap your head around it.

“two people who are meant to be will always find a way back to each other. and we are meant to be. no matter how long it takes, i’ll wait for you.”

it was now or never. you grabbed your phone and opened your messages up to your conversation with jake. his last message was from this morning, hoping that you had a good day today. he must not know that you’re back and for good. with a shaky sigh, you let your fingers move across the keyboard.

you: meet me at our spot.

⟢ READ HERE!

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wheeboo · 7 months ago

Text

mine | joshua hong

SYNOPSIS. in which joshua is the best thing that's ever been... yours. PAIRING. joshua hong x gn!reader (ft. cheol, jeonghan, soonyoung, mingyu, chan - they don't rlly have dialogue tho lol) GENRE. fluff, some angst, hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, established relationship WARNINGS. a very very brief shirtless joshua moment LMAO, implications of reader having a toxic ex, mentions that reader's parents have a rocky relationship and separate, kissing, terms of endearment, reader and joshua have a lil argument WORD COUNT. 3.6k

requested from @staranghae: joshua + mine by taylor swift for the 2k followers event please 🩷🎀

notes: i am fluent in this song!!!! whenever my love playlist comes on and this plays i literally scream lungs out!!! and shua fits this vibe so much <3

join the 2k celebration!

ONE. "i was a flight risk, with a fear of falling / wondering why we bother with love, if it never lasts..."

Maybe you've always underestimated how the feeling of fresh air hitting your lungs makes you feel so replenished, free, like a single whiff blows away those gusts of worry in an instant.

Your fingers carry a tight, secure grip on Seungcheol's surfboard𑁋you volunteered to carry it for him so he could unload the other things from the van𑁋soft sand meeting your toes the second you step onto the beach for the first time of the summer season. Salty air tingles at your nose, the late afternoon sun baring down on your shoulders, and the expanse of the ocean opens up right before your eyes.

This place had basically watched you grow up. It carries a lot of memories that you hold dear to your heart.

You see Soonyoung already digging into the sand with an abnormally large stick, and Mingyu carrying a bunch of firewood in his arms before dropping them down onto the ground (and accidentally one on his foot, but you won't say anything about that).

However, your eyes drift and land on a figure running up from the beach shore. His dark hair is wet and sticking to his forehead, chest and arms revealed in all its glory before quickly covered up by a white, somewhat lacy button-down shirt that still doesn't do much in concealing the muscles underneath. For a moment, you nearly loose the grip on Seungcheol's surfboard.

Joshua Hong seems to spot you from even a mile away. He's running up to you before you even have the minute to breathe, a grin splitting his face that's as warm as the setting sun. Sand clings to his damp flip-flops and the hem of his black shorts as he nearly skids to a halt in front of you, chest heaving and out of breath. His shirt isn't even buttoned, dammit.

"Hey," he greets you breathlessly, letting his eyes take you in for a second. "Glad you could make it."

A soft smile of your own blooms on your face. "It's good to see you too, asshole."

A flicker of feigned hurt plays across Joshua's features. "Come on. That was so two years ago! I didn't want to push you in the water. You should know that by now."

"Wow, you care so much about me, don't you?" You nearly swing Seungcheol's surfboard playfully in his direction. "You listen to Jeonghan more than your own little brain."

"I swear, it's changed. Everything's changed since then," Joshua reasons lightly. "You have my ears for the entire night, I promise."

His words hang in the air for a moment, and there's perhaps a sliver of fondness in his eyes that you catch when your gazes meet. You feel a certain warmth spread through your chest that you try so hard to ignore each time he's around you.

You brush it off with a roll of your eyes before strolling past him, hoping that Seungcheol's surfboard was enough to cover up the slight flush creeping up your cheeks. The smile to your face still lingers as you walk towards to where Soonyoung and Mingyu are, whom dash up to you the moment they see you to engulf you in a welcoming hug.

Mingyu is almost done setting up the bonfire by the time you and Seungcheol bring all the food and supplies from the van. Jeonghan and Chan had arrived by the time the fire is lit up and crackling, casting a warm, inviting glow on the beach scene. And it isn't long when the yearly traditions of a group bonfire and beachside barbecue commence.

The smell of grilled food fills the air, mixing with the salty breeze and the crackle of the fire. And just for those moments, you forget these fuzzy feelings swirling around you as familiar laughter and camaraderie take over instead.

You've known all of your friends for different amounts of times, but being here with all of them makes it feel like time hasn't passed by at all. Inside jokes are exchanged, memories from as far as childhood resurface, and stories are told that leave you all doubled over with laughter (and Soonyoung nearly choking on a marshmallow).

It's almost natural in the way your eyes seem to search for Joshua's every single time that feeling of happiness threatens to overflow within you. The fire flickers upon his face, his eyes crinkled deeply when he smiles. Happiness looks good on him, you think. It always has.

...does his eyes search for yours too?

By the time the fire dies down, you find yourself sitting near the edge of the beach, with your legs stretched on the sand and the waves barely lapping against your feet. Seungcheol and Mingyu are already out on the ocean on their surfboards, then there's Chan and Soonyoung struggling to get their sandcastle to stay up, and Jeonghan is already knocked out on a beach towel. It's just you, and wherever the hell Joshua is.

"Something's bothering you, isn't it?"

The voice snaps you away from your thoughts, and you pick your head up to see Joshua walking up to you. A cool breeze flows through his strands of his hair as he approaches.

You blink at him. "What?"

He sits down beside you on the sand, close enough that the warmth of his body brushes against yours. "You were too quiet earlier."

You face back towards the water, cowering your head down as if guilty of some sorts.

"Oh," You murmur, somewhat to yourself. "Sorry."

"Sorry for what?" Joshua asks, nudging you lightly on the shoulder. "I told you earlier that I would be all ears for you."

You smile faintly at that. Would you still be all ears if I told you that I've been such a coward with my feelings for you?

"It's... just boy problems, I guess," You respond, though you feel a twinge of regret for wording it like that. It's more than just simply boy problems.

Joshua's jaw seems to tighten at that. "Did that jerk contact you again?"

You know who exactly he's talking about, and you let out a sigh. "No, not him. I... I blocked him a few months ago when he tried spam calling me again. Sort of gave me a good scare, to be honest."

At the corner of your eye, Joshua's hand digs aimlessly into the sand, clenching and unclenching a fistful before smoothing it out again.

"I'm glad you're okay," he says softly, gaze fixed on the grains of sand slipping through his fingers. "You deserve someone way better than him."

You chuckle at that, and a bittersweet pang shoots through your chest. It's true, you deserve better. But really, the problem isn't just jerks and bad relationships. It's the thought of falling for someone again and it all comes crashing down... again.

But it's not like you could hold back from falling when you've already fallen. The truth is undeniable at this point𑁋your heart already beats a little faster for the boy right next to you.

"Guys! Look at the sunset!" Chan's voice rings out into the cool, evening air, pointing an excited finger towards the horizon.

Simultaneously, you and Joshua bring your eyes up tot the sky together. The last rays of the sun are painting the sky in a breathtaking display of fiery oranges, pinks, and purples, like a fleeting masterpiece before nightfall takes hold.

"Wow," You mutter out in awe. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

Joshua cocks his head to the side, a low hum leaving his lips. "Hmm, I could think of something more beautiful than that, honestly."

You scoff, hitting him lightly on the shoulder. "You ruined the sentimental moment, idiot."

Joshua lets out an amused laugh, a sound that sends those flutters blossoming in your stomach, one you haven't realised you've missed until this very moment. A small giggle of your own escapes your mouth as you bring your eyes back to the sunset together.

Then a low yawn stifles out of you. Maybe everything that has happened the past few hours are finally catching up to you. You let out another yawn, hoping Joshua doesn't notice. But of course, he does.

"Getting tired?" he asks you.

You give a small nod. "Just a little."

A few moment pass, before you feel an arm drape casually over your shoulders. The scent of Joshua and his warmth seeps within your bones. You almost want to protest, but the words get caught in your throat, and you lean your head on his shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest with each breath.

Perhaps you could spend a long time staying in this position and hope the silence is able to spill all the words you've been meaning to say for all this time, but you know it's easier said than done. Because what's the point of confessing anymore if you know it won't ever last? That you know it'll ruin everything you've built up to get this far?

You've seen it happen around you𑁋with you, your parents, hell even strangers online. It's taught you nothing but to run. That's what your mind tells you to do, but not your heart. And maybe you listen to your mind more often than not.

"Yo, Josh!" Mingyu's voice hollers out from the ocean, and you feel a certain pressure be lifted up from your head (when did he lay his head on yours?) as you catch the sight of Seungcheol and Mingyu motioning to their surfboards. "Wanna hop on?"

Joshua briefly glances down at you, and you meet his gaze, seeing the indecision in his features.

"I don't mind," You tell him. "I'll be fine here."

He hesitates. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, don't worry about me." You pick your head off from his shoulders. "Go have your boy-fun."

Joshua gives you a small smile, though there's a hint of reluctance in his expression. He shouts back to Mingyu and Seungcheol before standing up and brushing the sand off his shorts. You could hardly pull your eyes away from him as he does so.

He starts trotting away as you face back toward the ocean with a sigh, relinquishing the moments you get to have to gather up your thoughts.

"Hey, Y/N?"

You pick your eyes back up to Joshua marching back towards you. He stops in front of you, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

"You look beautiful today, by the way." Then he gives shoots you a wink before turning back around. "Just wanted you to know."

The kiss you leave to his cheek later on was really worth the risk.

TWO. "you learn my secrets and you figure out why i'm guarded / you say we'll never make my parents' mistakes..."

A picture frame of a four-year-old Joshua is staring back at you. He still has that same silly grin on his face, the one that has his own eyes smiling as well and makes your heart feel lighter every time you look at it. You reach out to touch the frame, tracing the outline of his little face with your fingertip.

Sometimes, you wish you could experience what he was like at this time𑁋to grow up with him, to know what exactly led him to meeting you. But then again, he's already here with you now, and maybe that's all that matters.

"All ready for bed?" Joshua's voice popping in makes you swiftly place back the picture frame back on his desk. You turn around to see him leaning against the doorway with a soft smile playing on his lips, clad with a simple white t-shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants.

"Mhm," You hum out in response as you settle back under the covers of his bed.

It isn't the first night you've spent with him at his place, but you seem to seek the feeling of his comfort more often than sleeping in your own bed. Jeonghan has been kind of nagging you the two of you to move in together at this point, but that's a leap you're a bit hesitant to jump right now. But the drawer of your own clothes in his wardrobe is a bit of an argument that's hard to defend.

Joshua crawls his way into the spot right next to you, slipping under the duvet and wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you more into his embrace. You feel his breath meet the nape of your neck, warm and soothing against your skin, and your eyes flutter to the feeling.

You shift your position so that you're facing him. His eyes are already closed, lips pursed up slightly, and even then he still looks absolutely stunning. But you know he isn't asleep. Not yet, at least.

"My parents had uh... another argument today," You confess lowly, hesitantly.

Joshua's eyes open up slightly, adjusting his head so he can look at you better. A faint crease of concern appears between his brows, the arm around you tightening imperceptibly.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

You bite at your bottom lip anxiously. There are times you feel as if the only thing that could get you talking is always something revolving your parents, and you wonder if Joshua ever gets tired hearing about all of it. The thought courses insecurity to crawl in your veins, tightening your throat.

But Joshua's patient gaze towards you cuts through the uncertainty bubbling in your chest.

"Just same old, same old, you know?" You attempt to explain. "It just feels like they can't see eye-to-eye anymore. There's like... I don't know... nothing left between them, I guess. And it scares me that... it'll happen to us."

The last sentence suspends thickly into the air. Even then, you know it's more than the truth𑁋you've grown up witnessing and overhearing arguments from your parents that laid down this pessimistic view on the world around you.

You could feel your heart racing from all the anticipation. There's a wave of emotions that washes over Joshua's face, then he takes a deep breath and squeezes you tighter in his hold.

"Hey," he mutters. "Look at me."

You hesitantly meet his eyes.

"We're not like them, okay?" he assures you simply, bringing his hand up to cup your face oh-so gently in his hold. "We may argue sometimes. But the difference is, we communicate. We listen to each other. And we may not have all the answers to everything, but we'll figure it out together, alright?"

You swear you can feel the way he's holding your face also on your heart, like he's protecting you in a way from any doubts that might creep in. A small sigh escapes you, the tension leaving your shoulders as his words wrap around you comfortingly. The faintest, appreciative curve appears to your lips as you feel Joshua's thumb brush against your cheek.

He dreamily smiles at you as well, despite his face being half-buried in the pillow. And the thought of being able to wake up to this sight every single day suddenly feels a lot less like a leap and a whole lot more like a promise.

Somehow, the gap between the two of you disappears as your lips meets his. He kisses you so tenderly, mouth moving against yours with a delicate urgency, and the tiny sound that leaves you brings that smirk you could feel forming on his face.

You feel almost dizzy when you pull away, nothing but a shy look gracing over your features.

"Feeling better?" Joshua asks softly, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face.

You could only gaze at him, wondering to yourself how he's even in real, how someone like him could exist with his sleepy smile, messy hair, and perfect features carved by the angels above, yet cherish you so dearly.

"Can you..." Your eyes flicker from eyes to his lips. "Can you... keep kissing me?"

It feels really silly to ask that, however Joshua just chuckles, the sound rumbling from deep within his chest as he peers at you with nothing but adoration.

"Of course," he replies, leaning back in. "Whatever you want."

THREE. "braced myself for the goodbye, 'cause that's all I've ever known / then you took me by surprise / you said, 'I'll never leave you alone...'"

The tears streaming down your face burns through the concrete below like acid.

"Y/N, wait𑁋"

"I told you that I-I can't do this right now."

The leaves crunching at your feet echo in your ears as you walk away from Joshua, each step feeling heavier than the last. It's around two in the morning or something, and you can't remember the last time you felt this lost and broken ever since your parents' separation. It's like the ground beneath you has crumbled away, leaving you suspended in midair, grasping for something𑁋just anything𑁋to hold onto.

You've been here before, standing at the edge of this cliff of vulnerability. It's easier to leave before you get left, easier to build walls than to let someone in only to watch them walk away.

But you've come to understand that Joshua isn't one to give up easily. He catches up to you quickly, his hand gently grasping your arm to stop you in your tracks. You try to shrug him off, but his grip only tightens slightly as he turns you around to face him.

"Talk to me," he pleads insistently, and the subtle tremble to his voice has your chest clenching. "If you're just going to keep pushing me away, then𑁋"

"Then leave." The words leave you before you can stop them, fueled by the ache in your chest and the fear in your heart. "You don't have to stay with me when all I-I do is push you away. Don't you think you deserve someone better?"

Joshua's grip on your arm loosens at your words, but it doesn't fall. His eyes scan over your tear-stained face, the quiver to your lips, and all of it has you bracing yourself for the inevitable, final blow𑁋for him to turn and walk away like so many others before him.

But instead, he just steps closer to you.

"This isn't about me staying because I have to, Y/N," he explains. "It's about me wanting to stay because I love you. I knew what I was getting into the second I realised I was falling for you. So no, I'm not going to leave you. And I'll never leave you alone because I know you're worth fighting for."

Your breath catches in your throat, his words piercing through you like a bullet straight through the heart. Even Joshua appears out of breath himself, as if he's poured his own heart out to you in those few simple sentences. The silence stretches between the two of you.

With a quiet sigh and a faint smile, he lets the tension simmer down by trailing his eyes over you.

"When I look at you, I think... I think I fall in love with you all over again like the first time I saw you," Joshua admits shyly, followed by a sheepish chuckle to himself. "It's cheesy, I know. But I can't help it. It's hard not to look at you."

You feel the heat crawling up your face as you blink away your tears clumsily, peering up at him inquisitively. "Really?"

This just draws another laugh from him. Joshua steps closer to you, trailing a hand to cup your face and the other to slide to your back to shorten the gap between the two of you even more. He places a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment before he pulls back slightly to meet your gaze.

"Really," he confirms, voice gentle yet firm. "I meant every word I said, darling."

This brings a genuine smile to your face as if it was the first one that night. You instinctively lean more into Joshua's touch, letting your eyes close for a moment to the simple feeling of him holding you.

"I'm sorry," You mumble, voice barely above a whisper. "for pushing you away like that. It's just... I'm scared."

Joshua takes one of your hands into his own to bring up to his lips, pressing a reassuring kiss to your knuckles.

"It's okay," he assures you. "We can be scared together."

FOUR. "do you believe it? / we're gonna make it now / and i can see it / i can see it now."

A pair of arms snake around your waist from behind, the relaxing melody of a piano floating through the air of the kitchen. You take in a deep breath, leaning back into Joshua's embrace as he rests his chin on your shoulder.

"Smells amazing, honey," Joshua murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

You smile contentedly, feeling the peace of the moment wash over the two of you. The enticing smells of the pasta you were cooking waft around the kitchen, mingling with the scent of fresh herbs, garlic, and Joshua's presence right behind you.

"It should be ready soon," You say, clutching the wooden spoon in your hands to give the sauce a final stir.

Joshua's eyes arms tighten around you, pulling you even closer as he sways gently to the music. You hear the sounds of his hums hit your ears as you turn to the heat off to the stove. And as you attempt to pull away from him to grab for some plates, Joshua's grip on your waist hardly budges.

You groan exaggeratedly. "Shua, I need to𑁋"

"Marry me."

You freeze immediately, and you swear time halted right at that moment. Turning around in his hold, you're met with the sight of Joshua's eyes on you. You try to pinpoint any doubt in them, any sign that this is some sort of joke, but his gaze remains unwavering, dark eyes serious yet painted with a shine of hope that tugs right at the strings of your heart and the walls of your hesitation.

There's always that fear gnawing at in the back of your mind. But beneath it all, a warmth spreads through your chest, a certainty that feels as natural as breathing.

And perhaps, you see nothing but forever in him.

You can see it in the way his eyes soften, in the way his hand trembles anxiously against your waist, in the way his lips part ever so slightly as he waits for your response. You can see it all in him. You've made it.

You kiss him just seconds later. It's a question your heart has already answered long before the words left Joshua's lips. You lean more into his touch, feeling your heart overflow past the brink of joy, and the feelings all melt together into the singular realisation that he's the best thing that's ever been yours.

When the two of you finally break away, a single word escapes your lips, "Yes."

another note: sorry this ending was slightly rushed T-T

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ch3rryflav0ur · 26 days ago

Text

Just give me the worst and I give you the worst part of me.

Sunghoon is tired of you, tired of seeing you waste your feelings on assholes and be a whore to every man around you who pays you any attention, to everyone…except your friend's little brother.

N/A: I didn't know what titleput on this shot(?) hahah, so I started listening to my Spotify playlist and heard this song and boom SO JUST GIVE ME WORST, I GIVE YOU THE WORST PART OF ME (I love this song 😭💗)

Minors dni: if you like it, please reblog it or let me know in the comments

Pairing: MeanSunghoon! x afab reader

tw: unprotected sex, deepthroat, hate sex,kinda non-con lmao, younger brother´s friend, taesan fron bnd is a dick, wonbin from riize is a dick too, anal sex, choking,

"You should said hi to that girl at least" I told him appearing from behind making Sunghoon got scared at my voice while his eyes were laid on that pretty blonde girl from his window.

"stop doing that" He replied looking at me somewhat annoyed as if I had caught him doing something really bad.

"doing what?" I replied teasing him, my hands touching his cheeks like I used to do when he was little but he only pushed my hands away, I snorted.

"Don't you have to go suck any cock?" He told me smiling to the side

"Grow up!" I replied, rolling my eyes at his sarcastic comment. "Don't be a whore"

"Then stop bothering me" he replied, pushing me away gently "or at least help me" before letting go he grabbed my wrist "I want that girl to pay attention to me, you owe me one for that time when I covered for you when you ran away at night with that loser, my sister didn't know you miss half of her birthday just because you want it some dick"

"Hey! I told you that was a misunderstanding, I went with him to get her birthday cake" I defend myself. Did I fuck with him? Yes but did I also buy her birthday cake? also true. "I know your neighbor, she is kinda dumb" I replied sitting on his bed, adjusting my skirt, watching him try to decipher my words while I lay down on his bed not caring that my skirt may rolled up a lil bit showing some tan skin, since today i'm seeing Taesan later, I put some more coconut lotion on my body

"well she is like you then" He joked.

"Do you want her to like you or hate you?" I sighed. "His ex was Park Jongseong, such a cute loverboy" I looked at him "not like you"

"is that your type? he asked me "boring rich kids?"

"not even close" I replied.

Sunghoon thought about Jay Park and his huge list of lovers, he knew him from afar, they shared common friends but he wasn't the kind of person he wanted around him, he didn't like people who was too much kindly with everyone, something seems off about him.

"I am very romantic" he said slowly looking at that blondie, yeah she was hot.

"sure" I said sarcastically sitting up straight, resting my hands on the corner of his bed about to get up and leave.

Sunghoon approached the bed nonchalant in front of me, leaning slowly as my body involuntarily moved back, I swallowed hard, my eyes looking at his nervously but I quickly looked down when I felt his big hands pull a lil bit down my skirt, covering my thights "just because I've never been nice to you doesn't mean I'm not" his hands stayed on my thighs for a short period of time, I was about to stand up but his hands returned this time to each side of the resting on the mattress. "You would be surprised how good I am with sweet girls" His voice was deeper and he emphasized the sixth word.

"ew" I pushed him.

(...)

"is she your girlfriend?" One of the boys ask Taesan as he keep talking about his last hook up, sunghoon wanted to shut his mouth honestly, he was boring trying to kill some time as he smoke his fourth cigar not paying attention to the conversation.

"I'd never have a girlfriend like her" he said curtly, thinking about it "I just like the way she can let me beat up the real thing raw, just say a few nice things and she already bended over my dick"

It was all laughter until that idiot show up some photos that he took of her topless, big titties showing up.

"Isn't that...?" Jake said asking Sunghoon. "Nah, not cool bro" Jake said to Taesan "she's my friend"

"I fuck her last year" wonbin said as he look at the pictures on Taesan's phone. "I kinda missed those huge boobs tho...wait, Is that why you came later today than the others?"

"yeah, sorry men but I couldn't let that pussy go" Taesan said tipsy and most of the guys laught at his lame joke. Sunghoon really tried not to look at the damn phone, he really tried.

"Sunghoon where are you g-?"Jake asked.

Everyone started talking out over the photos while Sunghoon chung up on that shot of vodka, now already drunk enought (or he though) full of emotions that ran all over his body...envy, anger, rage, contempt, disgust...and all these emotions transformed into something impulsive when he saw himself punching the boy in the face without thinking twice, blood on his knuckles as taesan's nose was bleeding and a lot of questions were going through his head.

He didn't know why he had done it exactly, or so he wanted to believe as he thought about that stupid girl.

What Sunghoon didn't realize was when Taesan stood up and hit him back.

fuck, that hurts.

"what the fuck is your problem?" the bleeding boy said.

(...)

"fuck off" sunghoon sight looking at her in front of his door.

"I need your laptop, your sister took mine by accident and...

