#smut is somehow easy and hard to write at the same time

[blicketdabest33]

The worst thing about writing smut is that you can't ask someone to peer review it. Like, I'm not gonna ask my friend (who's not even in the mcyt fandom) to read over my Majorwood smut-shot where Scott is in heat I'd honestly rather kill myself than do that

[mv1simp]

max taking advantage of innocent!best friend!reader … like a dynamic where he spoils her a lot and has made him look her think that all his strange behaviors/touches are normal

I’VE BEEN OBSESSED WITH THIS IDEA FOR AGES THANK U FOR GIVING ME AN EXCUSE TO WRITE IT 🙏🙏🙏

Friends ♥️

Max Verstappen x Childhood Best Friend!Reader

And what the hell were we, tell me we weren’t just friends, this doesn’t make much sense, no

Max has been your closest friend since childhood, promising to always look after you. Sure, everyone gossips that you two are secretly dating, that it’s not normal for friends to be so close, so touchy - but Max blows it all off. So when you ask him for help when you want to get a boyfriend for the first time, it shouldn’t be a problem because Max doesn’t like you like that…right?

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, smut, innocent virgin! Reader, manipulative dark best friend! Max, dubcon, size kink, dom/sub, somnophilia, recording, this is DARK 🥸 3.3k WC

You and Max had grown up close together, your families being good friends as your fathers had raced together back in the day. He had been shy and awkward when you met, age 5 and 6, but as soon as he had stepped in front of you in defence when you had been bullied in school the next day, you vowed to always be loyal to him. Your families approved the friendship, laughing and taking pictures when you two would play house - Max always being the husband doll to your wife doll, of course. You two did everything together - school, holidays, racing where you always came to support him bearing snacks and words of encouragement. So when he asked you at age 18 to move with him to Monaco you didn’t even hesitate to say yes - not imagining a life without your Maxie by your side.

Your move raised a few eyebrows from your family, who had been suprised that you hadn’t outgrown what they had thought was an innocent childhood crush. Your older sister had been especially worried at the thought of you alone in a new city with only Max there to support you. She noticed, sometimes, when he thought no one was watching - how his eyes would be watching you, in a way eerily similar to how a wolf watched a lamb he was about to devour whole. Althought it had taken a lot of pleading from your end to win her over, it had been easy enough to convince your parents to let you go, explaining you were enrolling in Monaco University - being bankrolled by Max’s new generous F1 salary - and yes, promised that you were staying in your own separate apartment. And that had been the plan, but when you stood in the entrance to Max’s penthouse a few weeks later, dripping head to toe with sprinkler water because somehow your up to code apartment had a fire when you had been out, he had insisted you stay at his until you found a new place - just for a short while. A short while then turned into a long while which then turned into the lockdown and at the end of it all Max had said you just couldn’t leave, he was too used to having you there that coming home to an empty apartment would be too hard. And although you had worried, saying that as you both got older it might be strange that you now lived together and people would talk, Max shot down all your concerns, reassuring you with a warm hug and sweet kiss to your forehead that the only opinion that mattered was yours, and as long as you’re happy Schat, I don’t really care what anyone else thinks. You had blushed from the affection and that was the end of that discussion.

You’d always been quite sheltered, naive even - and going to a strict private school meant you hadn’t had any romantic or sexual experience whatsoever. Growing up, it was clear to the adults around you that you had always held a crush on Max, and althought the older boy would always look out for you, he didn’t reciprocate to the same way - at least that’s what they thought. They hadn’t noticed that when you two had been gently separated one night when it had been deemed you were too old to sleep in the same bed anymore, Max had crept back and grabbed your hand as he lay next to you, mumbling he couldn’t sleep without you, liefje. No one noticed that this habit continued well into your teens, when Max would climb in through your bedroom window - initially making you freak out but soon reassured by Max’s words that your parents were just too strict, you were just two best friends wanting to spend time together.

And the first time you woke up one morning to feel something thick and hard pressing into you from the back, scaring you a bit, Max had gently rubbed your shoulder from the back while telling you it was okay, it’s just something that happens sometimes when a guy sleeps next to a pretty girl, you had blushed and accepted the compliment. And no one knew that behind closed doors your chaste goodbye kisses to Max’s cheek began turning into loving kisses on the lips when he had tilted your head up, saying he was going to miss you so much when he went on his first F1 race and he deserves a goodbye kiss for good luck from you, didn’t he?