"Not my problem" He responded by trying to close the door in my face. "Why are you still here if she's not here? I see you more often than my sister in my own house." he sighed

"it's not my fault that you got a black eye and now you're in a bad mood" I whispered while the door was still half open about to return to his sister's room, but then I heard the sound of the shower, inside my head I thought it would be a good idea to borrow his computer, it would take less than ten minutes to look up information about the latest details of my homework.

With some fear I entered Sunghoon's room and observed my target on top of his desk, very sporty chic room, everything seems very tidy and clean.

Like him.

His laptop was almost closed, I opened it a little to realize what he was seeing, apparently Sunghoon likes shopping online, a lot of Sneakers, chains and rings and...another tab was open next to it, curiosity was stronger and I clicked on the new one, my eyes widened as I read the following titles searched on a porn site: gangbang, hardcore anal, creampie, hentai, latinas, deepthroat... all of them had the word non con in front of them and most of the videos were starring foreign women being penetrated strongly almost as if they were being raped, I felt the blood rise to my cheeks as I heard the woman moaning, begging to stop. It was actually a dark fantasy I thought I shared alone, but apparently I'm not the only one.

"what the fuck are you doing?" He slammed the lid of the laptop shut, his hands still had drops of water on them and I turned my face to see him with wet hair, no shirt and a towel around his waist in front of me, I sat up straight and swallowed hard as I noticed his brow furrow, clearly annoyed at seeing me touching his things. "You're a fucking pain, you know?" His voice was thick, the only time I'd seen him angry was on New Years when he had a fight with Taesan for letting me drink so much, well and last week when he showed up at the front door with a bloody nose and a swollen eye, he wouldn't tell us what happened and his sister and I cleaned his wounds before his parents came.

"Everyone watch porn, it's normal-

"It's not that and you know it fucking well" His tone of voice was manly, I noticed how the drops of water were still sliding down his abdomen, Sunghoon deep down scared me a little bit, we never had much of a relationship, he doesn't make any effort to talk to me, to get to know me, he avoided me or even talking to me at university.

"I'm sorry ,I didn't mean to look" I tried to justify myself and he just let out a mocking laugh, running his hands through his hair.

"shut up" His hands grabbed my wrists violently causing me to lose my balance, falling to the ground on my knees, I complained out loud, he sat on his bed, legs spread out, his hands still gripping me, pulling me roughly closer. "If you're going to open your pretty mouth to apologize, you might as well use it to suck my dick" His other hand grabbed the part where the towel was attached to his waist "wanna hear how fucking stupid you sound gagging around my cook" He pulled the towel aside, revealing his cock in front of my face, I gulped as he touched himself while looking at me in that state. "it's not my fault that you got a black eye and now you're in a bad mood" He said imitating my tone of voice in a mocking way and I froze, his hand leave my wrist to grab my hair bringing my face closer to his throbbing cock, feeling him hitting me with it in a vulgar way, it was humiliating but at the same time I felt an unbearable heat underneath. My lips brushed the head and I must be out my mind cause I began to lick it, wrapping my plump lips around it slowly "is this how you suck Taesan off?" I didn't have time to respond when both off his hands pushed my head, making me gag against his dick, taking my breath away with his movements, grotesque sounds were heard, I closed my eyes squeezing them tightly noticing how tears were appearing at the edge of my eyes, I hit his thighs looking for some reaction, desperate for air, his hands pulled me away from his member and I took a deep breath.

"I can't Breath-" I tried to talk while holding onto his thighs, he just smiled, enjoying seeing me like that, with saliva dripping down my chin, messy hair and watering eyes.

He caressed my cheek, patting me, fucking my throat raw again, repetitive movements faster and faster, hearing how his breathing was thicker and his moans were loud, he was a vocal man. "I need to fuck you right now" He said through his teeth, letting go of me, I could grab my things and leave, but reality hit me when he throw me to his bed. "Take off your shirt, let me see those tits" I embarrassedly took off the black jersey I was wearing, revealing that I wasn't wearing a bra, his hands kneaded both, put them together, played with them in the most shameless way "Wonbin was right" he mumble while his fingers squeezed my nipples hard.

"It hur-" I bite my lips.

"Fuck, I can't wait to see them bouncing on my face" He said letting them adjust to their original form. His hands went straight to my underwear, desperate to tear off that piece of fabric, and in the blink of an eye my panties were on the floor, his arms spread my legs widely, revealing my cunt, dessert for him.

He brought his body closer almost automatically, my hands were shaking, maybe if I kicked him or punch him he stop. I tried to lift my leg a little higher, but his arm just held it tight. "Stay still"

He handled my body as he wanted, he took his member and positioned it entering with a thrust, I wanted to scream in pain but his hands covered my mouth, his movements were abrupt, with each thrust I felt my tits move to the rhythm of his penetrations, It hurt so much every time he was so deep inside me. "Stop It h-hurts" I tried to talk to him, he laughed and continued moving inside me while I felt one of his fingers trying to get into my ass "What are you doi- no no" I tried to pull his hand away but he was so much stronger.

"Keep complaining and you'll only make me cum faster" He said inches from my face, eyes killing me, I felt him insert his index finger from behind, it was a strange, unknown sensation, I was uncomfortably horny. "You fuck those idiots and you're still so tight" I know exactly who he was referring to but the size of his cock inside me had me completely blinded, so much so that I didn't feel a second finger being inserted into my ass, I complained loudly almost crying . "Since you checked my porn history I guess you know I love fucking dumb whores like you, right?" His thrusts were faster, he was aggressively abusing my pussy, his hand was still covering me while the other removed his fingers from my butt. In one movement he takes my hips and with an inhuman rhythm he puts me on top of him "Ride me like you mean it"

I moaned pathetically loudly as I felt the new position, it was deeper, I felt him even deeper, inside my guts almost, his hands were still glued to my hips waiting for some reaction. I moved my hips, letting my hands rest on his chest, bouncing against his crotch in an almost possessed way, his hands helping guiding me, he turned me around, my feet were now resting on his knees, I was tired. He held me with both arms, holding me tight, feeling his balls hitting my clitoris with each thrust, Sunghoon at this point looked like a bull with so much stamina built up, most of the guys I were with didn't last even half as long, instead there was Sunghoon fucking me like an animal in heat.

"Ah-hmh! harder!" I moaned feeling dirty as my back was against his chest, his hands grabbed my waist and pushed me to the bed, his body still attached to mine crushing me, unbridled force made my entire body tremble, his hands found their way to my neck and squeezing lightly I burst into tears while I came strongly, creaming his fat cock, I felt Sunghoon talking to me but honestly I was too busy thinking about nothing, mind blank and throbbing wet pussy around cock.

"I knew you like it hard" he whimper slowing down the pace of his thrusts, almost stopping. His fingers caressed my ass, opening it while he continued pushing his body against mine now painfully slowly, he grabbed my hands and made me keep my buttocks open, took his cock out of me, I felt empty. "now comes my favorite part" he licked his lips "keep them open babe or I will make you cry" he took his hard wet cock covered in my juices and brought it to the rim of my ass, it scared me "did they make you cum too?" he ask moaning as he put his tip in the hole, exerting pressure, feeling how my butt slowly sucked his mushroom tip,

"No-t-they dont!" I answered being honest, no guy had bothered to read my body in bed, what I liked or made me horny, everyone always messed with me, lasted at most fifteen minutes and then they started checking their phone while lying down my side showing me some lame stupid tiktoks. "Oh my God!" I squeezed the flesh of my ass, closed my legs squeezing my thighs, muffling a scream against the sheets. It burns. Eyes wide open as I can feel how my ass was stretched by his big cook, feeling him smirking behind me, enjoying my whimpers. He sank half of his length into me, my nails dug into my flesh as I heard him moan, his movements were slow for thirty seconds, then he didn't care about my sobs. "slow-d-down h-hoon!"

Sunghoon was blinded by the way your ass sucked his cock every time he rammed you against his duvet, waiting for you to take your face out of his pillow, but when he saw that you didn't, all he had to do was pull your hair to hear you moan like the whore everyone he knew said you were. "Do you also let everyone fuck your ass or have I been the privileged one?" you felt it so deep inside, pumping your insides, transforming pain into pure pleasure, one you never thought you would like.

"N-no-o-only you!" I sobbed, noticing that hot sensation again, not being able to take it anymore, I released my hands from my butt to support myself better on the bed, my moans and the collision between his pelvis and my butt could be heard throughout his bedroom. "fuck me-fu-cking harder hoon!"

"who is better?" a thrust "me or that loser?" He asked me between moans

"you are so-so much better-than-them!" That fucking psycho smiles proud at himself as his movements did not stop at all, spanking me with each thrust, every time I felt the burning I squeezed something that I could not feel, he was edging me, making my butt move alone against him, seeming desperate for his cum.

And I was.

"keep bouncing that ass and I will give you my babies" He said between his teeth, although he very well knew that he was about to finish, he was full of it even in these moments. It didn't take long for him to slamming me down, given me a few last thrusts before he sank into me completely. I moaned his name so many times and in so many ways that later I would be embarrassed to see his face. The sensation was very overwhelming, heavy, thick, hot, slippery between my buttocks.

"fuck, look at you" Sunghoon said admiring me from above.

Ruined.

I was shaking between his sheets with heavy breathing trying to compose myself, after he came inside my ass I felt the bed lighten so I assumed he got out of bed, I tried to get up but I felt something wet between my legs, a towel.

"you bleed a little" he clean me with that wet towel feeling guilty, I avoided looking at him, letting him do something at least and then starting to get dressed.

"my skirt is stained" I complained in silence while I was dressing "I'm not going to go out like that, leave me some pants" I said, opening his closet, taking some black pants and locking myself in the bathroom.

I wiped my face thinking about how all this had happened, how I had just been fucked by Sunghoon. I tried to calm myself wiping off my make up with some water and hiding my body with his big clothes.

knock knock knock

I didn't response as if sunghoon obviously didn't know that I was in his bathroom keeping silent waiting for maybe he would leave.

wrong

"Why do you let these guys do whatever they want with you?" I heard him through the door. "You could do better, but you end up dating only assholes"

"What do you mean?" i asked back

"people talk, you know?" He replaid me "You look pretty sucking dick tho" He whispered "Use your pretty head and think" I grabbed the door handle opening it with the intention of starting a fight, the last thing I wanted at this moment was to have this type of conversation with him.

Sunghoon was leaning against the wall next to the door, he had also dressed up and looked annoyingly nice. "How can you trust someone like him?" he asked me again, looking into my eyes, trying to order his words, opening and closing his mouth wanting to say something.

"what are you talking abo-

"when you have me".

#enhypen hard hours #enhypen smut #taesan smut #sunghoonsmut #enhypen heeseung #enhypen heeseung smut #enhypen sunghoon #Spotify

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anthonys237thfreckle · 3 months ago

Text

‘Promise’ - Javier ‘Javi’ x Kate Carter & F! reader (angst!)

someone asked for a part two and I realized how good of an idea that was lmao. I need indirect ways to incorporate my past experiences into my fics anyway.

part one

prompt: you made a promise to distance yourself from Javi and Kate

TW: mentions of smoking, some detailed mention of self harm, suicidal thoughts, mentions of nausea, disordered eating, breakdowns, smoking, angst :(

Do NOT proceed if the triggers mentioned above upset you greatly. You have been warned.

I made a promise

To distance myself

Once Tyler dropped you off to the train station, you smiled and waved until you couldn’t see his truck anymore. You wanted to hang onto any last string of familiarity for as long as you could.

Especially since your life would change completely - for better or worse.

You took a deep breath, closing your eyes for a moment, trying to calm down your trembling body.

5, 4, 3, 2, 1.

5 things you see - the train station, the crumbling yellow bricks, the jolly red-white-blue american flag, your luggage, and the people. Lots of people.

4 things you hear - the people, obviously, the cicadas crying, the heavy bell ringing inside, the honking of cars for you to get out of their way.

3 things you smell - the heat - somehow, the smell of smoke from cars, and the thick air.

2 things you feel - terrified. hurt.

1 thing you taste - bitterness.

Shaking your head, you take another deep breath. Eyes dead set on the mission in front of you, you marched into the train station, bought a ticket to Oklahoma City, and settled down inside.

But now was the hardest part; waiting. What made it harder was you didn’t want to think about anything that happened yesterday. So, putting your headphones on, you made a playlist with none of the songs that reminded you of Javi or any of the ones he recommended to you. Essentially, you just listened to 3 songs in total, over and over again, but the knowledge you knew what was coming next was comforting, something you couldn’t apply to your current situation.

Took a flight, through aurora skies

Honestly, I didn't think about

How we didn't say goodbye

Just see you very soon

You woke up when the train jolted to a stop - you had fallen asleep, waking up to hear the opening notes of some song you were listening to earlier. Looking out the window, you reached Oklahoma City. With a sigh of relief and trepidation, you got your bags and headed out of the station, hailed a taxi to the airport. Booking a last minute flight back home to LA, you made your way to the gate. Setting your bag down, you sat in a char near the huge windows. Deciding it wasn’t close enough, you sat on the little raised platform attached to the window and leaned your head against it like you saw so many children do.

The boarding call was announced, and everyone sat up groggily. It all went by pretty quickly. Standing in line, getting your boarding pass stamped and your passport checked, finding you seat, putting your bag away and sitting down. Taxi and take off was a blur; luckily you got a window seat, and stared out at the pink clouds, tinted by the setting sun, a peach tone.

Peachy, just like your favourite pie.

You groaned, covering your eyes and rubbing them as your mind started to think about Oklahoma. About Javi, and the last time he saw you. And the last thing he said to you. It wasn’t even a proper goodbye, but you couldn’t blame him because he didn’t know it was goodbye.

And honestly, neither did you.

But you made yourself a promise - to distance yourself.

Those last words of his echoed in your mind.

“I- Okay, alright. Take care, (Y/N)”

It hurts to be something

It's worse to be nothing with you

You half expected a text from Javi - it had been around 24 hours since you last saw him. Since you told him you had a ‘family emergency’ to take care of. Who wouldn’t expect a little ‘you doing okay?’ or ‘safe travels’ when someone saw you break down in the middle of a field, distressed as hell? Sure, you and Javi weren’t dating, sure you both drifted apart ever since Kate got closer with him instead, but were you two not even friends anymore?

Did you mean nothing to him?

This wasn’t the first time he ghosted you - after the EF5 tornado, he didn’t say a word to you. But it was understandable why - everyone was hurting, and maybe he couldn’t bring himself to talk to you. In Oklahoma, the only times he’d talk to you is when you started a conversation, otherwise you could sit silently and he’d happily talk with Kate, leaving you be. It was never him starting anything.

And Kate. Did she figure out you liked Javi? Is that why she didn’t text you? Did she feel guilty? Part of you wanted her to feel guilty, but the other part of you didn’t want to be pitied. Part of you wanted to go back, but this - this was best for you right now. Nobody could tell you otherwise.

Instead, you got a text from Tyler.

‘hey there cowgirl - how you getting along?’

You chuckled - ‘cowgirl’ was probably the worst way to describe yourself. Instead, you typed down a response, your heart a little less heavy.

‘hey, Tyler. thanks for asking. means a lot’

He was typing, the three dots appearing on screen

‘of course. lemme know if you need anything at all okay? stay safe out there’

You sent him an affirmative text, thankful to actually have a friend who cared enough to check in on you, helping you out without questioning anything, having only known you for a week.

So I didn't call you

For sixteen long days

You found comfort in some form of familiarity in your life; back home in LA, everything looked duller, more still. Like the whole world knew about your heartbreak and was mourning, or mocking you. You tried to plunge into work, distracting yourself but sometimes, you’d just stare at your work, screen or paper, and just zone out. Your was brain still trying to process everything, and you were losing a lot over it - sleep, peace, overall joy, your will to wake up, and more.

It felt like after the EF5 tornado but worse because you knew somewhere in Oklahoma, Kate was with Javi, both of them happier than ever. It felt worse because you could never have him anymore. He was gone. And someone got to see him every day, sometimes wake up next to him, sometimes stay up all night with him. You felt like you were gonna be sick.

For a fortnight, all you could eat was cheese, bread, and grapes. It was the only thing you could keep down.

It was so hard not to text Javi. After you had just left, it’s like you were isolated for 5 years, given a taste of him, then forcing yourself to stay away. It was something you chose to do, not something you were forced to live with.

But you won’t call him. No matter how long the days felt they were dragging by.

And I should get a cigarette

For so much restraint

Walking by a drugstore to entertain yourself, you entered the establishment with an electronic ding notifying your presence. Strolling through the ailes, you picked up Sourhead Extremes (so in case you wanted to call Javi, you’d have to go through a gustatory agony first) and some nail polish, just to look pretty. Walking to the cashier, you mindlessly threw in a pack of cigarettes onto the counter, before putting them back in a jerky motion.

“What the hell…” you murmured to yourself, ashamed of what you were about to do. Buy cigarettes - to smoke.

Walking out of the store briskly, you speed-walked home; chiding yourself for almost ‘rewarding’ your no contact mission by smoking, you realized how truly pathetic you were.

“God, what is wrong with me…” you muttered, keeping your head down, watching the wet streets reflect the light of the sun and your dark sorrow.

No matter how long I resist temptation

I will always lose,

Eventually you did buy the cigarettes. You went home, lounging in your bed, a pretty china plate acting like an ashtray for you. Legs up in the air, swinging occasionally, eyes half lidded from the light high, you felt the chalky smoke fill your lungs, watching it come out in little clouds of grey air.

You felt in control for the first time since leaving Oklahoma - the cigarette sitting pretty between your red tinted fingers and lips. You smiled softly, satisfied by finally scoring a small win. You didn’t tell Tyler that you smoked. He’d say it’s a horrible habit you should give up.

Obviously it was more of a lose - giving into an impulse, and now you were at risk of falling deeper into addiction. You weren’t in control, you never really were.

But why would you make yourself feel worse when you were on the literal brink of crumbling?

Although, you didn’t get addicted. After the high wore off, you felt disgusted, throwing out the pack of almost full cigarettes. You wouldn’t tell Tyler, of course.

It hurts to be something

It’s worse to be nothing with you

Two weeks went by, and though you pretended everything was okay, it really wasn’t. You didn’t know if you missed Javi or not, but you really didn’t want to.

You don’t know if you want to see the face you loved so much, the face that lights up when he sees Kate, the face that Kate holds, kisses, caresses.. the face that she admires alongside you.

You wanted to get over him, you really did, but you cared so much about him. You didn’t want to stop caring about him, when loving him felt so… lovely.

But it hurt so much.

You barely got any sleep this past fortnight. Having a reverie about the man who daydreamed about another woman. The things you wished he did to you, he did to Kate. He was hers. So assured, so confident. No doubt in that.

For a fortnight, there you were, stripped of any text backs from him.

You were starting to think you just wanted his attention, which you dont know if you wanted anymore, knowing his attention belonged to Kate. Why would you care so much about him texting you?

But then again, weren’t you two friends?

I’ve done the math

There’s no solution

We’ll never last

Why can’t I let go of this?

Right now, you, broken, needed comfort. May it be fake hope again. Nobody was there to stop you anyway, so in your free time, you started to think of the ways Kate and Javi would have problems with each other.

‘She’s too arrogant sometimes, and he’s really down to earth’

‘She can’t communicate her feelings!’

‘Kate’s one to settle, Javi isn’t’

Of course, you knew it was wrong. Of course it was a bitchy thing to think. But who were you to care right now?

You were hurt, and you needed to feel better to even try and start to get a grip on reality. you didn’t want to rip of the band aid yet.

Not yet.

Even worse, your mind started thinking of ways you and Javi could get together; Kate could leave him in the dark again, she could get into a fight with him…

But nothing made sense - she wouldn’t leave when she looked at him that way… and any fights would be cleared quickly with Javi’s forgiving nature.

He would do anything for her.

All in all, you realized how shitty you were being, and texted Tyler, saying you couldn’t hide from Javi - couldn’t hide from the pain that haunted you. The bright lights of LA looked dull. The sun felt like a false light.

Your world was falling apart, how could the sun be shining when your world was falling apart?

‘Just walk around. Wear something that makes you feel good. Grab some good lunch downtown. Spoil yourself. Act like a damn tourist, I don’t care. Just do anything that reminds you that there’s more to life than Javi’ he wrote.

So I broke my promise

I called you last night

I shouldn’t have, I wouldn’t have

If it weren’t for the sight of a boy who

Looked just like you standing out on Melrose Avenue…

It hurts to be something

It’s worse to be nothing, with you.

Three days later, you sat on the roof of a building. The sun was setting, you looked at the streets below. People were walking - their dogs, their toddlers, and whatnot.

You were so disappointed with yourself. Closing your eyes, you thought back to everything that happened yesterday.

Following Tyler’s advice, you woke up ready to face the day.

Waking up bright and early, you went for a run, saw some pretty things on the way. You found it insane how easy it was to overlook the small things in life.

Coming home, you made breakfast; oatmeal with bananas, almond butter and chocolate chips. You savoured every bite with a smile.

You hopped into the shower, using your favourite body wash. Putting on an outfit, doing your hair and makeup, slipping on your shoes, you left the house, ready to explore the city…

All was going well until sunset.

—

You were walking along the streets of LA, acting like you’d never seen anything like it before. A coffee in hand, you walked confidently down the path, turning a corner to browse a bookstore on Melrose Avenue, when someone caught your eye.

A boy, waiting for the light signal to turn green, who looked exactly like Javi.

You froze.

Suddenly, you didn’t want coffee any more. You didn’t want anything right now but to go home.

—

You rushed home, trying so hard to control your breathing, then stumbling desperately to your room. As soon as your face crashed against the pillows, the soft, gentle fabric a perfect medium to absorb the tears now flowing down your face. You sobbed, curled into a still-bedazzled ball on your bed, hugging yourself, contracting into a fibonacci.

Reaching for your purse, you pulled out your phone, scrolling through your contacts. Through the wet and blurry lens of your tears, you scrolled into the alphabet until you reached the ‘J’ section. The first name was Javi.

Pressing on his name, then the ‘call’ button, you held it to your ear, taking shuddering breaths as you tried calming yourself down. The your phone cooed like a pigeon, signalling his phone, somewhere in Oklahoma, was ringing.

You were clean. Clean for a little over 2 weeks. Clean from his voice ringing in your ears, new words exchanged and whatnot.

But as you held your phone in your hand, crying, watching it reach Javi’s phone, waiting for him to answer, it all felt like a relapse.

Like the feeling of the cool blade on your skin, slicing through, leaving an angry red river in its wake.

The sick, high feeling you get from it - the ecstasy, watching you destroy yourself, finding beauty in the rubble.

Some part of you, the logical part of you was screaming to press the red button. To leave Javi alone. It wasn’t fair for you to reach out first, right? Why would you make a fool out of yourself by calling him? You’re not that desperate for him, are you?

But the hurt, emotional, desperate part of you didn’t, daring him to answer. Just to remind him of your existence. Just this once.

Still fighting the internal battle, you delved deeper into why he didn’t call you yet.

Did Kate tell him everything? Did she finally find out? Did she realize at all about how hurt you were?

The anger only just started to hit you, claiming your brain as a new population to be corrupted, a new host for the parasite, a new fruit to rot.

You were mad. You didn’t know at who. But you decided you were mad at Kate. For dating him. You knew it was wrong to be mad, because you had no claim over Javi, but you were too deep into your anger to actually think of a better way to cope. Suddenly, you were so mad at Kate. So, so mad. Part of you wanted to tear your house down, scream like a mad woman, but you didn’t. Your dwindling self control kept you in check.

Then came the sadness. You were so mad at Kate, but she was so happy right now. She didn’t care or know how your felt right now. how hurt you felt right now. She had Javi. Her Javi. And they were both happy - oh so happy, oh so blissfully unaware of how you felt right now.

They were happy - they were perfectly fine without you. Because they didn’t need you as a friend, not like they did in college - maybe they didn’t back then either, because they had each other. That’s all they needed. Each other was all they needed.

You were so deep into the crevices of your mind, drowning in both pain and relief, you almost didn’t hear your name drenched in Javi’s voice coming from the speaker.

‘[name]?’

—

follow + stay tuned for part three!!

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carmenized-onions · 6 months ago

Text

The Other Shoe | Consultation

logline; old wounds tend not to heal, if you don't let them. but, there is hot chocolate, and love. so perhaps that's enough.

[!!!] series history, this is the seventh; First, Second, Third, Fourth, Fifth, Sixth

Spotify Playlist, if you like to listen while you read. I listen to it when I write :) Constantly gettin’ added to. Finally got Hozier on here. Don't know how that took me so long.

portion; 3.1k

possible allergies; two absolutely garbage mental states of people who are NOT over Mikey or the way they've been treated. Bunch of self-loathin, the whole lot.

pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader (no pronouns!)

Took me a minute, new jobs goin' well though!! This one took a lot of stewing, lmao. Lot of staring and thinking. We'll talk after, but SO many alterations were made lmao.

It has been three weeks since you met Carmen in a freezer.

Six days since you were at his apartment. Ish.

Roughly forty-three weeks since the worst day of your life. Doesn’t feel like it.

In five days, you’ll have the second— Well, maybe third or fourth, worst day of your life.

But today is Monday, and you don’t know what’s coming yet.

It’s just after one in the morning, and you wake up to a phone call. Carmy. Yes, do not disturb was on. Yes, you’d set him on priority access— Which most people would find very cute and intimate, and it is— But he’s not the only one. It’s not a limited feature for people you want to kiss. There’s Syd, Richie, …Mikey…

Cause when is the right time to delete a dead friend’s contact info? It’s not right now. You know it’s not right now. And it probably won’t be tomorrow, either.

Phone call. You’re getting a phone call.

“Carm?”

“…”

You stir a little, bit, when there’s no reply, brain dehazing. “Carmy? Everything okay?”

You hear the beep of the phone call being ended. No way he butt-dialed you, right? You’re awake. You’re so awake. This feels all too familiar, and that's not a good thing. You immediately open your phone to text him, by the time you get to his contact, he’s already texted you. Actively texting you, in a rapid, manic succession.

‘fuck’

‘sorry’

‘you were supposed to be asleep’

Hm.

‘talking to a person hard right now?’

‘yes’

‘you’re so smart.’

‘easier to talk to robot you.’

‘wowwww’

It’s hard to write funny, right now. It’s hard to act like yourself, right now. You’re not sure how you’re doing it.

‘not what I meant’

‘I know. You’re you.’

‘you wanna send a voice message maybe?’

‘it’s fine. I’ll text.’

You give him time, you expect a paragraph since he’s taking so long, but instead you get,

‘can’t.’

‘carmen.’

‘I like you so much.’ Oh be still your stupid heart.

‘feeling is mutual.’

‘I can’t make my problems the only reason I talk to you’

Is that true? Fuck, that's kind of true, isn't it? But there's the puzzles! And there's been phone calls!

‘You talk to me for other reasons’

‘yeah. But it’s mostly problems’

‘with me.’

‘eh. Not really. Walk-in was you, toilet was Mikey, Nat had a baby, I’d consider the oven a shared problem of you and Syd’

‘oven was my fault’

He types for even longer this time. It’s hard not to interrupt him. When you start to type, he sends.

‘can I come over?’

‘I know it’s late’

‘I’ll come pick you up.’

‘no’

‘I’ll walk. I’ll be there in 20.’

‘it’s not a problem to pick you up.’ It's a problem if he doesn't let you pick him up.

‘I know.’

‘promise I just wanna walk. Get air.’

God, why are your fucking hands shaking he just wants to walk. He just wants to walk. Why can’t you bring yourself to believe people when they say that anymore?

Everything’s normal. It’s been a good six days for Carm, you know that it’s been a good six days. Everything's normal. You’ve kept a puzzle streak every morning, you’ve called him some nights, he’s called you some nights. He’s had a good week. He told you so. Everything's normal. You’ve vaguely flirted in that extremely sexual yet completely nonsensical way new situationships do, via text. People don’t do that when they’re on the brink of death, right? Everything's normal. Stop playing with your pendant. Relax. Put a shirt on. Stop being so fucking paranoid. Stop typing—!

‘can you do me a favour’

‘anything’

‘can you turn your location on for me’

‘not to be invasive. You can turn it off when you get here, I—’

Before you can even finish typing your explanation, let alone send it, he sends his location, trackable. He’s already walking.

‘be there in 18.’

You watch, with bated breath, his little contact photo bubble marching across Chicago to you. You make yourself mildly presentable and make hot chocolate on the stove—Gotta use milk, for Carmen— For when he comes to you, out of the cold. Because he’s going to come to you. He’s gonna be here. He’s gonna be here. You know that because you’ve been keeping your phone screen open and only look away to ensure you don’t pour milk on your stovetop and to blink.

He's here in eighteen minutes. You think if you had a stop watch going on, it’d be down to the millisecond. You open the door for him, before he can even knock. You watched his bubble walk up to your door. No point in waiting. You need to see him.

He’s breathing heavy. Held tight in his fist is a bundle of flowers— Importantly, not a bouquet, a bundle of flowers—Like, roots still on a few, visibly yanked out of the ground. Though seemingly from different gardens, since there's quite a variety. He looks at you, then down at the flowers, then back to you.

“I— I stole these.”

“Had a feeling.” You wave your hand for him to come inside, he does. “Are you okay?”

His steps falter, he seems downtrodden. You take the flowers, and then take his hand. He hesitates to speak, but he’s really trying to say fucking something. You squeeze his hand, it seems to help.

“I—” He swallows the spit caught in his throat. “I didn’t know— I— No. No, I did know— I knew the one place I had to come was, here. Had to go somewhere.”

You nod, you look over him. Silently doing a wellness check. You’re panicked. You’re so panicked. But he can’t know that. This is about him. You’re the one that takes care of people. He’s clean. He smells like Old Spice and you. He’s a little cold from the walk, he didn’t wear a jacket, but he’s warming up fast. He looks tired but not exhausted, which, for Carmy, is kind of as good as you’re going to get. He didn’t have the energy for a phone call, but he had the energy to come over and talk to your face; his social battery is wonky, but that’ll fix with time here. Is he hungry? That’s hard to tell on looks alone.

“You wanna talk about it, Bear?”

He nods, head down. Can’t look at you. You gently pull at his hand for him to follow you into the kitchen. “Made hot chocolate. You a marshmallow or whipped cream guy?”

His eyes are glassy, and his mood itself doesn’t change, but he does swiftly lift his head up to look at you with an incredulous, curious half smile. “You don’t do both?”

“I find it gets a lil’ busy. But I like the tiny marshmallows that come with the mix with whipped cream—”

“You gotta do actual cocoa.”

You roll your eyes. “I don’t like my hot chocolate to actually be rich. I want sweet.”

“You’re breaking my heart.”

“Good thing I’m a repairman, then.” You deadpan. He does actually seem to glow a little bit, at that. You repeat, hand full of flowers resting on your hip. “So both?”

“Both.”

He calms you down so easily, even when really, he was the oncoming stress— Or rather, your perceptions. He clears static for you, without effort. You nod, letting go of his hand— Slowly, withdrawing, like a silent promise that you will be back. You grab a paper towel and wrap the flowers in them, setting them down on the counter. You’ll plant them later. Honestly, kind of a better gift for you and your green thumb than a bouquet would be.

You turn to your oven to stir the pot of hot chocolate— Can’t have any fuckin’ clumps for Mr Michelin over here. Speaking of Michelin, he sidles up behind you and puts his head on your shoulder, hands hovering as if he’s going to hug your waist but simply cannot bring himself to.

He mumbles into your shoulder. “I lit my oven on fire.”

Ah. The oven was his fault. That's what he meant. When you pause and try to turn, that’s when he hugs you, holding you in place. “Please don’t look ‘t me.”

You take a deep breath, and continue to stir the pot. “Okay. I’m listening, not looking.”

“I did— I did it in my sleep. Not the first time. I think, I think they’re night terrors? But I don’t, don’t scream or nothin’— I don’t say shit actually. I don’t think.”

God, he’s insecure, even now, about how crazy you’ll think he is. Like telling your therapist everything that’s wrong with you except for the stuff that they might hospitalize you for. God, does he treat you like a fucking therapist? He’s awful. He’s awful for you. He’s awful for anyone. It doesn’t matter that you’re different— The common denominator is him. He’s a fucking piece of shit—

“I wake up screaming sometimes.” You reply, so softly. You feel his short nails dig into your sides just slightly for a second as he remembers where he is. He’s over your shoulder. No one’s over his. “Happens to the worst of us.”

You grab two mugs from the cupboard— Reaching with the arm he’s not leaning on. “Did you put it out or should I be calling my former C-F-D crew?”

“I put it out.” He notes your mugs. They’re mismatching. One is definitely handmade with messy floral patterns, the other a tourist trap Chicago mug. They’re perfect. “I—I was cooking something, in my sleep— And then— Then the fire starts.”

You ladle the hot chocolate into the mugs— Usually you’d just pour it straight but you don’t want Carmen to watch you inevitably spill half of it on your counters. You nod, “Do you dream that you’re cooking?”

“K-Kinda? I’m not cooking, I’m the Head, the expediter— And, and my Exec is over my fucking shoulder and he’s— Just in my head.” He swallows, thinking of how to explain without explaining. “And then I wake up, and there’s a fire, and I watch it grow, and I think about what it would mean if I just let it, and how I’d want it to.”

“And then you put it out?”

“And then I put it out.”

“Do you wish you didn’t?”

“I don’t know. And it’s fucking with me. ‘Cause— ‘Cause things are really good right now.” You tense under him, and he knows it’s because you don’t believe him. “They are, they really really are. Sug bein’ away is… not easy, but, it’s, it’s okay—”

“Carm.” Your tone is so accusatory.

“It’s the same nightmare it used to be.” He doesn’t hesitate to correct as soon as you question it. He cannot lie to you. For one, you see right through him. For two, it’s you. You’d rather know he’s insane. For some reason. “It’s been hard. I— I know fuck all, about business, and, and we can’t afford to hire a fuckin’ replacement right now because we owe so much fucking money or the whole thing caves— But it’s— It’s been good.”

You grab a handful of mini marshmallows, splitting them between the two mugs. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He nods into your shoulder. “Everyone is… happy, right now. It’s not always fuckin’ breezy but— Everyone’s, everyone’s okay. And I have somethin’ I can actually be proud of, right now. And I have— I — You’re around. N’ that, that has been good. For everyone.”

You hum. Heart full, at that. You awkwardly shift to your fridge, waddling like a penguin instead of turning, as not to disturb Carmen, he chuckles against your shoulder. “You can tell me to fuck off, y’know.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want you to.” You hug his arm to you. This makes him squeeze just a little tighter. You pull out a half-empty can of Reddi-Wip, shaking it violently, as instructed. “Say when.”

You hover the can over the tourist mug, he shakes his head. “Other one.”

He wants the handmade one. Your fingerprints are grooved into the handle. You ignore how insane this makes you feel, and spray whipped cream into the handmade mug. You’re waiting for him to say when.

It’s getting to a concerningly tall pile, at this point. You feel him swallow. He finally says the quiet thought out loud.

“I think I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. Even in my sleep, I know it’s coming.”

You nod, you stop spraying. You think on it for a beat. You opt to be honest. “I am, too.” You nod. “I am, too.”

“What’d’you think it’s gonna be?”

You feel your neck flare red and hot, guilty. Horrifically guilty. Lifesaver. You spray whipped cream into your own mug. You don’t really want both whipped cream and marshmallows, but it’s a good way to disguise how shaky your hands are. You take a deep breath.

“Think you’re gonna realize I’m not as good as you think I am.”

He kind of, tugs at you, pulling you closer to him, as if to rebuke thee. “You’re very good, Tony.”

You just hum in reply, once again, the pile of whip cream grows— It sputters, and basically nothing is coming out, but you can’t bring yourself to move, so it continues to struggle. He lets you do this, for a moment, before softly, questioningly speaking your name.

You just hum, again. Everything’s fine. Everything’s normal. This isn’t even about you, this is about him. “I’m good.”

“You are.” He declares, like it’s law. He grabs the empty can from you hand and puts it on the counter, then turns you around to face him. You keep your head down, there’s every chance you throw up and die if you— “Look at me.”

“I know—” He does not give you the chance to excuse yourself, he grabs your chin, softly, but still, forces you to look at him.

“You’re very good.” Too much eye contact. Too close. Too sincere. Too much— “Too good, too good for anyone.”

Too good for him. You, of course, don’t think that. But that’s exactly why you’re too good. “I’m not gonna change my mind ‘bout that.”

“…Hope so.”

Carmen can see it, now. The way your jaw clenches, how you’re looking past him, not at him. The way you mirror how he imagines he looked in the walk-in, to you. He decides to take a page out of your book, and hugs you close. “Know so.”

Your chin hooks over his shoulder. You stare down the hall of your apartment, brain somewhere else. He stares over your shoulder at the hot chocolates, whipped cream slowly melting and overflowing onto the counters.

“You wanna talk about it?” He asks, and you can’t help but smile at the ridiculousness of it.

“I—It’s not—This about you, not me—”

“It’s both. It can be both.” The shared burden.

You sigh, putting your arms around his shoulders. “…I’ll talk about it eventually, I promise. Just not… Ready—Right now.” You’re not ready to risk him no longer liking you. You need a little more time to be selfishly avoidant. “Eventually, though.”

He nods. He gets it. He does it.

“How do you think the other shoe’s gonna drop? If it does?”

This was the exact question he didn’t want, but you answered it, kind of, and that means he has to answer it, kind of. He relaxes his hold on you. “Think you’re gonna see me when I’m— When I’m not me— When I’m— I’m like, like my fuckin’ family.”

When he’s angry. When he yells. When he’s mean. When his crises don’t take the form of hibernation. When he’s frightening.

“Think once you realize, you’ll leave, and it’ll all leave with you.”

When he said that everyone’s happy at The Bear, he knows it’s because you’re back in the atmosphere. You bring a lightness that he never could, that he always envied in his brother. He honestly needs to break something at The Bear to get you to come in soon, because it’s been two weeks since you made everyone coffee, and your presence is only finally starting to wain in power. He really needs to start paying himself so you can get on bar.

“I don’t love being yelled at, certainly.”

You know what acting like his family means. Mikey used to do it. When things got bad. And while you got better and better at being understanding, still never managed to keep yourself from tearing up. “But it’s nothing that would make me leave. Nothing that’s not worth it.”

Jesus Christ. Jesus fucking Christ. His bad side, his anger, his violence, his teeth, the parts of his functionality that he hates, you consider worth dealing with, for the sake of the rest of him.

It reminds him, of a question that’s been on his mind for a while now. His chin digs into your shoulder, a little bit. He swallows.

“Do you really not think taking care of people is a lot of work?”

You frown, thinking about it. It is a lot of work. It’s exhausting work, rotten work, to take care of people.

“It is a lot of work.” You tilt your head, kiss his clothed shoulder. “But it’s just pure instinct, to do. “I care therefore I care, or somethin’.”

“What a poet.”

“Fuck off.”

You both laugh; then comfortable silence. He’s the first to break it. “You’re good.”

“We’re both good.” You pull back to look at him. Nothing has truly been resolved, and yet he looks more at peace. Thank, God. You’re doing a good job. You’re not failing again. “You wanna go drink these barely warm hot chocolates in my bed and pass out?”

“Please.”

Carmen never turns off his location, and he never will. He doesn't ask why you want it. He takes advantage of the whipped cream on your nose and the severe lack of napkins in your bedroom when he can. He replaces the Cubs jersey wearing bear in your arms, that night. He hopes he will forever, he's pretty sure he won't.

In five days, this Friday will be the worst Friday of your lives.

But neither of you know that yet. The painting is still not finished, he hasn’t yelled at anyone around you yet, Carmen still doesn’t know about the necklace you’ve tucked under your shirt every day for the past year.

The other shoe still hangs in the air; but not in your bed.

You pray it’s fall will not wake the bear.

FUCK bro.

It was tough writing in a way that was coherently incoherent. Like, neither of these two want to talk about their problems, so they are vague, but I know what the fuck is going on-- And hopefully you kindddaaa get what's going on?? There's still a little mystery I'm holding on for myself, hehehe. I'm very curious if anyone has theories by now tbh. What's this hidden part of Tony's life!!! They're usually so open!!! So what's this shit!!!

I cut out like a WHOLE 300 words of them doin' a smooch because it just made no fuckin' sense. They're both in emotional hell, couldn't force it, even if I wanted it. But there was the cuddlin' and nose kissin' in bed. So I think that's a good caveat.

But the most insane part of this chapter for me, and you'll see later, THIS chapter and the next,,,,, 3 chapters? Were all gonna be ONE. I know. Nuts. I was essentially gonna format it like all snippets of this one week, because as we know, Fridays gonna be the worst friday! But I realized like a quarter way through writing this one, that it simply couldn't just be a snippet. It needed to breath as it's own full thing. As did the next 3 chaps. I think they'll be a lot more digestable this way and also it won't force me to hole away for a fuckin month writing it without giving you a single morsel of content.

Anyways, tell me what the fuck you THOUGHT!! I'm excited to hear thoughts, hopefully all good ones~~~

Next Part

#carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto imagine #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmen x reader #carmy berzatto #carmy x reader #carmen berzatto x female reader #carmen berzatto x oc #carmy the bear #the bear hulu #the bear fanfiction #the bear fx #the bear x reader #the bear

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the-oblivious-writer · 1 year ago

Text

Comfort Crowd

Core Four and Fem!Reader | Sam Carpenter x Fem!Reader

One-Shot: Social Media Au, No GF Au

Summary: Just you, the core four, and a few other scream characters being chaotic

Warning(s): Swearing, "kys" being thrown around (once & jokingly ofc), no gf au, best friend's older sister & age gap (sam is 25/26 & r is 19)

Notes: First time doing a social media au thing for a fic soo if you have any feedback lemme know. Hope you enjoy, this was honestly fun to make

3/7 for Seven Days Of Christmas

mindythegreat

liked by chadtheman_meeks, ambers_notafreeman, and 8,563 others

mindythegreat: can’t take these bitches anywhere @y/n @justalilguy

view all 8,432 comments…

chadtheman_meeks: I just know your asses are freezing 💀

>justalilguy: SHE THREW ME ASS FIRST

>y/n: THREEWW?? YOU JUMPED ON MY BACK THEN SLIPPED

>justalilguy: LIESS

>y/n: YOU CAN SEE IT SO CLEARLY IN THE FIRST PHOTO

>justalilguy: GASLIGHTER

>y/n: LITERALLY STFUP

chadtheman_meeks: now they're at it in the replies 😭

>ambers_notafreeman: LMAO

—

y/n

liked by justalilguy, chadtheman_meeks, and 4,127 others

y/n: we studying tf outa this exam 😤

view all 2,598 comments...

chadtheman_meeks: you spent the first 20 mins deciding on what playlist to use and then another 10 flirting with the librarian

>y/n: and you spent the first half hour giggling with liv on face time 🤨

mindythegreat: chad knows how to read??

>chadtheman_meeks: fuck you.

justalilguy: I see you've started without me 😒

>y/n: WE WERE SUPPOSED TO MEET LIKE TWO HOURS AGO??

>justalilguy: IT'S NOT MY FAULT MY ALARM DIDN'T GO OFF

>y/n: WE WERE MEETING AT 4 HOW MUCH SLEEP DO YOU NEED???

samcarpenter1997: @justalilguy This is the study session you slept through?

>justalilguy: sam?? since when did you have insta?

>samcarpenter1997: Mindy helped me set up an account

y/n: @justalilguy why have you never told me that your older sister is so breath taking? that's breaking girl code 😔

>justalilguy: no. just no. stay away from her.

>y/n: I was just making an observation? btw can I come over?

>justalilguy: NO.

>y/n: so in 30 mins work? great! tell sammy I won't be long

>justalilguy: YOU DID NOT JUST-

chadtheman_meeks: @justalilguy it's a canon event.

>not_ethanlandry: she hit on my sister too

>justwes: and mine

>livvy: mine too

>ambers_notafreeman: same.

>justalilguy: @y/n you have a fucking problem

—

y/n

liked by ambers_notafreeman, mindythegreat, and 8,752 others

y/n: bro's too stubborn to admit she needs help reaching the top shelf

view all 4,673 comments...

ambers_notafreeman: lmao she's so short not even tip-toeing would help her reach

>mindythegreat: rip amber

>livvy: was nice knowing you ames

>justalilguy: oh? well if I'm so short then ig I can't kiss you

>ambers_notafreeman: I didn't mean it in a bad way bby 😢

>justalilguy: there's a good way? please. enlighten me.

ambers_notafreeman: @y/n wat do I do.

>y/n: hm? oh, sry, I was too busy laughing at your ass being in the doghouse for the 3rd time this week 💀

>ambers_notafreeman: kys.

—

samcarpenter1997

liked by y/n, mindythegreat, and 6,732 others

samcarpenter1997: (sam? putting a caption? funny.)

view all 4,873 comments...

y/n: KSHFSKH I mean- Gorgeous as always 💕

>samcarpenter1997: Thank you! 🙂

>justalilguy: GTFO OF HER COMMENTS as for you @samcarpenter1997 wtf was that???

>samcarpenter1997: Your friend gave me a compliment. I literally just said thank you.

>justalilguy: since when do you actually reply to comments?? second of all, THE EXCLAMATION MARK AND EMOJI??? Sam. for you, that's basically jamming your tongue down her throat

>samcarpenter1997: I was just being polite, you're really overthinking this

>y/n: yeah, @justalilguy just listen to the drop dead gorgeous woman

>samcarpenter1997: @y/n Talking about yourself?

>y/n: oh!! 🤭

>justalilguy: I've died and this is hell.

—

y/n

liked by samcarpenter1997, justwes, and 9,892 others

y/n: me and my fav drummer boy @juswes are back at it again

view all 8,992 comments...

justwes: anything for my favorite guitarist 😊

>y/n: ❤️

chadtheman_meeks: I better be the first to hear it!

>y/n: was there any doubt??

samcarpenter1997: That guitar looks good on you

>y/n: bet you'd suit me better

>samcarpenter1997: We could test that theory

>y/n: oh, how I'd love to

>justalilguy: what. the. actual. fuck.

—

mindythegreat

liked by ambers_notafreeman, chadtheman_meeks, and 8,968 others

mindythegreat: LMAOO guess what she just walked in on

view all 8,572 comments...

chadtheman_meeks: I KNEW IT I KNEW IT

ambers_notafreeman: @justalilguy I just got your text, I'm so sorry babe 😭

>justalilguy: IN THE FUCKING LIVING ROOM

not_ethanlandry: I don't get it?