And of course you would always give Max whatever he asked for since he was your best friend, your protector, the person you loved the most in the world. He’d pay for you, drive you everywhere, cheer you up when you were down, make you laugh, patiently take you shopping and rate every outfit you tried on, fight anyone who dared to give you a hard time - and the rest of the paddock had definitely noticed the lingering attentions of the Redbull driver to his childhood friend. Daniel and Lando constantly gave him shit for it, saying he needed to grow a pair and just confess instead of making puppy eyes at his “best friend”. Max always just rolled his eyes at their gossiping ways.

But it was hard to deny their claims when Max would pull you in to sit on his lap at a games night making everyone smirk at you, or when you would emerge from his hotel room the next morning since you two still shared a bed everytime you went away - it’s just like a sleepover when we were little, scatje, nothing wrong with it - or when at fancy award ceremonies or galas Max would be photographed in his tux, a vogue model at his side as his latest girlfriend - and you on his other side, wearing a luxury dress he’d brought for you. The paparazzi would eat up the dirty looks Max’s flings would always be shooting you, knowing they always came second to his best friend.

The thing was, even when sometimes doubt would flicker in your mind that things were too intimate, too romantic, between you and Maxie - you couldn’t bring yourself to want to draw back. You’d always secretly had such a crush on the older boy growing up, but since he had never directly reciprocated and was now a big world champion with women around every corner in Monaco after him, you’d learnt to accept your feelings were unrequited and you needed to stop reading so much into Max’s pure intentions to look after you. After all, that’s what best friends did, right?

And oh, did Max look after you. It seemed every week he’d level up more and more. Matching jewellery and heels to go with the designer dresses, and lately you had come home to find matching lingerie in Max’s favourite colour, dark blue. You had blushed furiously, feeling an indescribable icky pit in your stomach and remembering your sister’s warnings - Max goes too far, he pushes the boundaries of a normal friendship - but Max put all your worries to ease over the homecooked dinner you made him that night, explaining that the latest dress just happened to come with matching accessories and he wanted to make sure that you felt beautiful in all the layers you wore and it was normal to give your best friends gift, no? But he could return it if you’d prefer… prompting you to hastily accept his intimate gift, reassuring him that it was so thoughtful and you were so grateful. He’d looked so pleased with your response that when he ordered more and more sets, each one getting just a touch more lacier and risqué, you just thanked him for each one. And when he asked you how you found your gift, could he have a look at it, please schatje, I always help you pick your prettiest outfits right? You had nodded in agreement, blushing but shyly pulling his hoodie off your torso to expose the outrageously expensive La Perla black lace set you wore, accentuating your plump ass and pushing your tits up for him to hungrily look at. Max’s gaze had lingered there for a long time, his gaze turning dark and you had felt that same uncomfortable pit begin to settle in your stomach again when he saw the look on your face and patted your soft, chubby waist in reassurance, saying don’t be embarrased, schat, we always grew up seeing each other like this, right? Remember that photo of us swimming in that pool in Ibiza? Completely naked? Besides, you’ve seen me shirtless so many times, this is the same as that. That was true, you accepted dreamily, and not thinking anything of it when Max started asking you to send photos of you modelling the cute sets he’d get delivered to you when he was away. You happily snapped away mirror selfies, in all the different angles he wanted to see you from, even strange ones you weren’t quite sure about like bend over and stick your hips right up in the air, hmm schat?

He’d kiss you goodbye now all the time, saying you were his cute little good luck charm, with the expectation that you’d open your lips wide for him, letting him shove his tongue into your mouth and explore it to his hearts content. Gotta have a better kiss to get better luck. It felt so nice and made you feel all tingly between your legs so you would never turn it down. And since Max was away more and more with his racing schedule, often he would come home and fall asleep straight in your bed, saying he had missed being away from you so much. You had thought it was so sweet, no one else but you got to see Maxie like that, you were the only one he depended on. So you easily wrapped yourself up in his embrace, just like when you two had been little - except this time Max would say you’re so tense, schat, let me help you relax a bit, my physio knows this great muscle relaxation technique-

And it felt soo nice when he rubbed your sensitive little body up and down, you had no complaints, not even when some nights he would travel much, much lower down your plush little tummy than he had before. You just obediently parted your legs for him when he commanded in his deep voice, running his thick finger up your slit through your wet lace panties. And sometimes you’d wake up to feel that very familiar hardness of his behind you, soo warm now as he took himself out of his sweatpants and let his cock rest against you. Feels all tense, sweetheart, cause you kept rubbing against it last night and I didn’t get any sleep he would sigh.