>justwest: same

>chadtheman_meeks: y/n and sam were making out and Tara saw them...

>justwes: OH...y/n's gonna be annoying asf now right?

>chadtheman_meeks: 100%

—

y/n

liked by samcarpenter1997, nik, and 6,432 others

y/n: LOST IN THE LABYRINTH OF MY MIND

view all 5,897 comments...

justalilguy: this is my new waking nightmare.

>chadtheman_meeks: I tried to warn you

>ambers_notafreeman: you should see the look on her face rn

nik: aww, you guys are so cute together 🥰

>y/n: thank you anika<33

not_ethanlandry: you said you weren't looking for a relationship?

>y/n: with you. I wasn't looking for a relationship with you

>not_ethanlandry: noted

mindythegreat: @ambers_notafreeman pay up

>ambers_notafreeman: @y/n you couldn't have waited another week before posting how down bad you are??

>y/n: the heart wants what the heart wants

samcarpenter1997: 🖤

>y/n: 🤍

>samcarpenter1997: Are you coming over later?

>y/n: ofc I am 😉

>samcarpenter1997: Then I'll see you later, beautiful

>y/n: skhfkhfksh see you 🥰

mindythegreat: @justalilguy weren't you just telling me you think they look good together?

>justalilguy: MINDY

—

chadtheman_meeks

liked by justalilguy, ambers_notafreeman, and 8,997 others

chadtheman_meeks: @y/n was supposed to put them in for 10 minutes...she put them in for 30 😐

view all 8,542 comments...

justalilguy: @y/n how tf do you mess that up

>y/n: I don't appreciate being attacked rn

>justalilguy: hm?

>y/n: ...I wanted them a extra crispy

>justalilguy: you're such a dumbass sometimes 💀

>y/n: actually I'm just a girl

ambers_notafreeman: @y/n aren't you always saying how you'd be a housewife for the right woman and shit

>y/n: that still stands!!

>ambers_notafreeman: how do you expect to do that when you can't even bake cookies??

>y/n: wow. I wasn't expecting such sexism from you- chad maybe but you? it's the betrayal for me 😦

>ambers_notafreeman: idk how I tolerate you

>chadtheman_meeks: um hello???

—

y/n

liked by justalilguy, samcarpenter1997, and 9,896 others

y/n: Merry christler🎄❄️

view all 9,047 comments...

-----------

A/N: Tara and R in a nutshell (poor chad getting caught in the middle)

859 notes · View notes

chokchokk · 1 year ago

Text

𝔰𝔢𝔯𝔳𝔢 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢 | park seonghwa x fem!reader x choi san

part one of gangster!mafia!series "𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞-𝐛𝐲 𝐦𝐞"

“Brother, can’t you see I’m doing this for you? Enjoy yourself.”

𝚜𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜 : Picking your own poison, if poison was given to you in form of bankrolls by venomous men with high demands.

In which Park Seonghwa had a plan and Choi San has ideas.

“Sounds like you’re enjoying her more than anything."

𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎 : noir, smut, angst | korean mafia/geondal!au | ceo/jaebeol!au

𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 : 18.2k

𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 : entitled rich people, workplace harassment, alcoholism, softdom ceo!seonghwa (headman park), half-drunk satoori-using dom mafiaboss!san (mr. choi), both are called by their names at some point, sub-leaning bratty switch servant!femreader, use of (pet-)names (missy, baby, princess), groping, thigh-riding, light choking, light hair-pulling, non-penetrative sex, voyeur!seonghwa, sex in the elevator, counts as mirror sex right, biting kink, manhandling!san, edging, breeding, cum-eating (m), cunnilingus; reader hates the rich except for when they are sexy, implied but not severe age gap, writer does not have daddy kink but mafiaboss!san does, gunshots and death, use of korean proverbs

𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛'𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎 : this with the next part will be the origin story for reader, specifically the series synopsis’ first half :) originally, this has been a request, so please read this, if you desire to have a bit more insight to what the series actually is + translations of certain terms (mostly character dynamics) in this chapter !!

tl;dr: since it's all based around korean mafia/gangster/etc, there will be korean culture scattered between the lines. it is all translated, hopefully in an understandable way!!! (please hmu if there are difficulties) i let out honorifics/romanisation, except for "chaebol" since it's an actual word :) that being said, reader's ethnicity is not specified and won't be relevant to the series in any way !!

smut comes after the second border, and uh,,, i had to shorten that shit (pls dont ask me where) but uh. you’re getting 8k words of smut so buckle up LMAO !!! i hope you enjoy as much as i did writing it !!! thank you for likes, reblogs and feedback xoxo (also this is NOT beta-read so pls dont hesitate to tell me about... like.... errors, tags and shit)

[ now playing : money ▸ pink floyd | listen to the playlist ]

It's getting repetitive. They are drinking their ninth bottle of expensive whiskey, smoking their third or fourth disgustingly pricey cigar— what the fuck, is this seriously what the upper men of your nation are doing at some stupid chairman’s dinner party?

“Missy!”

“Me, sir?”

No wonder the economy's fucking shit.

“Yeah, you, missy, give that gent over there one of our divine Denmarks!”

“Yes, sir.”

“Give him a kiss too, while you’re at it! What do you think? He’s still got it, no?”

Said ‘gent’, some old, scummy clown— winks at you, his gray eyelashes fluttering towards your direction.

“Yes, sir."

God, how bad you wish you had snuck your phone in to take a picture of these red, drunken, senseless faces, but you're a dutiful servant, abiding by the rules at all times, however difficult it may be. You’re holding in your puke professionally, not even doing something as to grit your teeth, just softly letting your jaw play along to your friendly smile.

“Does your willy even still work that way, old friend?", a cranky, yet humorous voice pitches in.

Agreeing to your supervisor’s offer to earn “big money” may have been a bad idea, but a good choice. Jongho said he’d seen you at your work, took special note of you— even though you weren’t sure where exactly he had observed you, since it’s only been a month of actually working as a servant in the lower tiers of the building— and wanted to give you a chance to swim with the big sharks. “I think you’re best suited for the job,” is what he said to make you giggle and think about your initial rejection of his proposition, “you have a talent for serving.”

Something you didn’t know you had, something you didn’t know someone would see in you ever in your life, “talent.” Sure, maybe you let yourself be persuaded a bit too fast, but it felt very touching that somebody saw you and saw potential, for whatever occasion it may be for. You don’t necessarily want to screw the rules of the hierarchical pyramid or what it was that kept you from being in the proximity of the chairman, but you really need the extra cash right now.

"What does a girl from the mountains look for in being a servant in the city?", had been the question you were asked by Lady Kim who gave you the leftovers of her restaurant at the end of the day, when you had just started with the training– poor, barely standing on your own feet.

You remember how you explained to her that the buddhist monks who raised and send you here surrounded themselves with wells to remind everyone that water always returned, and you assumed it would work the same with wealth. You also remember how hard she tried to stay kind to you, showing you her sincerest sympathy by telling you that "the chaebol are no joke!" (at least not a joke, an innocent girl like you could laugh about, she later explained) and giving you an extra portion of her home-made dumplings to suit you up.

Her sharp, yet compassionate voice rings in your ears, as you reapply your red lipstick on the way to your target guest. Oh, Lady Kim, what a graceful woman– she put her all into her work for her restaurant to succeed, but had always made a place to share what she had for those who needed it. Such a lovable woman, she must have been well-liked by all around her.

You get it now, the way you had been so naive back then. Floating on the philosophical happy-go-lucky psyche of the city’s promise of prosperity, trying to live the Korean dream strangely enough as someone who was so sarcastically out of touch with it. If you had been in her position, you wouldn’t have been able to be as nice, no, would have warned yourself with a finger pointed upwards as if you were teaching a little kid about strangers, or how your monks said, ‘tigers in the woods’.

“After that cigar, his dick will turn to dust!”

Maybe things would have looked different, if you hadn’t taken that fund from the school’s superintendent, who slid you that card on your table with a smirk on his face. Oh dear, do you remember how excited you had been? You ran through the streets in your worn-out shoes with that plastic sheet in your hand, on your way to tell that the money on it was such a ridiculously high number that you could split— but Lady Kim had got to know it first, the ridiculousness of the rich, with the demolition of her restaurant-building.

“He’s got no cum in his nutsacks ‘no more anyway!”

No warning, no compensation, just everything crushed to pieces to make place for the big corporations; the fancy neon-signs she'd invested in, the ambition of her enthusiastic dreams, your only source of tender charity, shattered to a wreck. You have never seen her since, and can only laugh about how the fancy food of the chaebol—and you definitely know who they are now, those tasteless men gawking at you in the moment—doesn’t even look half as good as her low-cost black bean noodles you could more than afford now.

The present day-you is less dreamy, but just as lost, forced to work off a debt you hadn’t been informed about when you lived off the favorable “fund”-money. No, Lady Kim, this is all a joke, you would tell her today. A really fucking bad one.

So, making room for another ha-ha in your life, you pulled your eyes up innocently, returning Jongho’s specious smiles. “Is it illegal to collect pocket-money from the rich?” It’s not like you had any doubts at that point, but 'they'll buy you out of prison if you’re good enough' was all you needed anyway to put your uniform on tightly at home.

"Can't even shoot his cum in missy to save his blood!"

Your more experienced co-workers are watching you work with a condescending frown, feeling both jealous you're getting all the men's attention, but also maliciously delighted you're being challenged as the new-coming servant who's obviously of erotic interest to these richlings. They want you to get a "taste of life" for you may be the most goody-goody fawning bitch they have ever seen; just a young birdbrain who has nothing to bring to the table except her body. Young thing won’t hold up, doesn't know who she's working with— though they are quite right about that part, you must admit, you frankly didn’t look up whose money you’re taking right now— she doesn’t know who the fuck she is.

"What? Did his son leave the company, too?"

It’s flattering to know that the other pretty servants look at you and only see some candy-coated muppet, but fairly, your ever-frozen smile on your face doesn’t give them much to work with. You’re simply an annoyance to their routine, and if you could, you would like to comfort them by saying none of the money you’re getting will stay in your hands– they’d be so happy to hear that you’re really worth nothing– but you must stay focused.

“Idiot, he’s only got a daughter!”

So yes, that being said, you’re glad nobody ever asks you about you. Everyone just assumes, judges from what they see, and if what they see is an opportunistic bimbo-girl chasing money, then so be it, right?

"You know, the one he married off to the governor?”

Right. Because you too have not a single second to think nor talk about your past. The present is scarce and the future is fragile, you know it the best. And you owe it to your old men to make the best out of their efforts, don't you? The air in this room may not be the one you inhaled in the mountains, but you still have to use it, breathe, be alive, despite how moldy and spoiled it simmers in your throat.

"Real mad! Anything to avoid that fee, huh, missy? Got no semen and no glory! You really want to give him that cigar?”

So, that taste of life? Fucking bitter, just like how that name 'missy' seeps and sweats on your tongue. You can’t loathe your co-workers for this reason, they're basically in the same wooden, shaky boat as you, but these asswipes here are floating on a fucking yacht. Of course they don't follow some type of code of human decency for you, they don't give two shits about the lowlifes, the poor. They watch them like a spectacle, and because they don't regard you as a human-being but rather a toy, they play with you on strings that are, on the other hand, binding together a big, fat bankroll.

Ka-Ching.

Eyes on the price, Y/N, eyes on the price. You may not own a lot, that's been more than established, but if there is something you have, it's dutifulness, commitment, and proficiency. It will remain difficult to keep inner peace and honor with a job of which "duty" it is to be a deferential, subservient doll, but at least you're alive and well, soon to leave this floor with more money to your name that these fuckers don't know anyway, right? Never let that smile drop, smart girl. You have a talent, just like your supervisor said. Just keep on serving.

“No children-makin' is better for the cheatin'— ha!”, the barren, that fruitless man who’s been made fun of whoops in to stand up for himself, and awaits his tobacco that's being driven to him by your cart.

You open up the wooden chest in which the cheroots, so unnecessarily gold-plated, sit and ridicule you with their rare existence. There are just thousands of dollars sitting in your hand right now, and as you fetch the thick roll with wary fingers, you think, fucking hell, this could feed so many people, and they're just smoking it away like it's nothing, assholes.

The other servants frown at you spitefully during the time you bow down. You're sensually placing the brown cylindrical object into his mouth, a match lighting held to his face to light it up. In addition to the experience, you hold one long stare with his washy eyes, because you assume it will ignite him.

And, oh, how excited he gets.

"Thank you, sir," you chuckle and flutter with your eyelashes, pursing up your lips like you’re an innocent little girl getting a piece of candy behind her parents’ back.

“Just mad! Missy's young enough to be your grandchild, fella!”

You’re aware of exactly what your dear co-workers are thinking, but being ordered to light their cigs and then ogled at is not "baby-treatment” or whatever they’re muttering under their breath, it's your subtle strategy to have that bankroll be slid between your thighs.

"Hey now, I still can get it on! Don't you think so too, missy?"

Dumb Y/N, only has money on her mind. Allows herself to be called "missy", like a dumb fucking slut.

Hm, kind of has a ring to it, don't you think?

"Yes, sir."

Let them all think you're a dummy. Let them believe, believe each other's words in whatever they fucking want. You're almost too certain it's the secret reason Jongho offered you a place here anyway; "suited for the job", because he deems you dense enough to not understand any of the nonsense these twelve men are babbling, "big money", because he knows you will do anything for it.

You’ll still take the talent, but if he really thinks the rest, then oh, sucks to be him.

Yes, you haven’t looked up the names of who the men here are for the same reasons they're not using yours, but the second you’re out of this whiny, weak testosterone-drowned room, you're going to write the most thorough blackmail, because you can not listen to their cheating, money-laundering, corrupted bullshit anymore. Getting involved with the handshakers is the last thing you should do if you want to live a silent, carefree life, and you know this too well, but they're not going to believe it was you anyway. They wouldn’t dream of their missy to do such a competent, smart thing. You even know what you're going to write under the letter so they have something to think about in their cells: 'birds listen to the words of day, mice to the words at night'— walls have ears, too.

Ah, the soft, sometimes very cryptic voice of your favorite old monk. Always there to teach you new things, remind you of how to live your life cheerfully. You still believe he would have rather kept you in the mountains and not drop you on a wild voyage into the unknown urban life, but your old man had his reincarnation coming. You should visit his grave again, it's been a while, hasn't it? Wouldn't he be so proud to see you? To see how much his little Y/N has grown and learnt, using his proverbs to restore justice? Well, for what you still can collect of your late mentor, he would probably make big eyes and use his whole body to keep your monetary gift away from him. "Teacher," you would ask, "don't you at least want to save?", and his answer would remain the same;

"Peace comes free."

You feel warm at the distant memory of the bald-headed man warming himself in his orange gown, teaching you about love, harmony and kindness, but that sweet veil of untainted innocence has long dropped from your eyes.

In front of you, you see tycoons continuing having a blast being their shitty selves, and as golden teeth blend your sight, they are entertaining each other by staring at your legs that are covered by your sheer black stockings, whispering their insight of how you'd look like under it, but the mini-skirt only leaves so much for imagination.

"Sweet missy!"

How could you not want to spit into their face? They have bought the war. They have bought the chaos. And why? Just because they can. It doesn't cost you anything to restore some peace, maybe that’s the thing your old man got right.

"Yes, sir?”

“Do you have any Cubans left, sweet missy?”

“A Cuban, coming right up, sir.”

“Hopefully someone’s gonna come after the party tonight!”

Are you humiliated? As someone who lived among the wisest, clearest heads, and was considered just as smart by them to be wished a ‘more fortunate life’ — No.

You couldn’t care less about their perversions. Especially now, when they seemingly don’t care enough to know your name you've introduced yourself with. You are here for one reason, and it's not to prove your worth to the world, it's to secure your place in it, get that parasitic debt off your shoulders.

And if anything, as long you are staying truthful to yourself, there’s nothing that could take away your spirit. That’s what you want to believe, at least. When you’re out of debt and continue with this job, you could spend every day downtown like the other servants, but for you, it's all going to the savings for the family you're going to feed with not one worry in life on the clear land in the mountains, not under a sky that's polluted by light even when the sun has set.

The clock has announced night long time ago. Outside the windows, there shines and roams a loud, restless city under a starless, foggy black blanket, inhabited by people like you who live day by day to make their living, like small flies forgathered in a hive of exhausting labor, buzzing their life away.

It’s what you think every time you peek down the glass room: Seoul has never looked so small. Across and around the ever-flowing Han-River, the metropole is the home of millions who are looking up with their heads far back their necks to the point right here, where you stand, at the center or peak of all the wealth gathered together, inside the highest building standing tall amidst of the tumult, on the 114th floor, towering over the world in a luxurious dining room decorated by exotic animals, marbled statues and most importantly the filthy glimmer of something they call ‘class’.

“Missy,” the chairman calls out for you, raising his hand, right after he’s made another infidelity joke and showed his luxurious wedding ring to the audience.

“Yes, sir?”, you call out, wearing your pristine servant-smile with your hands folded nicely in front of your stomach, voice not tainted by your disgust as to even one note, despite the other servants looking at you with hateful expressions. They wish you the worst; the worst treatment, the worst performance, anything to get you out of this place.

Maybe they're driven by the same instincts and avarice that makes you hate the rich, with them just thinking you're taking away their money, but it's free territory here with these predators; you just make for great prey.

It’s a challenge to all of the people involved and the contestants can only win. Will it be another pick-up line? You're going to pick on that with ease. Another joke about your age? That one is never going to get old. There, bring it on, you think, and feel proud of your confident spirit, ready to run with whatever they throw and stash it into your wallet.

“You see those youngsters back there? Get 'em some more ice."

“Yes, sir.”

“Chaps don't know how to drink the good stuff yet, what a waste! Next time, buy 'em the cheap soju from the mart! The ones for 5,000 Won, missy, you know those?”

“Yes, sir.” Your whole face flashes a smile, bowing to accept the task of refilling some ice, dragging your cart across the room, as male laughter rings in your ears. It's as if they don't realize they also drink cheap liquor, but you suppose that's forgettable when they are flushing the fanciest of meats down with it.

"Be careful, missy!"

Are you being too mild by saying you want to ram the green glass-bottles into their heads?

"They bite!”

Maybe choke them with their own money bills?

Yes, “Yes, sir.”

It's a fun exercise to fantasize about how to hurt them, so you thought you would be busy enough to ignore the chairman's warning, but as you are on your long way to the end of the even longer glass table to push your cart towards the men he is referring to, there's a growing feeling inside your guts that oh, the chairman may be ...

Huh, right for the first time. The quizzical lump expands warmly as much as it is cold, with goosebumps running down your spine, your hands feeling hotter than ever over the metal cart. Your whole body is trying to signal you that something is off on the other side of the table, but you don’t know whether to ignore it or run.

The annoying, empty-minded, impertinent elders, who have been belly-laughing at the chairman's joke a second ago stop with their chatting and only exhale huffs, and prolong them nervously, that’s off. The servants gulping, loosening their crossed arms– that’s off, too.

“So, uhh… Where was the, uh– food from?”

“Oh, lad, good topic, yes– the delicious food…”

It seems that everyone in the room is trying to fill in the silence with the fakest of laughter, so the chairman can move on from the topic, but you're well over your way there, uninformed to what you're going to be hit with once you halt.

Tycoons like them usually don't need back-checking. You know how to deal with ill-willed imbeciles that only use their estate as a weapon. Their bodies and brains have passed prime an eternity ago. Left behind are only their numbed minds that seek shelter in lust, ecstasy and aphrodisia because nothing else excites them anymore. They’re what you probably would have been if you hadn’t spent your teens brewing tea and listening to the leaves rustle, not experiencing all euphoria and more at a too early age– they’re washed out, just swimming in money they haven't worked a day for, are lazy, weary sloths.

However, opposed to the cloudiness in their class that's only getting more foggier through the many years of monopoly, these two men that are waiting in front of you, and you understand why your lungs are pinging now, they are potent.

Money is power, but twist it around and there is them, with that; a certain force that the rich ooze out by just acting and looking a certain way, and oh, Y/N, how they are, how they are looking at you right now, best believe you have to hold onto your strength like it's a small purse.

'Youngsters', he said— 'they bite', he said.

They have been rarely reacting to the chairman’s words, notwithstanding being the ones to be the most respectful in this meeting for their young age, just looking at each other with unamused eyes. Even the director who is older than the chairman lets out his best holler every time, but these two have not laughed once at his jokes, not the slightest chuckle has left their mouths to flatter or satisfy the chairman.

Interesting.

Both black-haired, the one you get to first has his mane gelled back, a cigarette hanging out his scarred mouth, as you approach his seat with your cart walking carefully practiced steps. His white shirt is opened up to where chains, most importantly a silver cross, hang from his collarbones to his chest that’s covered with scars and scratches you can’t quite identify how they got there. This man looks gigantic, muscular, dangerous. Shoulders terrifyingly broad popping out his black vest, he sits on his seat with widened legs, thighs flattened in his also black pants, fastened by a leather belt, and with his white sleeves pulled back to his elbows, his slightly tanned forearms only appear more huge after the rather average-looking wristwatch catches your eye, just when you stop with your cart in front of him.

“That old geezer just can’t keep his mouth shut, can he?”, he chuckles, the Gyeongsang-provincial dialect rolling so naturally off his tongue. Everyone else in the room has been faking their speech to cosplay a charm they didn’t possess, but even the slight lisp and lull from the drunkenness are not hiding how deeply masculine and sincere this man’s voice sounds. It’s a mixture of the sarcasm you've gotten used to by now, but also a brashness that the older men lack, and you’re a bit embarrassed to say it’s working you up a bit. "Empty carts rattle loudest, I say."

A wintry breeze goes through your breast and you feel your eyebrows flinch. You haven't heard that grandmotherly expression in so long, that it does feel somehow refreshing to reconcile with it, but maybe the whisk you sense shouldn’t feel as comforting given the way the man is looking up to you brazenly with a bit of atrocity in his appearance. He is far away from the serene sketch you drew to save the vision as you left the village, he is what you felt when you took your first train, asphyxiated by the big masses of people who you would never see again— an unhomely, yet intimate feeling of... adventure.

He glances through you smoking his cigarette with no hands attached, and it moves at the corner of his lip as he talks. Wait, cigarette? Missy, did you forget to bring him a cigar?

"Let's see when he runs out of words."

“It’s alright, sir,” you answer, suppressing a slight chuckle because yes, you too have been wishing the chairman would finally shut the fuck up, but haven't expected anyone to say it out loud that boldly. You watch the male in front of you take out the slim roll from his mouth with his thick fingers that are covered with silver rings that all look different and not matching each other, blowing out the smoke whilst maintaining eye contact with you. “If you require, I can bring you a cigar, sir," you say, but he waves his hand to brush off your offer.

“Ah, they give me bad breath.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Please," the man progresses instantaneously, scratching over the vertical scar at his lip-corner with his thumb, his ciggy continues to burn, "Do be so kind and give brother his ice," then smiles, "he needs to preserve his cold head.”

“You are one to talk about keeping mouths shut,” the ‘brother’ answers, voice velvety and adequate despite dissing the man that’s sunken unmannerly into his seat, while he, on the other hand, is sitting up straight, his black suit buttoned up, tie set cleanly under his ironed pearl-white collars, elegantly decorated by a golden pin. A Greek "π" is chiseled into it, and you recognize it so well for you’ve seen it written all over the tall buildings you drove by on your way here. His hair is combed evenly to the sides and the more you look at him, he’s just— wow, flawless, prestigious, expensive. Everything about him is crystal clear; his rich voice, his unblemished skin, his eyes, oh god, you just noticed those eyes, how does such a shameful man have such pure eyes?

Orbs— and they're not innocent as much as you can't say they're not guilty— are looking at you with a defiance that is suffocating, as if you ought to do everything perfectly, not miss a single twitch of his eyebrows to understand whether he's enjoying or disapproving of the situation.

Well, is he enjoying you or disapproving of the way you're listening to his partner's order to refill his ice?

Huh. No fucking idea. He probably doesn't, but you must do it still— must still serve.

It feels irrationally sheep-headed, but hey, being a sheep is your job, is it not? Being in this herd is keeping you alive, and even in this situation, where you are following the orders of the blackest of sheep, no, wolves that can't be covered by any fluffy wool— you must mow your best.

"Ohh, brother, it's been a while since I heard you talk! Feels lonely droppin' all the good sayings by myself."

You’re serving Choi San and CEO of PARA-conglomerate, headman Park Seonghwa.

Sat right across the chairman, the percentage this couple holds of his company-share is more than most of the attending seniors combined, which makes them stand at the top of the guest-list. You couldn’t have missed their names, even if you’ve made the attempt to, and the other information you’re getting is just your co-workers whispering hurried words to each other, and it seems to you that you may be more in need of them than ever.

You already eavesdropped on them a little, and to be honest, you didn’t need any real confirmation that everyone in this room was unlawful and corrupt, but it is good to know you really don’t have to feel guilty stashing those bankrolls into your purse.

The man that is licking the tail of his scar at his lip, rolling his neck, clicking with his mouth and tapping his fingers onto the table, he is rumored to be the boss of the Choi-Clan, the infamous ‘Mad Dog of Namhae’, whose face had been unknown. The chairman has made a drunken joke about allegedly trying to sell him off to the government— “everybody act like you don’t know, okay?”— and nobody had taken him seriously, but once the supposed mafiaboss had entered the room, an hour later than everyone else, and sat down comfortably like nothing was strange about his heavy breath and slightly purple knuckles, nobody dared to say something else.

If you’d heard beforehand that you would be meeting a CEO and a mafiaboss today, you don’t know if you would have acted any differently. Thinking, here comes the chairman, his jesters, the mafia-guy, the chaebol; ah, all the motherfuckers aligned, let’s get to work, shall we?

But this does challenge you a bit, indeed. If they just weren’t so young and intimidatingly good-looking, fuck, you could have treated them in the same cookie-cutter way you’d been at perfectly.

Maybe a bit of change-up won’t hurt, you were starting to get a bit too irritated anyway.

"Control yourself."

“You wanna see him dead too, brother,” the smoking male sneers— you’ll call him ‘Mr. Choi’ for now— pointing at his companion to accuse him of being a yawner, his cigarette stuck between his fingers.

Headman Park smirks with a short twitch of his lips that makes you think you just imagined it, but none of his extremities has moved since you came here: Every single action he takes seems so... calculated, thought through, measured, planned out. He is the only one to have brought a briefcase to the dinner, and looks a little bit out of place with his sober expressions which seem to you as if he was observing the whole room in its possible entirety, not leaving out a corner in his sight uncovered.

"Want," he parrots, face dropped to a neutral visage, highlighting the only word that seems to be bothering the CEO regarding his vis-à-vis' statement, eyes darting down to Mr. Choi having his fingertips pointed towards him.

"Don't you become pushy with the words now, brother," the mafiaboss teases him, and tugs his sleeves up to his elbows again, eyeing you up and down while you're passing him with your cart. You discern his interest in the pockets of your skirt, or what is there underneath, instantly, but before you can think that the man may be just the same as the others, he cracks his knuckles. “Old geezer might die on his own at this point, look at how he's smoking his raisin-lungs away."

"Poetic."

So much for hearing government and company secrets, here are these two joking about the chairman’s death. You need the chairman a little bit longer if you want to earn money, but the idea of him dying soon isn’t too bothersome.

"You gotta get used to my Korean way of speaking, brother! Then we can communicate correctly!”

With your ears sharpened, but your face presenting unconcerned, you devote yourself to headman Park to refill his bucket, ice cubes jangling down the iron jar, whilst Mr. Choi stretches his arms behind his head, raising an eyebrow towards his elder who isn't hearing him out.

“Thank you,” headman Park says, very briefly and precisely. The tong you put in the bucket for him to use almost tips, and you don’t know whether he does it on purpose for he’s been frozen still all during the dinner, but with his reflexes, he prevents it from falling before you can, but if that wasn't surprising enough, he grazes your skin while returning.

Soft, uncalloused; not a single ounce of labor roughed up these hands, it seems. They tickled you featherly, and right now, you are looking for some type of confirmation in those black spheres of his to know that you're allowed to exhale and react to his touch, because you gasped slightly and have held your breath ever since.

Nothing. You are the first one to look— no, shy away from his stare, getting your hands in front of your abdomen again, your fingers searching for each other, fiddling around by themselves without your knowledge.

Mr. Choi lets his wrist-watched hand fall between his lap, neck tilted slightly to the back, licking over his canine tooth with a grin, and it appears to you that he's either noticed his associate's small gesture or how headman Park is still staring at you. “You wanna do something, don’t you, brother?”

“I don’t know what you’re getting at.”

Mr. Choi shakes his head to irritate headman Park and make him explain himself.

“This is not business.”

Headman Park glances down his whiskey, droplets of water have formed around the brim of the cold glass. It is untouched.

"I see you aren’t enjoying the whiskey, would you like something else to drink, sir?", you ask, trying to finish your job and get away from here before you get ideas that don’t include money between your thighs.

"The Fillico, please," the male answers, not having glanced away from your eyes once to inspect your cart, where the black, long bottle, donning a crown and wings adorned with Swarovski-crystals, awaits you to be grabbed.

"A glass of cold Fillico Black King!", you exclaim, your surprise of the particularity that anyone would drink water at the chairman's dinner can’t be hidden, and then hum, "Coming right up, sir."

“You’re really something, brother,” Mr. Choi wheezes, taking the last pull of his cigarette, watching you fill up a new glass for his unrelated brother with the finest mineral that can be bought to-date, pricing around 6 Billion Won, or 4500 US Dollars per bottle. “Wouldn’t you say it’s difficult to not be smokin’ or drinkin’ in this business, Y/N?”

Sure, whatever ‘business’ a man like him is talking about. “Yes, sir." Wait, hold on, did Mr. Choi just say your name?

“You don’t look too impressed,” the male grins, seeing how you’ve narrowed your eyes in confusion.

"Pardon me, I was just– how do you know my name, sir?”

Mr. Choi shrugs as if to say ‘I dunno’ and presses his cigarette out on the table. It sizzles out, like your head is also slowly deteriorating. He throws the bud into the CEO's ice-bucket— headman Park is not even minorly irritated by it— and then, with his ringed fingers, goes through his hair, setting it loose behind his head. He’s picking on you, and you surely feel picked out, that's all you can think. It's so unusual to be hearing your name, not because it hasn't been said during the dinner, but because—

"Y/N Y/L/N, a pretty name for a pretty servant like you, huh?"

Your heart somehow flutters. A stalwart man like him taking your name into his mouth is nothing you hear on the daily. Deep, manly. It's not flattering, no, it sounds wrong, feels so dangerous for a guy like him to be taking something so personal and turning it into his possession, like you're slowly going to lose yourself in the words he speaks in a lax manner. Your name is precious to you, and it just drops off his tongue like it's candy. Where on earth does a man like him get your full name from?

"Sir," you insist, dipping your fingertip under your fingernail, fidgeting.

“Oh, don’t tell me ya prefer that stupid name ‘missy’,” Mr. Choi chuckles and fetches headman Park’s full glass of whiskey, his dialect draping out his mouth.

“Or do you secretly enjoy it," he grins, and with his eyebrows raised, Mr. Choi drinks up his acquaintance's booze in one big gulp, letting the glass fall down on the table with a thump, breathing out, "missy?”

People drink whiskey neatly, you know that. The guests have been doing it all evening, but that's for two ounces. Headman Park had a glass full of the oak-colored sherry liquid with an uncommonly high alcohol percentage placed in front of him. A taunt from the chairman maybe, to subtly scorn them about their apparent boyhoodish inexperience, but Mr. Choi makes it look so adept: The strong alcohol flows down his throat smooth and speedy, even though he did misplace the rim by an inch.

There's whiskey dripping down his chin as he glances over to his side, smirking at his neighbor who's blinking frozen, as well as the other guests, who are seemingly just as irritated that the mafiaboss got you as flustered as you look like.

You’re left with your mouth slightly open, shotting down a glass of whiskey shouldn't have looked as barbarous as Mr. Choi made it appear. Like a striking attack, baring his claws, he growls out the herby aftertaste. "'Scuse me, 'got really thirsty there."

The mafiaboss goes over his lips with his tongue, watching your hand play with the seam of your skirt, where he knows a handkerchief is buried in your pocket.

“Aw, shit, I got wet,” he wails over-dramatically, looking down on himself and then again locking his eyes into yours.

“Wanna clean me up, baby?”

“Pardon?”

Much to your continued bafflement, Mr. Choi smiles, and as he sees you taking a second to confirm what he said, he continues talking to you like you’re a hooker.

“Don't like that one, Y/N?” Again, with the name! Where does he get the name?!

“Sir, how—“

“You have introduced yourself to us,” headman Park finally reveals in the high Seoul tongue, perchance by pity, and you inhale, a bit embarrassed that you didn’t come to think of it earlier. What is happening to you? Is it because you’re finally away from those sleazes, that you’re being so light-headed? Lack of training? Sexual attraction? God, that’s a rookie’s mistake, Y/N, think about them as targets, not objectives. The objective is to not end up in a bed with them, remember? That’s like, rule number one. Even though nobody told you about the Mafia while you were at training, that’s a valid argument.

Don't let your guard down, you’re in a room with the men of men, no maybe the men. The most influential men you could be meeting in Seoul right now, aside from how little is known about them.

Whether he's a real chaebol or not, PARA-CEO Park Seonghwa is definitely the nephew of good ol’ chairman over there, just leeching off his money even if today is the first time the man is visiting his distant uncle who is definitely a bit sour about the fact he took so long to connect with him. Money has its sources and sometimes, most of the time, it’s nepotism. There you go, the explanation of his wealth and why the male is so well-mannered sitting on his seat. He’s woven into the conglomerate-family, been made CEO to keep him that way and all in all, you could care less about him, if he just wasn’t the only person that was kind of nice to you. Just thinking about his eyes makes you a bit dizzy, but you can get that fixed by turning your eyes to the mafiaboss.

Mafia and chaebol don't usually associate, for reasons that are rather obvious. Mafia’s rule the underworld with the overworld’s laws, and the chaebol rule over what laws the overworld decides on, digging their hands into the government like it’s soot, planting and pulling crops wherever they can profit from it. Money.

It’s sickening every time you think about it. How many people in this room could pay for your whole life? No, how many can’t pay for your whole life and beyond? You can count them with one hand and they’re all wearing the same clothes as you.

Money knows where it belongs; that’s a phrase you made up the day you were told about the crippling debt by the letter and the bank declining your card. It sounds similar to your monks' sayings of water's ever-flowing life, but if water returns, money drifts. It wanders across the citizens, but follows a direction it's always bound to end up. Just like today, with you getting bankrolls to graze the inner space of your legs, only to know it’s going to end up in the same fingers that gave it to you.

So, where do headman Park and Mr. Choi get a say in this? Do they get a say in this?

“I did introduce myself, how could I forget? I’m sorry, sir,” you admit and let out a laugh that is half intended to sound as nervous as it did, and half regrettably filled with authentic uneasiness.

Old chairman, what does he know? Have those teeth really ever sunk into flesh? You can’t play with your fate here, but by hook or crook they intrigue you so much. You haven’t expected guests that aren't ass-kissers of the chairman, and apparently your talent only goes so far. You have no idea what to do with them to satisfy them except letting out your real thoughts and you can’t do that, definitely not in front of the man.

But you feel so connected to them. The caution everyone has, it confuses you just as much you're amazed by it, and you want that, you want that kind of safety. Every guest here has money, but not every guest has their authority.

“It’s alright, everybody makes mistakes, baby,” Mr. Choi smirks and musters you again, rubbing the liquid away from the corner of his lip with his thumb and kissing the remaining alcohol away, savoring every droplet of whiskey, but also savoring you by keeping his thumb leaned into his opened mouth, eyes looking sultrily at you, you might as well just—

“Mistakes, San. Beware of them,” headman Park falls in and his companion finally sways his eyes away from you, hand backing down. “Talkative drunkard.“

“Brother,” Mr. Choi sighs and grabs the glass from his neighbor that's filled with ice cubes to murmur, “I’m not that drunk," swinging it around with concise flicks of his wrist to enunciate his words.

With the couple bantering, you think you can calm down. Maybe you were overreacting. Bootlicking some birdbrains is a way easier life than to follow these two.

"Hey, baby?”, but there's another call of the bird of prey.

“Yes, sir?”, you answer, fingers letting go of your skirt that has thrashed your skin by how you abused it. You don’t even know when you started to react to the name 'baby', but truth be told it’s better than ‘missy’ by miles. Being over here is better than being over there by miles, that is unchangeable.

“Could you get me clean? This is kinda sticky."

With two fingers, he grabs the collar of his shirt and flails it softly, ice clinking in his glass, as he shows you his indeed quite syrupy breast.

"Yes, sir."

You nod towards the crevice that is the space where his muscles meet, and before your eyes can get lost in the plump thews, you collect yourself so you can do what you were asked for; getting your hands on his body.

“Please.”

“Ahh, I liked you more when you were quiet, brother! I don’t wanna call you a party-pooper, but c'mon! It’s your plan, and I’m just— doin’ my part.”

Mr. Choi twists his upper body a bit so he’s still able to hold the empty glass behind your back, though it feels more caging in than it should, when you lean forwards to softly tap his skin with your handkerchief. His arm hovers next to your hip and his upper body is extended wide around you.

“What do you say, baby?”, the male asks, and you harrumph to take your mind elsewhere from how rock-hard the mafiaboss feels under your hand, how his cologne smells so rich and inviting, and how— “Wanna be bitten?”

“Pardon?”, you ask, not understanding the context of Mr. Choi’s question, but without fail grasping the intentions of it.

The male grins, and you’re unsure as to how he got his hand on the bottle of whiskey from your tray as quickly as he did, but it’s there, in the hand that’s across your hip, and from then on, everything you do seems risky. His bicep is curled around your thigh so he can fill himself another glass, and if you take a step back, your ass will be pushed against his arm, but if you step forward, you’ll land on top of him; a straining dilemma that only inflames your guts the more you think about it.

“San,” headman Park grumbles quietly, seeing you struggle to stand on your feet.

“Agh, come on, brother, 's all going well! Live a little for me, will ya? Watch me and follow,” Mr. Choi nags with a juvenile pout and takes a disgruntled sip from his drink, making your imaginations reality by pushing you with his forearm with no forewarning. You trip closer to him and his arms raise, as you have to find safety on his shoulders to not fall into his crotch.

“Oops, ‘scuse me, baby,” he grins, feline eyes glancing up to you, your bust in his view. The other men are grumbling, fussy, yammering— if they knew, they would have done that with you a long time ago!— and in your head, you don't know whether you should be doing this at the chairman's dinner and not somewhere in a stripclub or just, god, anywhere else.

“It’s okay, sir,” is what you answer, and the short silence would be the perfect opportunity to scuffle back to your original stance, but you saw his ever-growing, throbbing bulge in his black suit-pants and it is staring you down.

Everything about him is so big…

“Really, baby?”, Mr. Choi asks, eyebrows pushed together, lips formed into a pout, feigning an expression of worry.

“Yes, sir,” you say, the big question of 'what is the goal here?' unnerving you, but with the quick, harsh movement of his leg against the back of your knee, you're—

“Sir!”

Sat on his thigh, your butt is bouncing on the hard flesh, fingers dug into his shoulders deeper due to the shock, ribcage moving up and down as you’re breathing fast and anxiously. At this point, you’ve gathered the attention of many who are seemingly more excited about the situation than you are, silencing all around, while the chairman continues to crack drunk jokes on the other side.

Mr. Choi chuckles at your nervousness and puts his glass down. “Aww, look at you, baby,” he coos, his rough, calloused fingers trailing between the inner space of your thighs that’s pushed into his leg. “Need a little break?”

As you sit there— securing yourself on the table, feeling his hand sit between your legs, you become lighter with each passing second, tingles being sent down your abdomen. Could Mr. Choi please stop smirking like that? It’s going to make you lose your mind, lose every thought of what you were trying to achieve at this table tonight.

“The chairman doesn’t allow breaks, sir,” you murmur, trying to cling onto the last sense of service you have, “I have to stay here.”

Your voice is barely above a whisper for the CEO in front of you to become curious, but loud enough for the mafiaboss to scoff and massage his hand deeper into your flesh.

“Sir, I really—“, you try to protest, but Mr. Choi uses his other finger to signal you to come closer to his face. You do as you’re told, his warm breath hitting your ear after you lean backwards.

“Baby,” he cackles, and his lips touch your earlobe, the smell of the smoke fading out his mouth.

“I practically own that wimp,” and Mr. Choi lets out a chuckle before his voice lowers an octave, “Let me own you, too.”

His tongue grazes over your sensitive skin as if he was a snake trying to convince you of eating the strange fruit, and you shudder forwards in surprise, his growl still vibrating in your ears.

You should get yourself together— yeah, that sounds like a good idea, if it just wasn't for the fact that this is exactly how you've been presenting yourself the whole evening. You're cornered, and not only by him, but your actions and it's, oh, old man, it's something. It's something that broadens the playground that was set out in front of you, something that gives you more to play, no, more to be played with.

The other guests are gawking already, forgetting about their prejudices when it comes to the 'youngsters', just happy to be seeing their missy in action.

The mafiaboss sighs, breaking his whispering and speaking louder than before. “But if you cherish so much about that old geezer, he’ll be taken care of, no? Maybe even better than before, or am I wrong here, brother?”

He clicks with his mouth— is it a habit?— and looks at headman Park, who rolls his eyes, as if they’re sharing some secret you’re not a part of. But before you can fall into further confusion, your legs tighten around Mr. Choi’s wristwatch, as his thumb strokes the surface under your skirt one time, right across your cunt which has been heating up since the first time you saw the reflection of yourself in his silver cross. A pant leaves your mouth and you have to grind your ass over so you can somehow clench your legs together.

“You like that?”, Mr. Choi sneers, chuckling into your ear, as he continues to move his thick finger against your clit. "Of course you do. Let me hear more of those cute sounds, baby.”

You grab his bicep, heat crawling up your abdomen against his forearm, your crotch feeling more and more buzzed as the male works his fingertip into you. Nobody says anything, just murmuring insignificant sentences to keep up the chatty mood.

Headman Park in the meanwhile, crosses his arms, catching the attention of the mafiaboss.

“Brother, can’t you see I’m doing this for you? Enjoy yourself.”

Mr. Choi flashes an eye-smile and keeps groping your cunt, you melting more and more into his lap and under the heated gazes of the crowd. Your servant-colleagues don’t know what to do, or no, maybe they knew exactly that this would happen and think you deserve all of this shame, just in general not helping you escape the touch of the mafiaboss.

“Sounds like you’re enjoying her more than anything,” headman Park says, looking indifferent, but his words don’t cross out the possibility that inside his pants, his cock isn’t growing too, how his arms are crossed, clenched around each other.

“Come on, baby,” Mr. Choi growls into your ear, “give that fucking bore a show, won’t you?”

You’re split open. He’s strong, oh gosh, so strong, taking not more than one push to grab you by your thigh and spread your legs, make you slip on his crotch, as he closes his knees together to support you from down under.

“San,” headman Park warns, but his mouth stays slightly open, tongue pressed against the surface of his upper teeth, suppressing a grin.

You flatten your back against Mr. Choi’s torso as an attempt to hide your face behind his neck, and breathe heavily against his freckled skin, the cold exterior of his pearly accessory grazes your chin.

“What?”, the male asks, taking his glass, his arm slithering under your armpit and his chin resting on your shoulder as he sips from it, not to forget the hand that is still pushed into the now moist fabric between your legs, moving in circular motion.

Headman Park doesn’t answer and folds his hands together, placing his elbows on the table, fingers touching his lower lip.

“Geez, brother, you should feel this cunt right now,” the mafiaboss wheezes, almost hiccuping from his excitement, “so fucking hot, you won’t believe.”

“Make her louder.”

Even Mr. Choi was surprised to hear that come out of the reserved CEO's mouth, and as he chuckles and takes the last sip from his whiskey, he puts down his glass once in for all to accept headman Park’s order.

With a slight lean forward, his free hand wraps around your neck and you gasp for air. Mr. Choi’s legs are spread so when you have to tuck in your pelvis, you can feel his bulge under your cunt. At this point, you don’t care for the piercing gazes anymore, and the chairman might as well give you a nice tip for the sight of you grinding your wet pussy into his biggest investor’s clothed cock. You’re such a master profiteer, Y/N, Jongho was right.

“Fuck, missy,” Mr. Choi grunts and he’s so frustrated he can’t take off more of your clothes, but it doesn’t prevent him from following the order when headman Park mutters, “grab her breasts.”

It is one shameless show.

You becoming needy and whiny on Choi San’s lap, the mafiaboss grinning, as CEO Park Seonghwa’s eyes are unmoving from your sullen, aroused expressions— it has persuaded the audience to want their own slice of fun, but even with hands wrapped around their no-use cocks, everybody in the room has their eyes sealed on the young servant whose only job was to refill some ice.

Mr. Choi can feel it; what a slut you are on top of him, how eagerly you’re grinding your cunt over his bulge, and how jealous the others are watching— and this includes all the blokes that are watching with cigars in their mouths, but also the servants that would have gladly taken your seat and not rub their hands over old, moist, wrinkly skin.

“Sir,” you whimper, as Mr. Choi knobs your breasts, his tough hands cupping each tit, just like headman Park commanded him.

Fuck, how he wishes to be able to see your face as well as well as headman Park does, but the sobby whines might as well do.

“So noisy on my cock,” Mr. Choi snarls, “you’re practically begging for attention, missy.”

“Don’t fucking call me that,” you hiss and the mafiaboss inhales sharply, gasping, his cock jumping, very turned on by your sudden spunky tone. Bingo.

“Did you hear that, brother?”, he whales, tempting the headman to interact with him more as the main viewer of his performance, but the man to his friend is only raising an eyebrow. “Baby's got some zest in her. You like that, don’t you?”

Mr. Choi continues to coo headman Park into defeat, “You like ‘em feisty, brother. I know you, chief execution officer, sir. You wanna ram your cock into this little missy's pretty mouth, just admit it.”