You’d feel terrible, apologising profusely for interrupting his precious sleep when he trained so much, asking how you could make it up to him when Max had said just gonna let it relax out onto you, yeah? Don’t worry, you can even go back to bed, baby. You’d nodded sleepily, so grateful that Maxie was so sweet he always put your sleep first, even when his had been deprived.

He’d waited before you were comfortably nuzzled back against him, breaths turning deeper as sleep overtook you before slowly lifting your damp panties out of the way, and sliding his leaking tip just along the entrance to your innocent hole, making you moan, half asleep cause it felt soo good, and you felt so guilty that you felt so much pleasure while Max had just become frustrated overnight. With your eyes screwed shut you’d never notice the dark lustful look in his eyes, the evil smirk on his face as he had his way with you, letting him getting away with practically murder if it was for the sake of your friendship. You let him continue gliding his cock along your puffy folds, his tip repeatedly stimulating your sensitive clit, his large hands coming up to fondle at your boobs that has somehow slipped out of your camisole and gently flick your nipples before he tensed, holding you tightly against him as his breaths quickened. You has felt something warm and wet leaking out from the sides of your panties. You looked down, dazed, but Max shushed you back asleep, lulling you into his arms again. And when you woke up next you always had a clean pair of fresh panties on, camisole tucked back down over your thick hips, Max no where in sight.

As you grew up, your sexual curiosity eventually began to peak. When all of your friends in uni had gotten boyfriends and giggled to you about how good sex felt, you had gotten curious too. of course, you would never bring it up with Max even though you two talked about everything - because you should only be talking about sex with your future boyfriend, right? But one day when you had come home early from class you had heard lewd noises coming from Max’s bedroom. So lewd that you had been unable to stop yourself from peeking through a slight gap. The sight of Max thrusting himself into his latest girlfriend, her face pushed down into the mattress as he drilled into her from the back made you blush furiously. You’d stood there for a little while, your panties getting damp at the sight of sweat dripping down Max’s abs before you had caught yourself and scurried away, so guilty about violating Max’s privacy like that. You were such a creep, what was wrong with you?!

But that afternoon had also made you realize Maxie had so much more experience than you as you hadn’t been sure what a lot of the movement and positions you had seen that day were. And Max had said you could always ask him for help with anything, right? You couldn’t quite build up the courage to ask him - until your classmate asked you out one day, making you giddy with excitement but come crushing down when he had later found out on the date that you were a virgin, and had said maybe it was best for you to be with someone who was more on your level, that he didn’t feel comfortable being with someone so inexperienced for a casual fling. You’d come home sobbing, running straight into Max’s arms in your cute little dress and strappy heels, crying Maxie, he was so mean, you’d never believe what he said-

Max had been furious when you told him the story. He was so, so angry - not only at your classmate, but at you, for going on this date and not telling him, the way you would always tell Max about everything you did in your day. How could you be so careless, so slutty to go out with a guy like that? Max demanded, making your eyes widen and cry harder. It’s those new girlfriends of yours, aren’t they, they’re such fucking whores.

You’d never seen him so angry before, not even when he had a DNF at a race weekend. He’d only seems to calm down when you had looked up at him with innocent eyes, pleading Maxie, please, will you teach me how to be a good girlfriend, I don’t want to be so inexperienced anymore.

He’d sighed and run his hands through your hair, wiping away the tears that had made mascara drip down your cheeks. Of course, schat. I’ll show you exactly how to be a good little girlfriend. But promise me that you won’t talk to another guy without my permission first, okay? I have to protect you and make sure that you’re trained enough to have a boyfriend.

It was so, so sweet of Max to take time out of his busy schedule to help your embarrassing problem, you thought dreamily. You never noticed that your classmate never turned up to class again, but did have to go to hospital that week for a new black eye and bruised ribs.

Meanwhile, Max first started your “lessons” by showing you how to pump him from soft to a raging erection, guiding your hands into his sweatpants and moving your hands up and down, after you spit cutely into your palms to ease the glide. You didn’t notice the smirk on his face as he watched your struggle to jack off his entire sizeable length with your tiny palms.