Little missy's pretty mouth. "Say that again, shitbag," you hiss, but Mr. Choi grins and pries into your bust, working folds into your freshly-ironed shirt. "Listen, brother," he breathes, "It gets your cock fucking going, doesn't it?"

The mafiaboss chuckles and adds, so only you can hear it, "Definitely gets my cock going, baby."

Headman Park scans the room, and you can see how he shakes his head, and looks at Mr. Choi with a slight distaste. “You may leave soon.”

“Really?”, Mr. Choi grins, beaming, grabbing your hips forcefully in the joy of it, and while the CEO’s words leave you misled, you sigh into the pressure of being pressed down deep into his muscled thigh, your cunt pulsating through his flesh.

“Change of plans.”

“Alright," he murmurs, just as offended as you are by his lack of reactions, but quickly catching up on his lust to hear, see, feel you more. "But not before I make this baby come."

“Punster,” headman Park jeers and it does occur to you that you’re hearing more of his soft voice than before, but when he looks at his wristwatch, you suppose you’re not doing well enough for him. Look at me, you rich-ass prude, you think and whine, being moved across Mr. Choi’s thigh by his own hands. Your clit feels hot, like it is seriously going to burn and fall off, but you, fuck, feel so good; the sounds just keep leaving your mouth, your high approaching very soon.

“How long were you thinking, brother?”, Mr. Choi asks and is nibbling at your neck, as he rams you over his thigh, fighting with the pace you're breathing wispy and digging your nails more and more into the glass-table until your fingertips turn white.

"Five.”

“Five? Make it ten.”

“You only last ten?”

“You can be such a bully, brother,” Mr. Choi fleers, and you have no fucking idea what they’re talking about, since you are feeling your orgasm coming in less than a minute, stars appearing in front of your eyes. “Make it ten.”

The male takes note of how you're bucking in your pelvis and uses his canine teeth to make your neck flame on, his hand placed roughly around your throat, as you become more sensitive to every move. "Sir," you whisper, a knot forming in your stomach.

Your clit is begging you for mercy at this point, demanding you to get the clothes off your legs so your slick has some way to escape, but you're drenching Mr. Choi's suit-pants in your wetness with stuttered heaving, ready to moan loudly in any second now if you could just find that one fucking spot—

"Are you gonna cum, baby? Right in front of everyone?", he murmurs against your neck and you nod repeatedly, raving your clothed clit on his thick, pillowy muscle, desperately chasing your high. "Come on," he snickers, "Show them what kind of slut missy is, huh? Such a good fucking slut for us, aren't you?"

"Yesyesyes," you whine, not caring for anything than your release, and Mr. Choi is being so kind as to continue breathing heavily into your ear to make you melt into bliss, but nothing gets you on more than the gentle smile that headman Park is sending your way, head slightly tilted to the back— is he nodding? Is he finally approving? Oh, fuck, you think, and you're doing the best job darting your hips non-stop to continue feeling your cunt be stroked by Mr. Choi's flesh, pursuing the CEO's praising acknowledgment. "Good fucking slut on my lap," the mafiaboss cackles, "come for daddy."

"You fucking weirdo," you falter, not wanting to call him "I'm never gonna call you—

Mmmuh!" Mr. Choi grabs you by your hair and tugs it harshly, making your back arch and your head rotate to his side. In the open mouth, his tongue plunges into your throat, the taste of woody herbs and bitter alcohol are flooding your tastebuds. Smearing all of your lipstick, his mouth is pressed against yours like he's sealing yours shut. You convulse your lower body in surprise of the sudden act and holy shit, get that one spot over your clit that's also stroking your gaping entrance, your body releasing all of its heat into one blaring, roaring zap, with your eyes rolling back your head, your stirred voice screaming, "FUCK!"

There is a gasp heard through the dining hall and you're not sure whether it was the chairman, a servant, or headman Park in front of you, but as you are spasming on Mr. Choi's thigh and your back arches to his chest, you feel like the world is expanding on you, peeping, intrusive onlookers cramming out their money to thank you for the show they got, white trickling through the linen of their underwear.

Coming down from your high, weakened and all the while more aroused by the mafiaboss whispering the words "good girl" into your ear, you try to open your eyelids to catch headman Park putting on some black leather-gloves he got from his briefcase, muttering something under his breath to the mafiaboss.

“Go."

What the fuck?

Mr. Choi hooks his arm under your legs while he re-applies his lips to yours, and lifts you up like the pretty princess you are to most of the gawkers that don't stop watching, when he stands up.

Everybody has their eyes on the kiss the mafiaboss and servant missy are sharing, but headman Park doesn’t even look at you, when his partner starts carrying you to the elevator that's waiting for you at the wall about in the middle of the dining table, and just retrieves his open briefcase from the floor. Has he had enough of you already?

“Where are we—“, you breathe, but Mr. Choi kisses you silent, tongue forcing its entry, preventing you from figuring out what's happening, after the mafiaboss puts you down in front of the door and pushes you against the frame roughly. Cheering and hooting encourages him to continue rubbing his thumb over your skin as the other ringed fingers are holding your thigh, and you're pressed against his leg, virtually fenced in by Mr. Choi while he pushes the button for the lift to come.

His eyes are squinting to the side while he works his lips against you, in a way confirming that all of the guests (except the CEO) are begrudgingly anticipating the next actions of the mafiaboss, not caring how the headman is slowly pushing his seat away from the table to get more leg-space, which you seem to be the only person noticing it.

The golden door opens with a bell dinging the elevator’s arrival, and Mr. Choi grabs you by your ass, leading the way inside it. You can't see it correctly with your eyes closed, can only feel his big arms push into your frame, but he even makes for a show-like exit, burlesquely saluting the audience with two fingers, clicking with his mouth. It must really be a habit, you think, and giggle into the kiss.

The men attempt to throw bankrolls into your space and some succeed, some don't, but while you're glad your plan worked out, you aren't too sure what you've just done with, or for the mafiaboss.

Your heated kiss continues and because you want to feel him, you unbutton his shirt that doesn’t need that much working, three buttons being pushed open by your jellylike hands. Before you can unclothe him though, Mr. Choi pushes his arm against the mirror next to your head, stopping you to take a look at his wristwatch. He strokes his hair to the back with the other hand, revealing some of his meaty abs, and once he’s reached the backside of his head, he slides his fingers down his neck and around his Adam's apple to scratch it, announcing, “Ten minutes on the clock. Shit, brother's dick must be fucking exploding in his pants right now."

“Sir?”, you ask, overwhelmed by the words that are not making sense in your head, but also distracted by his hand that’s around your tie.

“Given he really could've finished in five but,” he yanks you towards his face. “I wanted to have you a bit more for myself, missy.”

He smiles, very arrogantly like the patronizing fuck he is, like he knows how strong he is, what a dominating aura he possesses, but at this point, in between the mirrors and on this black, marbled floor, you are not at the chairman’s dinner anymore, aren’t a servant anymore– you aren’t bound to any authority, are you?

“If you fucking call me ‘missy’ again, I’ll bite your fucking dick off.”

Except for the moment that you’re talking to him, a mafiaboss, whose breast is marked by— and you can see it very clearly now for it fits perfectly into yours— hands that have shared the same, if not a similar experience with you.

“How’d you know I was into biting, baby?”

And holy fuck, his back looks even crazier.

“God, sir,” you breathe out in awe and a little bit of fear. You can count the lines of red scratches on his back and as you finally let his shirt fall from his shoulders, the reflection of his muscles, how they relax under your touch. You become starstruck. Everything about him is so scarring, but fuck, how it attracts you, the wildness, the savagery— there’s something so free about him.

"What, baby? You like what you're seeing? How naughty..."

Ten minutes aren’t a lot, but Mr. Choi makes his best attempt to hurry over the trivial parts of fucking you. He steps closer, your ass hitting the handrail, legs crossing together, and your buttons pop in one rip, as his two hands rupture your blouse open. He lets his shirt drop to the floor, all the while his lips clash against the nook of your neck, making you sigh under the luminous lights of the elevator and grab his neck. You’re getting hazy, horny; damn, it’s been so long you’ve had a good fuck. Satisfactory sex is another luxury you were postponing for later.

With his lips sewn on your shoulder, kissing and forcing his tongue against a spot he deems especially tasty, the half-naked male unzips your skirt to finally reveal the black pantyhose that looks soaked in your slick. After he chuckles at the sight of it, Mr. Choi licks over his lips and cups your jaw with his hand, drawing a trail of insatiable kisses across your skin.

“Still wanna bite my dick off?”, he asks with a sly smirk, breathy, having caught your aroused look locked on his silver chains, his jacked upper body inviting you to get your mouth in there until it’s molded around your teeth.

“Come on, baby,” the male provokes you, “You think I’m gonna fuck you just like this? Think I’m gonna ram myself inside your cute fucking cunt ‘cause I’m such a big scary fucking man?”

You inhale sharply. “N- no, I…”, you breathe out, letting your tongue run over your teeth.

“Aw, baby, am I making you shy?”, Mr. Choi hoots, “I didn’t think you were a shy one. You were pretty noisy on my thigh for your cunt, weren’t you? Getting all the sounds out for brother to hear them… You really served a show there, baby.”

Your mouth only lets out stammered gibberish– you have never learnt how to talk dirty, but Mr. Choi uses your opened lips to ram his tongue into it again anyway, and you're almost proud to say you've gotten used to it.

He breathes rashly through his nose, and he tastes less of bourbon but more of dulcet desire, mixed in with the red of your lipstick sitting on his lip. Your knee strokes his erection while he gets his hands behind your back to get your bra off, lips clashing and raving against each other. “Letting your body talk for you?”, Mr. Choi husks, panting at having his overstrained cock touched. He relieves you from the pressure around the bust and continues to ramble. "I knew I could have a lot of fun with you the second I laid my eyes on you.” You pant and reunite your lips with his. "Little missy, such a whore for the rich."

He’s overconfident he’s seeing right through you, it infuriates you. Mr. Choi massages his hands into your breasts, the cold rings grazing sharply into your warm flesh, and as your knee is still between his crotch, you huff. You can be a whore for the rich when you’re earning money, but right now, you’re doing things for your own pleasure.

“Are you going to have a lot of fun with me?”, you sing-song in a high-pitched female voice to the mafiaboss that’s immediately taken aback, and you know the word 'missy' is on top of his tongue again, when you interrupt him with a quick jab of your knee into his groin. "Shit-eating fat-cat."

Mr. Choi grunts, head tilting down. His feline eyes meet your foxy ones, and while you weren't preparing for a staredown, the mafiaboss smirks and bites his lip.

He has a lot to say, you can see it. There’s something glimmering under the lust-drunken layer behind his eyes, and it’s deep, goes deeper, but for some reason, the mafiaboss, who just so despicably couldn’t hold his mouth, doesn’t let out the words that’s crossing his mind.

“Sir–”

Wrong deduction.

Mr. Choi scowls in laughter, and you guess he meant to joke with you, but he means to play with you much more, when he, once again, lifts you up, by your waist this time, and balances you on the handrail.

Resting his forearm on your thighs to stabilize you, Mr. Choi digs in his pocket to fetch his cigarette box, looking at himself through the mirror and shaking some strands out of his face. "Shit-eating fat-cat," he repeats with a lisp, pulling out one of the slim rolls with the corner of his mouth, and he continues to chuckle, as he glances at you through his eyelashes, "you should've said that to the old geezer when you had the chance to, baby."

"The chairman?"

No answer. Mr. Choi lights his cigarette with a zippo, and keeps it lit in his mouth, as he, with no forewarning, tears open your pantyhose from your crotch with both of his hands, spreading your legs wide. You have to get your hands around his head to be able to keep yourself on the handrail.

“Why do you look so scared? Think I’m gonna fuck you?”, he lisps. “I’m just taking a good look, baby. What a pretty cunt you got there, baby.”

You gulp. Mr. Choi slides his index finger across your heated folds through the fabric and your cunt clenches together, wanting to be filled up. “Sir,” you sigh, and the mafiaboss pulls in smoke from his cig, raising an eyebrow.

“What, baby? ‘You need something?”, he asks, “You’re not a fucking servant anymore, or do you need to be ordered around, missy?”

You try to look angry, but Mr. Choi only pouts and presses his finger through your panties, soaking them in your slick that’s gathered at your entrance. “Desperate to please the money-man? So wet for him…”

“Fuck you,” you mewl, but Mr. Choi knows what he’s doing when he thumbs your clit and exhales smoke into your face, hiding his face for a short second which gives you confidence. “I need you… to fuck me.”

“What did you say, baby? I couldn’t hear.”

“Please, sir, just… fuck me, please…”

“Louder.”

“God! Just fuck me! Didn’t you say we have ten minutes? Make them fucking count!”

“There we go, baby. My slutty little missy. Oh, baby, you’re growing on me, brother’s gonna hate that.”

You huff and Mr. Choi slides your panties off your legs, taking a short glimpse at his wristwatch. “Damn, ten’s really a short time.”

How many minutes have passed? Ten already? You know you said it, but you mentioned it only because it made sense, if you’re honest, you have no clue what the time is worth for. Aren't these the men who have time for gold?

The biting smell of tobacco enters your nose, making you cough out loud. Is smoking even allowed in the elevator? Wait, wait, wait, no, maybe you should worry about other things, for example what you're going to do when those ten minutes are over, when all of this is over. They clearly have some type of plan and thing they are carrying out right now, but you don’t know how much you’re invited in there.

Mr. Choi finishes his quick break, inhaling one last puff and keeping his cig between his lips again, and his hands unbuckle his belt in silence, while you contemplate.

Clanking, ruttling, and steps begin to thump behind the door— have any of you two even pressed a button? The mafiaboss looks concentrated, fixed on your cunt, taking out his throbbing, panging cock out his underwear, stroking it a few times to god, fuck, finally get to touch it after having been dry-humped hot.

Squelching, huffing, and voices echo through the floor— is that the chairman you hear? You can only yelp, when Mr. Choi drags off your panties and slathering his thick fingers across your folds in one, then penetrating with another forceful movement.

"Fuck!", you hiss out, grabbing the handrail next to your hips, trying to balance yourself on it still. The mafiaboss snickers into your ear, and tours through your cunt, all the while it appears that all hell is breaking loose outside.

BANG!

"Sir, what—!"

"Shhh, baby," Mr. Choi hushes you, and takes out his cig with the fingers that are now glistening with your wetness, placing it on top of his lips vertically to the scar that is accompanying his smug smirk.

BANG!

"You got nothin' to worry 'bout, baby," he lulls, "we're just eatin' the pheasant and the egg here," and exhales smoke into your face out his mouth-hole, which distracts you from the third, fourth—

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Another proverb, pheasant and the egg— 'two birds with one stone'. Mr. Choi unfolds his hand as if he was counting the minutes, or the shots— wait, yes, shots! Fuck, those are gun-shots, right? You've never heard something so loud ever in your life, where does someone get guns from in South Korea? What even would they need guns for? Why would they use them? What the fuck is happening outside?!

"Oh, fuck!", you moan out, before fear and realization can crawl up your scalp and take away your lusting for the male, Mr. Choi has jerked his hip up, his cock gliding into you smoothly as if your cunt was made for him, the length and girth perfectly curling inside. Your back arches, at least as far as you can arch it, and he grins bemusedly at your jolted reaction.

BANG!

With every blast that follows, Mr. Choi is thrusting into you, first slowly, but then adding more speed and vigor as he goes, or as the blasting goes, making you shakily watch yourself be wrecked by the broad man through the reflection on the other side, your legs dangling with his rough movement.

You don't know how he's fucking you through your tightness, because with each ducking of his hips it feels like your inner walls are expanding more and ungodly more, as if he was piercing you in half.

Small puffs of smoke leave Mr. Choi's mouth each time he pants out raspy "oh baby"s and loud claps of him slapping your ass overtone the screaming, scrambling noises outside, as you two work your lower bodies against and into each other, growing more passionate, throbbing feverishly.

"Fuck, baby," Mr. Choi hisses, cigarette tilting in his mouth, as his face frowns together. "So fucking good for daddy, aren't you? So fucking tight and wet, such a good fucking girl—"

The screams outside are dying down, but the mafiaboss and you are getting louder, breathier, lustier; with your head falling backwards, hitting the mirror, the twisting feeling of fear and the ecstasy to be bouncing on Mr. Choi's big cock mix up like one hellish drink, boiling and churning inside of you.

Smashing both his hands on each of you ass-cheeks to dig his fingers into them and get more stability to ram into you so fast, and oh boy, it's so fucking fast, you're going to spiral— Mr. Choi sputters, "Are you gonna come? Are you going to come for daddy, baby? Greedy baby gonna take daddy's huge fucking load?"

The male is unraveling, his once low, stable voice turning into a whiny, hoarse, cracked mess just like you, practically urging, begging you to finally take the name ‘daddy’ into your mouth.

"Come on baby, say it for me, huh? Feels good to be my slut?", he disentangles, "Be a good slut for daddy, baby."

"I'm not gonna call you— that, fuckhead!", you moan, though your insides are curdling together to finally be released, the knot tightening with each drop of sweat that is forming on your boiling face.

"Really? Think you can afford to misbehave, baby?", Mr. Choi snickers and spits his cig on the floor, your ass being handled at an insane speed, his cock slipping in and out of you with rough ease. He takes it upon himself to dig his teeth into the nook of your neck, biting you heftily, your pulse knocking against your throat, as you feel his cock run in and out of your cunt. Your head goes light and dazed, but before you can gasp out your high from being fucked, bitten, sent to bliss, the male sinks you deep into his cock fully, it does not give you the last thrust you would need to—

"Fuckfuckfuck, I'm gonna cum," you whimper, needing to tremble, but unable to move because his hands are restricting you from any movement, and you continue to bring out a string of weak "pleasepleaseplease" that bounces back from the mafiaboss, who is raising an eyebrow, waiting for the magic word to be spoken out of your wet lips. Tears have formed at the corner of your eye and he thumbs it away, grinning coyly.

"Fuck you, I'mnotgonna fucking, ugh—!", you sob, "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!"

"Aww, you wanna hate daddy so bad, don’t you?”

“Fuuuck you!” Whines leave your mouth, wanting to cum, wanting to move, wanting for Mr. Choi to continue fucking into you and not wipe away your tears.

“Just say you love me, baby,” he heaves and returns his hand to your hip.

Thrusting into you once with a clap against your groin, to make your cunt clench around him, and then twice with the last blood-curdling BANG! from outside, his cock is deep inside you. He feels you tighten, pulsate, craving to be released, but Mr. Choi will not move again to your liking until you finally let go of yourself, which riles you up with no hope.

"F— Fuuuck, okay!", you scream out, annoyed, angry, wanting to fucking cum; "Daddy!", you sob and Mr. Choi smirks, instantly getting to work to toast the adieu of your pride. Thumb on your clit, he circles around your sensitive bud to double the tension you feel through all of your body, while you gutter, "fuck me, daddy, please, make me cum, please, daddy, please—"

He laughs, no, howls— elated, animated, drunk, and then, with his strong, buff fucking arms, pounds you into his cock like a punching bag, your ass hitting his pelvis so many times until you have to use his gelled hair as a last resort to hold yourself up and not push yourself from the handrail with your head against the mirror, but he holds you, holds you steadily in his grip.

"Good god, good fucking missy, such a good fucking slut for me, cum all over my cock– all over my fucking cock, baby," Mr. Choi grunts, and the string that was keeping you balanced snaps, your orgasm hitting you like that makes your insides tighten around the mafiaboss and his throbbing girth, your whole body being flushed by an overwhelming wave of pleasure which you drink up whole. His cockhead rubs against your sweetspot, you riding out the high while seeing nothing but bliss.

"Holy fuck," you breathe, and your fingers grip into the thick skin of his back, and with Mr. Choi's hips not stopping to hit your pelvis, there are additional, injuring, deep red marks on there with every thrust. You’re scratching him like a beast wanting to tear up its prey, but the beast is fucking into you like there’s no tomorrow. His cock does not stop grazing against your deepest spot, tears rolling down your heated cheek, and your mouth is unable to get out the words you want it to when you get the feeling that he's going to cum soon.

"O- out," you warn him, but the mafiaboss makes a disappointed face, “I– I really can’t afford a child, p-please pull out–!”

He draws his eyebrows in, scoffs and looks you deep in the eyes, his muscular body tucked in, murmuring, rambling out his whiskey-painted throat, “Is that really your only problem, baby? That you don’t have enough money?” His forehead leans against yours and your eyelids flutter open– you are being a mitt around his dick– and he pouts in pity, his iron cross hanging from his chest, as he talks to you.

Mr. Choi gets his hand flat on your lower belly and presses down on it, feeling himself bulge inside you. He moves his hips slowly, his cockhead dragging across your sweetspot, while he gutters, “you’d look so sexy as a mother, don’t you think, baby? With the tummy and all.”

“S- sir, please I–”

"Come on, do you think I don’t have enough money to pay for a fucking kid? God, how fucking annoying– I’m not that kind of man, baby,” Mr Choi growls, his voice vibrating against your cheek, as he charges his forehead deeper against yours, “I still got some honor.”

You shake your head, unsure whether there are pills for after in the pharmacies, or whether the mafiaboss will really be there to be with you as he promises, but Mr. Choi continues to beg in his low breathy, guttery voice. “Baby,” he rumbles, pressing even harder on your abdomen, your ass being pushed into the handrail that you’re sure it’s going to leave one red straight mark, and his cock is almost exploding from the edge, “Let me, no, let daddy cum into your tight cunt, baby, please.”

God, he wants you. He wants you so bad, doesn’t he?

"Y- you should see yourself," you chuckle, stroking over Mr. Choi's gelled hair, and his head tilts up a little bit as your fingers get tangled in his black locks, the white of his eyes making him look like a wild dog waiting for its treat. "F-fucking do it, you fucking slut."

"Fuck, baby," he laughs, out of breath, "You’re really a price."

Mr. Choi hammers his hips into you, until the stars in front of you all look like wishes falling from the sky. Both of you feel it, how his cock just feels so right, fits in like your cunt is a fucking glove which is full and getting even fuller.

"God, fuck," Mr. Choi grunts from the bottom of his throat, his hot cum lading into you, and it's like your lower body is melting with it, becoming heavier with every drop he's unloading inside.

"Take all of my fucking cum," he husks and your faces clash together for one finishing wild kiss. Mr. Choi sucks on your lower lip, as he fucks his ejaculation deeper and deeper into your hole with slow thrusts, until he bucks up his pelvis the last time and moans out a raspy, “perfect fucking missy with a perfect fucking cunt..."

Ding!

For a man that uses his mouth so sparingly, his tongue surely works wonders.

"Sir, are you—"

Headman Park has entered the elevator without a word, pulling off his leather gloves, and with Mr. Choi stepping away, he has all the place he requires to get on his knees and throw your leg over his shoulder, his wet and warm muscle delving into your throbbing cunt. You've been bereaved of the time to inspect what was behind or around him when the door closed, but maybe that's irrelevant anyways. What is relevant, is how impatient, but also how careful the CEO remains, and how he still tries his best to slowly sift his tongue into your folds, feeling every inch of your wetness. He’s been dying to do this.

"Fuck, sir!"

"Please," the CEO chuckles, hastily pulling the black leathery from his hands to put it back in his briefcase that he's been carrying, but he doesn't miss your cunt once, purling over your clit and glancing at you. "Call me Seonghwa, princess."

You could cum right here and there, just at the sight of this pretty man looking up to you, who has laid out his first name and put it into yours, scream it out loud until everyone hears what a princess you've been made of.

Princess. You knew his eyes were different, but you didn’t know they saw the world differently too. Oh, how you wish you could see more of his world.

"Aww, what? That's why you're still a foreigner in our country, brother! 'Can't be dropping our titles," Mr. Choi huffs and lights himself a second cigarette, filling the elevator with smoke and tobacco. How his breath really doesn't smell is questionable to you.

Just like you, the CEO, or how you're allowed to call him now— Seonghwa, ignores his partner's words, laps over your clit with his tongue, gently easing into your cunt with his clean fingers, and your soft sighs are like a reward for him, for whatever he's done outside.

"Respect, brother, 's all about respect..."

You tighten your thighs around Seonghwa's neck. The charcoal-haired has closed his eyes, sighing into the taste of you, and you are flawlessly overlooking the loud mafiaboss, just completely concentrating on the commitment the CEO is eating you out with. His head fits magically between your legs, he works his fingers so flawlessly into you, this must be fate— and if it's not, you're going to make it your future in any which way possible. You're falling. No, flying; never coming down.

"Seonghwa," you whine, and your hand glides over the hooked male's forehead, his hair feeling smooth under your touch as he presses his tongue slowly— in circular motion— against your clit to keep you on the high, but not in a way that would make you trip over.

"Mmf," the mafiaboss in front of you huffs, clearly attracted, enticed by the way you've exhaled the other male’s first name, scratching his temple with the fingers that are holding his cigarette.

"Whether you wanna call me San or 'daddy', baby," the scarred male, no, San, the fucker grins, "I'm gonna be hearing both either way."

"Fuck—", you moan out, having to take a breath because of how Seonghwa has curled his fingers into you with his tongue ready to shovel anything into his mouth that comes out, "you, fuckhead!"

The CEO is giggling a bit, finding your tone very amusing— and he tries to tell you this by looking up and slanting his eyes a friendly way, no, a way that you've never even conjured up the fantasy to perceive him, the cold-faced Park Seonghwa who hasn't drunk a drop of alcohol tonight. What pureness in a man...

"I liked 'fat-cat' better,” San snickers and goes through his hair that definitely needs combing, turning around and looking at himself through the mirror, though his eyes squint towards Seonghwa's reflection on the other side, now again lost in your cunt, taking off his jacket and folding it in half behind his back.

"Brother, you're eating my cum, by the way," the mafiaboss jabs, puffing out smoke while he's decidedly getting hard again in his trousers. San really can't hide his emotions on his face, can he? His lips are pursed, eyebrows slightly pulled in— how obvious. The man is jealous and doesn't want to admit it, you're sure of it.

"Shut up," you hiss, having become a bit comfortable with teasing the frustrated, outwitted mafiaboss. Ten minutes were definitely too little for him, but you've already rid his thigh, let him cum inside, and Seonghwa is simply too good with his tongue right now.

"Fuuuck," you whisper, and feel every drowsy twirl of his finger inside you, but it's slow, so slow, Seonghwa is swerving around every sponginess inside you, savoring the contraction of your inner space, and how your muscles tighten, when he licks over your clit, he enjoys this; enjoys you.

And so it continues, Park Seonghwa exploring every detail of your cunt as if he's a sommelier tasting the rarest of fluids, appreciating every drop that lands on his tongue, his fingers making sure that they don't go to waste.

"Shit," San comments, "I should've eaten her out, too."

The CEO is not cocky about it, about the way you are grabbing into his hair and squirming, how he has to slightly lift you up so you don't fall from your position. And then, when Seonghwa thinks your taste has perfectly coated his palate, speeds up.

"Fuck, sir," and the title slips out of you, like a habit you can't change for good when you feel so small. The CEO between your legs doesn't mind it though, at least doesn't say anything on it and just lets his fingers hit your sweet spot until there is a distinctive "Seonghwa" leaving sighed out your lips.

"I'm going to—", you announce, but the male has been long aware of it, preparing himself more access by bending his upper body to angle himself across your cunt, giving his partner a better view on how you glisten in arousal.

San in front of you is standing frozen, with his cigarette slowly burning out in his mouth, and you recompense the lack of his cock in your cunt by moaning louder, so your voice can vibrate around his erection. He grins and gets a tongue to his canine tooth, naked upper body still glowing in sweat, muscles shining, cock twitching every time he hears you breathe, and breathe more intensely, "make me cum, Seonghwa, please!"

"I knew you would taste delicious," Seonghwa murmurs, silently, rather for himself, and this must be how he sounds when he's drunk, because he is so high on your taste, "but this is ambrosial, princess."

You curl up your pelvis, and Seonghwa holds you by your hips, as his tongue picks up in speed, drawing out every word he hasn't spoken tonight on your labia, stamping them into your clit, all the while his fingers row in more and every last drop.

"C- coming~", you purr, and your eyes close down, your hands deep in Seonghwa's scalp, exhaling the weight of your worries, that flushes down into the man who seems to have none in his life, and he breathes into your hot cunt through his nose, not letting go of it until he's made sure that your hips tremble around his head. "P- please, f- fuck, fuck, feels so good—"

Pumping the remaining come into you, Seonghwa licks up your cunt and kisses your clit until you go completely flaccid, your arms giving in, but Seonghwa catches you by your hand, kissing your thigh with his swollen pink lips.

With your body relaxed, your ass feels a bite sore, having been prodded into the iron rail for so long. You grab into Seonghwa's hand and try to push yourself up, but ultimately fail at getting yourself into a more comfortable position.

"San, hold her."

"Huh?", he asks, "'Need something more snuggly, baby? Or what did you call her again, brother?"

"Princess," the CEO answers immediately and you have to suppress a girly giggle, as Seonghwa turns his head around, lips still pressed against your thigh. He presumably sends San an admonitory look to hurry up, and gets up from his knees.

The mafiaboss shrugs, not offended by being ordered around. He puts out the cigarette against the mirror and cracks his neck by rolling his head around, his thick neck dousing into your sight as he does so. He's so intimidating, you think, but he's on his way to coast those monster-arms behind your back, hands down to each of your hamstrings to, "up you go," pick you up like real royalty. The giggle escapes your mouth but you don't feel the slightest embarrassed nor do you have a reason to be. You are sunken deep into San’s cushiony arms— his muscles make for a great seat, and hovering, air hitting your hot cunt, as your legs spread for the CEO in front of you when you fall into the elbows. You yelp, but the giggles just keep coming, making San in the mirror in front of you wink at you, cackling, "you like that, princess?"

Seonghwa smiles, satisfied by your enjoyment of this position and approaches you once more. "I have yet to kiss you, Y/N," he says with his sweet voice, and his gentle hands find your chin and waist, your eyes blossoming open for him to stare into.

Even San shuts up now, and you suppose he is too taking part in the beauty that is the embrace of you and Seonghwa; two sets of lips, crazing each other, meeting for one flowery affair, breathing out small vapors of life. You can taste yourself, which means that Seonghwa is fully consumed by your aroma.

God, you think again, your cunt tingling at how Seonghwa tugs at his tie, pulling it side to side as he kisses you— the golden 'π'-pin clanks shrill to the floor— everything about Seonghwa is so...

Clean?

You are inhaling the mellow smell of his satiny skin, and the CEO unbuttons his shirt with proficient, skilfull flicks of his fingers. He is so handsome, handsomely pretty, and even when it’s drenched in your fluids, his skin shines on its own, like Seonghwa has a light shining within. Once you can see his bare chest and get lost on the smooth surface, your eyes dive down, admiring his slim, yet very muscular physique.

Seonghwa gets his tie and drags off his shirt by tugging at one sleeve with his hand, the white fabric revealing the rest of body with one clean pull that matches one of the curtains.

"W-", and you have to jump back with your head to get the full spectacle that's presented in front of you, exhaling in awe— "Wow.."

"Not so blank, our brother, is he?", San chuckles from behind of you and lowers his head to press his chin against your temple, surveying the same sight.

Two colossal, monstrous dragons, red and black, are colliding, looped, entangled all around Seonghwa's right arm, fighting for dominance on his skin. The raven hydra has its jaw wide open where Seonghwa looks to his shoulder with a rather shy smile once he sees your reaction, baring its teeth towards his heart, while the crimson dragon ends at the CEO's wrist, sitting on top of his pulse.

"Would you believe me it was brother's idea, baby?"

"As if," Seonghwa murmurs, folding his shirt into a square.

San chuckles again, re-shuffling himself and pressing your back close to his stomach, granting the back of your head to rest at his collarbone. "I asked her if she would believe, brother."

You watch the delicate lines, the elegant strokes of tint meeting on his skin, but while your first impression made you believe they carried a certain viciousness with their svelte bodies, the second sight presents you a different image of two forces maneuvering into each other as a reminder that they both co-exist as supreme. It's not one another they're reviling against, it's the bearer of the both who is threatened by their fangs. Their existence is a warning reminder, but also a sign of pride.

"I believe it's... beautiful."

“Aw, you’re so sweet, baby.”

You haven't seen many tattoos in your life, none in the mountains, and even in the city the only observable tattoos were those of the sleazy guys in alleys that wait when you're done with your job to gape at your uniform. They got tigers and other animals roaring on their bodies to hide the fact they don't have the fighting skills to keep up, but for Seonghwa, a CEO, to have this amount of ink under his skin is a commitment and to imagine he’s hiding that under his ironed shirt and black jacket, no, that you are seeing it right now, it’s… You’re overwrought, steamed up, aflame.

"Wanna touch it, baby?", San asks, and you nod eagerly. Seonghwa chuckles, “Go for it.”

You let your fingertip ghost over the dragons' scales, tailing their curvature. Goosebumps form on Seonghwa's arm and his hand finds its way to your head, stroking your cheek, as you meet the red beast's eyes.

The mafiaboss whispers, almost sentimentally, "No blood or tears."

Another expression, which proves to you that the tattoo was undoubtedly his idea, but you see it, the romance that is spoken from the male's skin, regardless of the little insight you have on both of them. Loyalty, reverence, creed, a belief and a duty, and before you know it, you want Seonghwa to enwrap you with his arms and never let you go, which he does.

His slender hand cloaks the left side of your head, and he pulls himself into a kiss, while he unbuckles his belt with his other hand.

You don't know how much you understand of this situation, no, you don't know how much you want to understand of this situation.

You've been on your own. That's all you ever had after you left home: Your body and soul, the windstorms of the mountains pushing you from the back to keep going, and you've lived your best life living for yourself that way, in bliss, in ignorance— in peace, but what is peace in a place where you can't move by yourself? In a world that’s maimed by the rich, and sure, it may be that you’ve chosen your path, but you were never walking a road that was yours, always trailing behind something.

Nameless, that’s what you thought you would need to be.

Your monks wanted to be called their title like everyone else, it would have been disrespectful to ask Lady Kim for hers which you now regret, and not even as a secret did your old man tell you his name, but you— you, Y/N, you have a name and you want to scream it, live it as loud as you can, hear it echo back with a volume that feels stronger when it rings back.

You could have settled on being acknowledged by your supervisor to earn some good money, but this is what you’re here for, aren’t you? Why you trusted your gut to stick to the scary men? Why you walked to them with confident steps, even when a nervous knot was forming together inside you? Did you go as what, an act of defiance? One of independence? To prove yourself that you were still standing on your own feet?

"Speaking of, brother..."

Yes, with no shame.

"You really enjoyed yourself back there, didn’t you?”, San asks. “Didn’t expect that from you.”

Seonghwa is kissing you down your breast, observing closely how you breathlessly react to his tongue twirling around your nipple.

"You left me no other chance," the older male hums, coating your circular buds with his saliva, bringing out your heavenly sighs every chance he gets, stroking himself to the sounds of your pleasure.

"Well, I would have made sure you still fucked her, brother."

“Sure,” Seonghwa lisps and positions his cockhead at your entrance.

You try to grab San's shoulder behind you, as the male pushes himself inside, and your torso rotates to the side with your eyebrows pulling together, your cunt being spread apart. “F-fuck,” you exhale, and Seonghwa kisses the corner of your lip to soothe you. Your cunt squelches around his cock and your hips roll by themselves, wanting to take more of his length.

"Shit, look at her go," the mafiaboss woos, "Fuck yourself out, brother."

"Think you’ll miss this?", Seonghwa snickers and it must be the first question he has asked today. “Y- yeah, you will!”, you snap, feeling eager to be acknowledged for how good your cunt wraps around his throbbing heat.

“Oh, princess,” the CEO laughs, and your stomach drops because of how pretty his laughter sounds, and he caresses your cheek, only making your confusion and desire to finally uncover what the two men have obviously been keeping from you grow bigger. You don’t want to say it abruptly, but you three are naked, in a confined space, skins pressed against each other, so you believe you’re worth some type of explanation– or are you not?

“C- can you tell me what’s going to happen?”, you whine, and Seonghwa moves his hips, grabbing you by your waist to get his whole length. “Are you, fuck, going to leave me?”

“I dunno, brother, you call it,” San mutters. “It was your plan.”

“D- don’t!”

“It’s barely my plan anymore,” Seonghwa breathes, bucking his pelvis in, his cockhead being sucked in by your sensitive cunt.

“Don’t leave me!”

“You needed a distraction, brother, I got you one.”

“No,” Seonghwa chuckles, but in his heat, he kisses you and glances up at San while his tongue brushes against your lip. “But I’ll admit she saved us some jail-time, San.”

They continue talking over your pleas, and though you would have loved to ask a second time how the night was going to end, your brain has started to give into the pleasure once San folds your legs together, holding you by your hamstrings, giving Seonghwa an easier angle to fuck you senseless.

“F- fu-huuck,” you breathe out, and your eyes are disappearing behind your molten, droopy eyelids, with Seonghwa cumming for the second time on your abdomen and cleaning it up with his handkerchief, and you don’t even know when it was, that San crammed out his cock again, but you can definitely feel the difference of his girth, when he re-enters your used cunt, your legs shakily landing on the floor. They feel wobbly, your thighs having gone loose, and the mafiaboss has to hold you by your arms behind your back to support you.

“Can’t take it anymore, baby?”, San whispers into your ear, and his voice is low, very low, you don’t know how much time has passed since you could make out any of his words, but it feels like you’re back here, in the elevator, and Seonghwa is putting on his belt again.

“I c- can!”, you manage to whine out, not wanting the night to end, not wanting to return to your small apartment, not wanting these two to be gone from your life. “I can!”, you repeat yourself, when San lets out a mockful cackle. “You’re not going to fucking leave me here, San!”

“Who said anything about leaving you here, baby?”, he asks you, and he does mean his confusion, but the sarcastic undertone makes you desperate grow desperate. San frowns. “What did I tell you, baby?”

“You aren’t telling me shit, San!”, you sob, and his cock running through you prevents you from finding a braver voice, his two hands find your wrists to bind them together in his grip. “Aren’t you such a smartie,” he growls into your ear, hot air hitting your dissolving ear.

“Brother,” San calls out, and the addressed man is busy opening up his briefcase, getting on his knee. “I’m still waiting on you, y’know.”

“If you had stuck to the plan, th–” Seonghwa murmurs, but the mafiaboss falls into his word. “Then we would have fuckin’ send the bitch to prison and someone else would have him killed him, but there! You know I didn’t come with the fucking patience for that, brother! Geezer was getting on my fucking nerves.”

Killed?

“And don’t you talk back now,” San warns, “It was you who killed all of ‘em, so you figure out how you’re going to carry that one out.”

Killed?

“You already know how I’m going to carry this out.” Seonghwa smirks. “But you’re stopping me, San.”

“Augh, brother, you’re too sober for your own sake!” San’s cock is too deep in your cunt and your body is too much in his control for you to stop moaning like a bitch, but in your head, you’re puzzling together tonight’s happenings.

Expensive whiskey. Ice cubes. Ten minutes, gunshots, black leather gloves– “killed.”

Oh, Y/N.

“What did you do with the chairman, Seonghwa?”, you moan out, feeling how the mafiaboss is ramming himself into you at a sloppy, greedy pace, prolonging how much he can be inside you before he comes again, and you don’t know whether his heavy breathing can cover up the silence that it takes for the CEO to react to your question.

Seonghwa is still kneeled on the floor, when he rotates his head, smiling, his eyebrows pushed up. “What do you think I did?” His second question of the day.

“I- I,” you stutter, but San shakes his head, and interrupts you with his voice still loose from the alcohol, “you really don’t know how to keep up a good mood, brother!”, grabbing you by your chin and yanking your head up. “Lemme make my baby cum first!”

You can’t see Seonghwa anymore. You can barely see anything anymore, you’re counting your fifth or sixth orgasm of the night, cunt growing hotter with each time San thrusts into it, and with your breath being cut off, you slowly feel your arms lose their responsibility, tingling up from where your wrists are crossed behind your back. His cockhead is flaying against your g-spot and your thighs tremble at how used you’re being, eyes falling in, throat feeling tied up.

“S- San,” you manage to cough out, back arching for your final cry of pleasure, and San grins, letting go of your wrists, which makes you immediately fall to the front, finding safety against the mirror with both of your hands. He smacks his hands against your ass and lunges into you until your whole breast is pushed against the cold wall.

“Come on, baby, come for me,” San roars, and you wail, tired, exhausted, feeling the orgasm drown you like another wave in the ocean of bliss you’ve been swimming in, whining out, “coming, coming for you, San!”

The mafiaboss presses himself against your back, his silver cross being imprinted into your neck, as he unloads himself, his last drops of hot cum overflowing out of you. “Fucking slut… So fucking good…”

He kisses your jaw repeatedly and looks at how tiredly closed your eyes are in the mirror, cooing “aww, baby.” San strokes away a strand of hair and gets himself off your body, pulling out. “You look like you need some sleep, baby.”

You are trying to catch your breath, grabbing the handrail to hold yourself up, as it sounds like San is putting on his shirt again. They’re gonna fucking leave you here, aren’t they? Leave you here in the elevator with the– with the fucking bankrolls on the floor of the fucking men you fucking– Oh god… Keep breathing, Y/N. Keep on breathing.

“I mean all I’m saying… you know… lobsters and crabs are friends, pal.”

What the fuck is he on again…

“You’re making this hard on yourself.”

“I’m not doing anything, just sayin’ that she just grew on me, that’s all.”

Your legs tremble, as you try straightening them to stand up and see what the two are scheming again, but as you turn your body around, ass against the handrail again, you hear a very unfamiliar clicking in front of your forehead area which is not coming out of San’s mouth.

“You’ve grown soft. That’s what you did.”

“Ahhh, fuck you, brother.”

“Pathetic.”

You see a hole, and it also doesn’t take you long to see Seonghwa ready to pull the trigger, the mafiaboss leaning into the corner of the elevator, arms crossed, looking at you with an unlit cigarette in his mouth, pressing the button that leads to the lobby.

The night is over.

“A- are you going to– oh my g-god, are you going to kill me…?”

“Yes, princess.”

Your heart is going to burst, you could puke out so many words right now, but you don’t know what to do. You don’t want to die, not when you felt so fucking alive– you– fuck, you should feel sorry that your coworkers that they didn’t deserve to go the same way as the asswipes did, because you’ve long realised that the bangs were their skulls being crushed by the bullets, but at the same time you couldn’t care any fucking less about them right now. You just have to survive, that was the only thing that mattered since the very beginning. This is about your life. Your precious fucking life.

“Ah…”

Your body is too weak to hyperventilate, but your brain is working overtime. Do you run? Attack them? No…

Seonghwa hasn’t moved an inch away from your face, and you take it upon yourself to raise your hand and slowly push the cold, black gun to the side, so you can look him in his eyes, but he forces it back there.

“Please don’t kill me… I can do so much for you! I– I,” you stutter, trying to gather all the knowledge your monks have taught you. “I– I’ll do anything! You– you saw me, didn’t you? I have– I’ve been told I have a talent for serving! I– I can do anything, please, I beg you, just…”

You fall to your knees, and they burn on the glassy floor, your hands folded in front of your abdomen.

“Just please, let me live…”

You’re not greedy. You’ve only taken what you were given, and tonight, you’ve been given so much. Too much? No, it couldn’t be…

“Brother.”

There are tears flowing down your eyes, and you feel so sorry for yourself. You miss your old monk, and hope that you may be reincarnated to a butterfly that he can admire, just so that he can look at you with his adoring eyes again. So someone can want the best for you once in your life–

“Brother?”

So anyone can finally love you for once in your life.

next part coming soon... series masterlist | main masterlist

#cromernet #choi san x reader #choi san smut #choi san scenarios #choi san x you #choi san x y/n #park seonghwa x y/n #park seonghwa scenarios #park seonghwa x reader #park seonghwa smut #ateez scenario #ateez smut #ateez x reader #chokkiwa #chokko #drivebyme

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miss-oranje-disco-dancer · 3 months ago

Text

blue butterflies

pairing: jackson! joel miller x reader

cws/tags: 1st person pov joel, angst, discussions of sex trafficking/sexual assault, death, mild smut, au where nothing bad happens between ellie and joel, author has not played tlou 2 yet (donate to kofi lmao), guns, alcohol consumption, light enemies to lovers, cordyceps works different in this one (more predictable and slower-acting)

summary: joel's letter to reader

a/n: i watched the beginning of tlou (joel playing guitar) and it made me cry so hard. so, this is inspired by that, but also i listened to funeral by arcade fire and for emma, forever ago by bon iver while writing this. neighborhood #4 (7 kettles) by arcade fire makes me cry so hard.

wc: 5.7k

taglist: @gothcsz @harriedandharassed @withonly-sweetheart

thank you to @jennaispunk for beta reading/proofreading !

join my taglist | purchase a commission

divider is from @danowh0re

playlist for fic: required listening!!

I thought therapy was a bunch of bullshit - a scam at worst, a waste of my time at best. But, since you left us, Tommy’s been making me go. He keeps saying, ‘it’s what she would’ve wanted’, and I think it is. But, that doesn’t mean I like it.

My therapist told me if I’m not gonna talk to her about my past, I should at least talk to someone. I told her I’d talk to you, if you were here. She told me it was a good idea, that I should write it out in a letter. She told me I could write to you, or to Sarah, but I figured I’d better write to you ‘cause there’s some things a daughter shouldn’t hear about her dad. Even - especially - the most fun times he’s had. I’ll get to those later.

Did you know I hated you when we first met? I never told you, but I think you knew. I thought you were a self-important, entitled bitch who acted like she’d been through hell when I knew she hadn’t because of how well-adjusted she seemed. I thought you had some sort of unearned valor. I know that’s not the right way to put it. I think the word I’m looking for is ‘respect’. Tommy, Maria, even Ellie were so quick to respect you when I had to earn it.

“The reason people don’t like you is because you’re an asshole,” you told me. “You’re fucking scary when you’re mad, too.”

“What’s that saying? It’s better to be feared than to be loved?”

“That’s what Machiavelli said, but that doesn’t mean he’s right.”

I think he was wrong. I was jealous of how much everyone loved you, and they didn’t love me because they feared me. You were so fucking right, and that was one of the things that I hated most about you.