Then he’d shown you how to use your mouth to make him feel good. You’d sat on your ass for hours in between his legs as he absentmindedly played his game, drawing kitten licks up his shaft before he’d taken over and told you to relax that tight throat of yours, baby, as he shoved his cock inside your mouth. He’d jackhammered away happily without any regard for the tears that emerged from your eyes. You had coughed, spluttered, throat raw for days as Max made you practise on the daily, tutting at you in mock disappointment when your gag reflux got in the way and you stopped halfway down his length. He’d pulled you up to sit on his lap, his hard cock wedged in between your plush thighs, as he put a dirty video onto the TV - petite ebony deepthroats massive white cock like a pro.

You had blushed and stuttered at the obscene video, looking away at one point but Max had forced your head back to look at the scene, saying don’t miss this bit, schat, look how she doesn’t forget about his balls, yeah?

You’d watched video after dirty video until you had perfected your blowjob technique exactly to Max’s likings. You look up obediently at him as he points his phone at you, flash on and all, recording your performance for reference, of course scatje, we need to track your progress, right? as you sloppily took his hard cock into your eager mouth, all the way to the base, gag reflux well and truly trained out of you from his daily discipline.

You’d woken up the next morning to find Max’s blonde curls between your legs, his tongue sweetly licking at your most innocent parts and you had squealed in shock, Maxie what are you doing ohmygod- but he quickly thrust his fingers into your drooling mouth to shut you up, just progressing to the next level, sweetheart, you need to learn to cum whenever I ask you too.

You’d squeaked and whined as his tongue didn’t stop flicking your clit, his fingers now joining in abusing your poor little virgin cunny until you begged him to pull away, Maxie please I feel funny, I think I’m going to pee- Ahhh!!! You’d ended up squirting all over his fingers and tongue, immediately passing out from exhaustion at the sheer intensity and missing the dark, pleased grin on Max’s face as he licked up your juices from his fingers. God, it was almost too easy to brainwash you into his perfect little pet. Soon he’d having you asking him to claim your virginity, he just knew it. And he would not hesitate, taking what had always belonged him anyways. He’d have made you his housewife a long time ago if your goddamn sister hadn’t kept cockblocking him.

Never mind that. Even she wouldn’t be able to withhold her blessing when you’d turn up at the next family gathering, glowing and expecting his child, he thought darkly. Smirking to himself, Max unbuttoned his pants, freeing his hard cock. In fact, why wait to feed you some bullshit excuse about how no baby, virgins can’t get pregnant the first time or no, I can’t use a condom, schat, it’s bad for you to have something unnatural inside you.

He might as well start now and give you a thick creampie as your present to wake up to later ♥️ After all, you’d take it like the good girl you always were for him.

—————————————————————————

A/N: Chile anywaysssss don’t mind me and my depraved thoughts. Gotta go drink some holy water fr. Lmk what you guys thought! Feel free to request more x

[ahundredtimesover]

I Want You to Stay (01) | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

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

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

Chapter Word count: 12k

Series Masterlist

Status: Ongoing

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

Playlist 🎶: on the way home

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

Also my biggest thanks to @wonwoonlight as always 🥰

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s unfairly handsome. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, sir.”

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But of course, he has to ruin it again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Will do, Mr. Jeon.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, duty calls. What can I do?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Need help?” Yoongi asks.

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

“You brat.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So you’re actually friends?”

“Yes.”

“Were you more?”

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

“Does it matter?” The older man asks.

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

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

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

But it’s what prompts Yoongi to reply. 

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

Jungkook merely hums, taking in the information.

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

“How are you still friends?”

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

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

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

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

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

“How brave,” Jungkook remarks. 

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

“Don’t remind me,” Jungkook groans. 

“I will. Only so you could feel bad.”

“I already do. That’s why I…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The cafe down the street, then?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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[harryslittlefreakk]

the one

summary: y/n runs into the last person she ever expected to see in the last place she ever expected to see him, bringing old feelings & hurt to the surface. based on the prompt: childhood friends to lovers

warnings: light angst, made up town, CHEESY writing, smut that’s more making love than fucking

wordcount: 4.7k

a/n: hi guys 💘 long time no see!!! GO EASY on me im rusty!!!

masterlist

The heavy wooden door creaked as it swung shut behind you, sealing out the bitter November wind with a low groan. Inside, the warm glow of amber lights bathed the room, casting long shadows over the oak bar and a few worn leather stools scattered around it. The air was thick with the scent of aged whiskey and a faint hint of wood smoke. A couple of locals sat quietly at a table near the back, their low voices blending with the soft hum of an old jukebox playing a slow, bluesy tune.