I used to think about how young you were in comparison to an old man like me, how you were only a little younger than Sarah would’ve been, and how stupid I would’ve felt if Sarah was always outsmarting me. Until I remembered all the times that Sarah did just that, and how much I loved her for it, rather than in spite of it. (Note to self: tell Sarah this in your letter to her).

That’s not to say I loved you, not yet. I did love you, but I realized that a little later. I had to learn to like you first.

Do you remember our first day out on patrol together? I begged Tommy to change my schedule. I would rather have spent my time with anyone else in the community -- Hell, I would’ve asked Tommy to give you a day off if it’d get me out of having to work alongside you.

You overheard me talking to Tommy, and said to me, “You could at least wait until I’m out of earshot to bitch about me, you know?��

“I know,” I said.

And we didn’t talk for almost the whole shift. Well, I didn’t talk, but you kept on talking, almost like you were talking to yourself. You didn’t even care that I was ignoring you.

“It’s okay. I don’t like people either.”

“Who says I don’t like people?”

“Your face, your voice, basically your whole demeanor.”

You were so honest, and you had every right to be. It shut me right back up again. I don’t know if that’s what you wanted. Maybe you thought provoking me would make me talk, but I’m a stubborn, old asshole. I don’t think you need me to tell you that.

“What did I do to piss you off?” You asked, after I gave you what you viewed as the silent treatment, and what I saw as peace and quiet.

“Nothing. I just think you’re a little bit... egotistical.”

“So are you. You think you know everything.”

“No, but I know more than you. You haven’t got half the experience I have, and believe me, kid, you don’t want it.”

“You’re so melodramatic. And for what? Has the brooding bad boy behavior gotten you laid yet?”

For your information, yes, it had absolutely gotten me laid.

But before I could tell you that, you stopped me, looked me dead in the eye, and said, “and by the way, you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Tell me, then.”

“Tell you what?”

“About all the horrors you’ve experienced. If I’m so wrong, then prove it.” I challenged you because I thought you wouldn’t be able to come up with anything. I wouldn’t have said that if I’d known what I do now.

You were so angry that you laughed at me. “Fuck you. You don’t deserve to know shit about me.”

A couple weeks later we knew each other’s whole life stories. I told you more than I’ve ever told anyone else, more than I think I ever will tell anyone else. It started when we got lost in the woods together. We were arguing as usual, and we only got ourselves even more lost. The sun was starting to go down, and I could see it in your eyes - you were getting scared. Maybe, for a second, I took some sort of satisfaction in knowing that you were the one who couldn’t handle it, but I’m still human - it feels a little cruel saying that now - so I wasn’t gonna let you suffer.

“It’s not gonna do us any good to keep arguing, so can we agree to drop it?”

“Truce,” you said, holding out your hand, and when I shook it, you added, “but let it be known that you surrendered.”

“Don’t push it. You know if we stay out here long enough that we have to resort to eating each other’s flesh, you’re gonna be my dinner, not the other way around.”

“I hope I taste good.”

You did, baby. You’re the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted.

I think we had our first date that night. Sort of. It was late when we got back. Most people were asleep, and the bar was closed, but you had the key.

“Tommy gave you a spare key?”

“Uh-huh. I assumed you had one too, but I guess I’m the favorite.”

“You’re prettier than me. Of course, you are.”

I still can’t believe I said that -- I wasn’t even drinking yet. I can be a real idiot when I’m talking to a beautiful woman.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You looked very pretty when you bothered to wash your hair last week.”

“I wash my hair, okay? Sorry I’m old and don’t wake up looking like a supermodel.”

“Who does?”

“I know you want me to say ‘you’, but I’m not taking the bait.”

“That’s okay. I know you’re thinking it, and that’s what matters.”

I was thinking much more than that, darling.

You walked behind the counter, and asked me, “what do you drink?”, and I think that was the moment I knew I liked you. You could’ve --should’ve -- told me to fuck off. You had other friends (not that we were quite ‘friends’), but you chose me that night. I was a real fixer-upper of a companion, but maybe you liked a challenge.

“Whiskey. Neat.”

You gave me that look -- that fuckin’ look -- that raised eyebrow and a tiny smirk. And it made me feel like a teenager caught staring at his crush.

“Please and thank you," I added.

You got up on the stool behind the bar, grabbed the bottle on the top shelf, and said, “you deserve it.”

“No, I don’t,” I said. “But I’ll take it.”

You sat beside me, and sipped your whiskey. (And you looked pretty hot doing it.) After a good minute of silence you said, “thank you for not killing me and eating me in the woods.”

“I’d get pretty goddamn bored if I didn’t have you yapping in my ear constantly.”

“I thought you hated it.”

“Only sometimes.”

“Then, why don’t you ever talk to me?”

“I’m talking to you right now.”

“Barely.”

So, I turned to you, put my elbow on the counter, laid my head in my hand, and gave you the same face you were giving me. I tried to pretend I was mocking you, but I think you knew I was trying to practice being more likable, being more like you.

“Tell me something,” you said.

“What do you want me to tell you?”

“Tell me about you.”

“My name is Joel Miller-”

“We’re not at AA.”

“You’re goddamn right we’re not. This would be the shittiest AA meeting ever.”

“Okay, okay. How about you tell me when your birthday is?”

“September 26th, 1981.”

“So, you’re a Libra.”

“Oh c’mon, tell me you’re not into that shit. I was finally starting to tolerate you.”

“I’m a Cancer.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Cancer like the crab, not like the disease!”

“Mm-hmm. I’m sure you’re familiar with crabs as well.”

I got a laugh and a smack on the arm in return, and the laugh was worth the smack.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I know you can’t help being an asshole, so at least you’re making me laugh.”

I didn’t realize your hand was still on my arm until you asked me, “What’d you do before this? You’ve got nice arm muscles.”

“I worked in construction, I was a contractor.”

“Like a carpenter?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s what Jesus was. I bet he had good arm muscles.”

“I don’t think that’s his most notable feature, but sure, why not?”

Despite the fact that we were talking all things Jesus, you were feeling me up. And you weren’t subtle about it at all.

“Do you wanna play darts?” you asked, breaking the tension.

“Okay.”

You walked up to the dartboard all confident, and I expected an instant bullseye. You’d only had one drink and you were focusing so hard, practicing the swing of your arm like a golfer would. The first shot missed the board entirely.

And that’s when I learned you were awful at darts.

“You’re terrible at this.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Then, why’d you ask me to play?”

“For fun. Plus, how else am I gonna get better?”

You weren’t even close to the bullseye. You weren’t even hitting the board at all half the time. Over the next couple of years, you got better, not a lot better -- I still won every game we ever played -- but you got closer. But, close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades, as they say. It probably counts in terms of people too -- I like to think our closeness counted for something, even if it couldn't last forever.

“You’re lucky you’re pretty," I said.

“You’re lucky you’re good at darts," you fired back.

“Is that an insult? Because I’m holding a sharp object and I’ve got good aim.” And with that, I threw the final dart, hit the bullseye, and won. “What do I get?”

“For what?”

“Winning.”

“You get to keep your pride.”

I was happy with that, but you turned back to me, stepped closer and whispered, “and this,” before you kissed me.

I don’t know which one of us was more nervous. All I knew was that I liked you a lot more when you were quiet. All I heard from you was a little gasp when I lifted you onto the counter so I could keep kissing you without having to lean down and hurt my back ‘cause I’m an old man. I really thought my brooding bad boy look was gonna get me laid again that night, but you stopped me before I could get your top off.

“Uh-uh,” you said. “You’re gonna have to do more than beat me at darts if you want more than a kiss.”

“Fair enough. What’s your price?”

“I’m not a hooker.”

I didn’t understand why you looked so upset until that day by the water when you told me. I’m sorry I said that, I really am.

“Sorry. What I should’ve said is, ‘Can I take you to dinner on Friday?’”

You gave me a nonchalant ‘sure’, and I assumed you’d keep it hush-hush, but you bragged about getting asked out. Why would you brag about me? That's something I still don't understand.

The next day, I went and asked Tommy for advice because I hadn’t dated in a long time, and he’s more of the romantic type. I thought our dinner date would be news to him, but you’d already told him.

“Yeah, I know. She came in here asking for advice too actually.”

He’s got a bigger mouth than you do. That’s why you two got along so well -- you were like those little old ladies gossiping at the hair salon.

“What’d she say?”

“I’m sworn to secrecy.”

But Tommy always had a certain loyalty to you. He keeps your secrets to this day -- some of ‘em.

“Give me some advice, please.”

“You were married once. You won a woman’s heart. Just do what you did back then.”

“I think you’re forgetting the fact that my marriage ended in divorce.”

“Just be yourself.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“Yeah, it is. How about smiling for once?”

I tried, but I’d almost forgotten how to over the years.

Tommy feigned disgust and said, “I take it back. Keep your usual pissed-off look.”

You taught me how to smile again. I don’t know that you meant to do it, but you did. Tommy says he knows when I’m thinking about you because of the way I smile.

When I came over to pick you up for dinner, you opened the door wearing a bathrobe with your hair in curlers. I guess I was looking at you funny because you made sure to tell me, “Don’t worry, I’m not wearing this out. Go sit in the living room.”

“I’m not worried. You look beautiful already.”

“I do not. I look like my grandmother.”

“I imagine she must’ve been a hot commodity then.”

“She was actually -- or at least, that’s the story she used to tell us. She was Prom Queen and all that jazz.”

You could talk for hours, about anything. I could say one word and you could give me a tangentially related 20 minute long monologue. You were a good storyteller. I don’t think I ever told you this, but I used to think about how you’d be great at making up stories for our kids one day -- if we ever had them. I know I told you I didn’t want to have any, but that’s one of the few lies I told you. I was too scared to imagine that kind of a future with you.

I had you in the present, and that’s what I cared about. I don’t remember what you wore that night because I spent most of our date looking at your face, trying to memorize every dimple, freckle or scar I could see. All the details.

I’m sure your dress fit perfectly, but what I cared about was how your hand felt when I took it in mine as we walked to the restaurant -- it felt right, more so with our fingers intertwined on the way home.

It was one of the longest dinner dates in my not-so-long history of dating as it took you quite a while to finish your meal because you don’t talk with your mouth full (usually). I think our waitress was mad that we were there for so long. They were cleaning up by the time you were done eating.

I don’t remember all the things you said. Even if I did, I don’t have enough paper to write it all down. But I do remember when you asked me, “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Sure.”

“This is my first date.”

I would’ve been less surprised if you’d told me you’d killed someone.

“Mine too,” I said.

“Liar! Tommy said you were married... before all of this.”

“Does Tommy tell you everything about me?”

“No. He wouldn’t tell me when your birthday was. That’s why I asked you.”

“That’s ‘cause he forgot it.”

Really, I wanted to know if he told you about Sarah, or if I’d have to do it myself. Both. As it turned out, he told you before we ever really met. I told you by the river, but that came later.

When I walked you home, we lingered by your door, and when I leaned in to kiss you goodnight, you turned your head, and I should’ve realized how special you were to me ‘cause I felt my heart sink. But, you asked me to come inside. You were always shy about kissing in public, but not on your living room couch.

When we were inside, you let me take off your dress, but only after I agreed to take off my shirt.

“Jesus,” you said when you watched me undress.

“We talked enough about Jesus last time. It’s about you and me now, baby.”

I learned to be a gentleman growing up in Texas, that wining and dining a lady includes putting her first in the bedroom too. But you called the shots -- that night and all of the others we had together. You got down on your knees and gave me the most irresistible face. It was embarrassing how quickly I came. It’s still embarrassing, and you’re not even here to tease me about it anymore. I thought I’d get the chance to prove myself to you that night, but you stopped me. I remembered what you said, ‘this is my first date’, and I assumed you were a virgin.

It was about a week later when I was trying to teach you how to skip rocks in the river that I asked you if you were one.

“It’s not a big deal if you are -- not to me, I mean. I just figured maybe because you said that was your first date.”

“It’s kind of a long story, so take a seat if you want the answer.”

I don’t know what I expected you to say, but I already felt like I’d fucked up by asking. I didn’t want to make this mess I’d gotten myself into worse than it already was, so I sat next to you and waited for you to speak.

“It’s not actually a long story, I guess. Just a sad one.”

It was the first sad story you told me, and you told me more stories than I’d ever been told by anyone else at this point. It was impressive how many happy ones you held onto, especially after everything that you told me that day.

You didn’t look at me while you spoke. You mumbled and picked at the grass beneath you. Like a child.

“I’m not a virgin, but I wasn’t lying when I said that was my first date. There’s just some stuff that you don’t know about me... ‘cause I didn’t want you to know these things about me. But it’s not like I was ever gonna get away with not telling you. It’s better that it happens now anyway.”

You started to cry, so I put my hand on your shoulder, but you shrugged it off. I was so used to the one doing the pushing away that being pushed away was jarring.

“Before I came to Jackson, I used to do things for money. Those sorts of things. It’s not like I wanted to, ‘cause I’m not like that, you know.”

You explained how you’d lost both your parents by the time you were 16 and didn’t have any siblings, so you ended up with whatever friends you could find. Some of the few good people that were left.

“There was a group of men who killed my friends just to loot their pockets, but they realized that it’d be more profitable to keep me alive.”

“So they forced you to...”

“Have sex for supplies, yeah. One of them was my first time, I guess. They did that stuff for a while, but once I’d been with a decent amount of men, they decided I was too ‘used up’ or something to be worth having sex with. I can’t decide if that made me feel better or worse. On the one hand, I didn’t have to have sex with them anymore, but I was also too gross to be wanted.”

“’Used up’ is bullshit. Back when the world was a little more civilized, those bastards could’ve gone to jail.”

“They’re dead.”

“Did you kill ‘em?”

“No, but I thought about it all the time. I remember thinking about strangling a man once. He was alone, so no one would’ve seen me do it, and the guys could’ve taken all of his shit too. They probably would’ve been happy if I had. I think that’s why I didn’t.”

“If you didn’t kill them, then how did they die?”

It probably wasn’t appropriate for me to pry, but the sadistic part of me needed to know that they got what was coming for them. I needed to know there was some justice left in this world.

“They wanted food from some guy who’d gone hunting and they tried to sell me to him, but he said ‘no’. He looked so offended that I thought I was pissed off ‘cause they’d given him a bad deal... but he shot the one standing in front of him. Then, he yelled at me to turn around and I was sure I was gonna die, but I heard him walk into the other room, another shot, and when the third walked in from outside, another shot. He walked over to me, and I started crying and begging him not to kill me. He told me he wasn’t going to, but he made me close my eyes while he led me out of the house.”

“’Cause he didn’t want you to see the bodies.”

“Yeah... and I still thought he was going to kill me, even when he took me with him on his horse, and said he was taking me back to some place called ‘Jackson’.”

I don’t know if I would say you got a happy ending, at least, not the one you deserved, but I saw a hint of a smile when you mentioned Jackson. And you didn’t have to tell me who the man was -- I know him well.

“Tommy,” I said, confident in my guess.

“Yeah.”

After I dropped you off at home, I went by his place and thanked him. And then I went home and cried. For the first time in a decade.

“You know it doesn’t change how I feel about you, right?”

“How do you feel about me?”

“I like you… most of the time.”

What I meant was, I love you. I just didn’t know it yet.

“I guess I owe you a story too, then.”

“You don’t owe me anything... but you can tell me whatever you want.”

I think part of me wanted to tell you, or at least, part of me wanted you to know. “I had a daughter.”

“I know.”

I should’ve known, considering how close you and Tommy were.

“Tommy told you, didn’t he?”

“To be fair to him, he told me he had a niece.”

“Yeah, he did. She’d be a little older than you. It’s crazy to think that she’d be in her 30s when the last time I saw her she was 13.”

“I know saying ‘I’m sorry’ doesn’t really do anything, but I’m still sorry”

“In a way, I’m glad she doesn’t have to see all these things. All the infected. She died before we ever had to go to a QZ.”

When you told me about the first QZ you lived in as a kid, it confirmed that for me. It pained me to hear about you watching your dad get bitten and leaving him behind, saying goodbye without knowing he was dying -- in one way or another.

You told me later about how the only person you’d ever killed was your own mother, how she used to sell herself like you did, how you missed the first shot and you saw how scared she was to die. I think you had it worse than I did.

“I think she was mostly scared because she knew I couldn’t do shit with a gun, and that I’d end up surviving the way that she did... and she was right.”

“Neither of you deserved it, and I bet she’d be proud of you now.”

“Why?”

“’Cause I’m proud of you.”

You cried, but you finally let me hold you. You cried so long that I thought you’d never stop.

Do you remember your last day? I told you I wanted to be with you until the end, but you reminded me about your mother. You told me that even if a shot to the head had to be the way you went out, I wasn’t going to be there to give it to you. We had two choices: either wait until that day came or let you go before then. I said I wanted to go with you. I wanted to ask Tommy to give me the same cocktail he was gonna cook up for you. You said no. It was your last wish that I stayed.

“I don’t wanna live without you.”

“I don’t wanna die, but I don’t get to choose. If I could live longer, I would. But just because I’m dying doesn’t mean you get to leave everyone else behind.”

Yeah, you brought Ellie into it. I wanted to tell you not to bring her up. I’m glad you did because as much as it hurt to think about her watching me die the way that I watched you die, it made me stay. I’m glad I stayed. Things are okay, but our last day is still my favorite day.

We got up early and watched the sunrise, and I told you I loved you for the first time.

“I know,” you said with a smile on your face.

“How?”

You just lifted your coffee cup. When you moved in -- something I didn’t realize was happening ‘till it had already happened -- I started making coffee every morning before you woke up, and I started buying that French Vanilla bullshit creamer. I hated it. It was so sweet it made me nauseous. I could’ve gone and bought my own, but I’m still stubborn, I’m still a cheapskate, I’m still me -- even without you (which is something I thought I’d never be able to say). But that wasn’t why I started taking my coffee the same way you took yours.

It was one day when you’d already left for work but my shift didn’t start until later. I hadn’t slept at all the night before -- and not for any good reason, not for more time with you -- so I was tired when I woke up. I made myself some coffee, but I wasn’t even thinking straight, so I hadn’t noticed that I had put that creamer in my mug until I tasted it. But I wasn’t disgusted. I thought maybe you’d left yours behind and I’d absent-mindedly picked the wrong one up off the counter -- I very well could’ve gotten caught up in putting the toaster on the right settings (that’s something we could never agree on) -- but when I looked down, it was my mug. Yours was dirty in the sink. You were gone for the day. I was stupid to think otherwise. I was fantasizing. That was new.

So, just as I am right now, I take my morning coffee like you took yours. It tastes like you, like you kissing me.

I waited anxiously for you to say you loved me too.

“Are you not gonna say it back? Do you not-- do you feel the same?”

“What do you think?”

“I hope so.”

You gestured for me to come closer so you could whisper in my ear and I thought maybe you’d give me a wet willy. But you said, “Joel Miller, I have loved you for a long time.”

I didn’t say anything. I don’t think I’ve ever been very good with words -- talking was your thing. I grabbed your hand and squeezed. We went out onto the porch and sat in silence. I wonder what you were thinking about.

“Will you sing me something?”

You know I don’t take requests, and you know I don’t like an audience, no matter how small that audience is.

No one would refuse the wish of a dying woman, but I couldn’t refuse you even if I knew you’d be there tomorrow and every day after. I only protest because you look cute when you beg. Not in that way -- you look hot when you beg like that.

“What song do you want?”

“Surprise me.”

I sang Peaceful Easy Feeling because, as much as a part of me felt a sense of urgency, knowing our time was running out, most of me was just thinking about you, and I love you. Simple as that.

You gave me a standing ovation just to see me blush.

We all planned something special for your last dinner. I know you like simple things, so I tried to make it as simple as I could while still making it special for you. Maybe it was selfish to make it a night to remember when I’m the one who gets to remember it.

Tommy and Maria were chef and sous-chef (you can guess who was who in that scenario), and Ellie was the waitress.

“What are your specials tonight?” you asked.

“We have either the steak and baked potato or the steak without the baked potato.”

“In that case, I’d like it with the baked potato.”

We probably lit a hundred candles to fill the room with enough light to see each other -- we had time while you were getting ready, since you’re a bit of a slowpoke. We picked flowers from the garden and put them in an empty wine bottle because we couldn’t find a vase, and conjured up a decent tablecloth. We had ice cream sundaes for dessert -- or at least, you did. You know what I had for dessert.

“How about you, sir, would you like anything for dessert?” Ellie asked.

“No, I think I’ll be having dessert when we get home.” I tried to subtly wink at you.

“Ew! That’s disgusting. I don’t wanna hear about your sex life.”

“You’re the one assuming I was talking about sex. How do you know I don’t have a tub of ice cream waiting for me in the freezer at home?”

There was ice cream in the freezer, but the sweetest thing I’d ever tasted was between your legs. The moment we got home I picked you up bridal style and carried you up to our bedroom.

“Baby, I know how long you spent getting ready, and I’m sorry to do this to you, but this needs to come off,” I said before I yanked down the zipper of your dress. You laughed as I ripped off your clothes.

You gently undid my tie and when I watched you fumble with the buttons on my shirt, I said, “Just rip it, baby.”

“I don’t wanna ruin your clothes.”

“I don’t want you to worry about me or my clothes tonight. I want you to have me however you want me.”

“You’ll do whatever I want?”

“Within reason.”

“How do you feel about roleplay?”

“I suppose it depends -- what are the roles?”

“Husband and wife.”

“As long as I can be the husband.”

And then you kissed me -- with your typical tenderness but a new level of dedication. Slow and passionate, showing me what our lives could’ve been like.

“I’m an impatient husband, and I want my beautiful wife to lie down because I think I’m gonna lose my mind if I don’t get to taste her.”

My mouth is useless when it comes to talking, but we both know I have other uses for it. I tried to go slowly, but I couldn't help myself. I swear your pussy was so perfect it made me reconsider my views on God. Though, I don’t think I am a man deserving of an angel. I think I just got lucky.

That night I couldn’t care less about how loud you were. “Joel- fuck- you’re gonna have to slow down, or, or, put your hand over my mouth ‘cause - oh!”

“’Cause you don’t want anyone to hear? What’s the problem with them hearing, darlin’? Married couples make love all the time, it’s what we’re supposed to do.”

Without a condom, too. We weren’t worried about you getting pregnant, so we went out with the best bang of ‘em all. I think the last time I’d done it like that was when Sarah was conceived, and based on how easy that was, I was always cautious.

Husband and wife roleplay wasn’t very different from the sex we typically had. I guess we were really only a piece of paper and wedding bands away from being those ‘characters’.

Earlier that day, I was worried I wouldn’t sleep that night. I didn’t want to sleep. I wanted to savor every moment with you but when you curled up in my arms I fell asleep before I could even consider staying awake.

Waking up next to you was my last clear image, even our goodbye kiss was a little blurry ‘cause I was already a little teary-eyed.

But before that, over breakfast, you mentioned something that I’ve thought about every day since.

“You know how sometimes people see a bird or something and they’re like ‘oh, that’s my dead relative’?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll come back as a butterfly. One of the blue ones. You don’t see those too often. I don’t want to be something too common, like a bird, then you’ll probably mistake someone else for me.”

I don’t think I had seen a blue butterfly in Jackson until after you’d left us, but there’s one outside my window right now.

In case it’s you, I’ll read this all aloud.

Forever yours,

Joel

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