“Thank God,” you muttered, the day’s tension melting from your face as the warm air settled around you. You let your head roll back, savoring the first reprieve from the cold. The chill that had reddened your cheeks and numbed your fingers slowly eased, the warmth brushing over your skin.

Winter was settling into Windermere, and you’d never gotten used to it. Your parents found a strange charm in the grey skies and biting winds, bundling up and going about their routines. But for you, it felt suffocating. Each year, November swept in like an unwelcome guest, forcing the town to become even smaller, with people huddled indoors, glancing suspiciously at anyone passing by.

The town seemed cloaked in silence, broken only by the crackle of fires and the crunch of frozen leaves underfoot. It was a season that left no room for secrets, not when every movement was magnified in the stillness. With everyone tucked away, the chances of slipping by unnoticed were slim, forcing your teenage rebellion to thrive in only the rarest pockets of solitude, under the cover of long, dark nights.

“Please, just something hot,” you said, voice weary as you rubbed your hands together, trying to coax warmth back into them.

The bartender eyed you for a moment, one eyebrow raised in amusement as he planted his hands on the bar.

“Didn’t think I’d be seeing you,” he mused, reaching down to grab another glass.

Your head snapped up so quickly that your neck clicked, and you rubbed the sore spot as a frown knit your brow. You’d recognize that voice anywhere. He was older, scruffier, and somehow more devastatingly handsome than the last time you’d seen him. You blinked a few times, half-expecting him to be some kind of apparition conjured by the cold. But he was real. Your Harry was really standing in front of you, in the last place you’d ever thought you’d find him.

“I didn’t- I tried to find you,” you stammered, your voice catching as your gaze drifted over him.

He was taller now, his once-wild curls a little more tamed. Those same green eyes that seemed to cut straight through into your soul. His sweater clung just enough to his arms to hint at the strength beneath, and tattoos traced up both arms in intricate, dark patterns, curling from his wrists to disappear under the fabric, each one telling a story of the years he'd spent without you.

The decade you’d missed was written across him in lines and ink, yet somehow, seeing him now made you feel like that eighteen-year-old again, waiting for her best friend to realize he loved her too.

“If you’d looked hard enough, you would have,” Harry muttered, his eyes trailing over your face, taking in the flush of cold still lingering on your cheeks. Your lips pressed into a tight line as you dropped your gaze to the worn wood of the bar. You couldn’t tell him that you hadn’t found him because you hadn’t wanted to.

He was a reminder of a version of yourself you’d left behind - a girl who thought she had to earn love instead of knowing she deserved it.

He stood there, still holding the empty glass, his gaze traveling over every inch of you he could see. His eyes lingered on your hands for a moment, his expression hardening before he turned away.

Even through his sweater, you could see his back muscles tense, a reminder of just how much had changed. The unmistakable clink of ice hitting glass sent an involuntary chill down your spine, though you blamed it on the cold draft from the door. But deep down, you knew it was Harry’s presence that stirred something old and haunting within you.

He turned back to you after a few minutes, setting a mug of hot cocoa down in front of you. His hand was steady, but there was an unmistakable tension in his shoulders as he slid the glass toward you.

"Exactly how we used to have it. On the house," he said, voice low, eyes flicking briefly to meet yours before returning to a spot just over your shoulder. You hesitated, your fingers wrapping around the glass, the warmth dancing across your skin.

“Christ. Thanks,” you murmured, taking a sip. The burn of whiskey flooded your throat, a welcome contrast to the chill that had settled deep in your bones.

He still didn’t say anything, didn’t ask what you’d been doing all these years. Didn’t ask why you’d come back. There was a time when you were sure he’d have asked, a time when he would have read every expression, every flicker in your eyes as easily as a page in a book. But now, the silence stretched between you, thick and heavy, woven from years of things left unsaid.

"Heard you were getting married,” Harry said finally, his voice barely more than a whisper, as if he wasn’t sure he wanted you to hear. The words were hesitant, almost vulnerable, but his eyes had a guarded edge, as if they were holding back an ocean of questions. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, almost as if to steady himself.

“Not anymore,” you told him with a soft shake of your head, your voice barely carrying over the soft hum of the jukebox. You couldn’t help the way your eyes drifted over him, noting the subtle lines at the corners of his eyes, the quiet weight he seemed to carry now, like shadows that hadn’t been there before. He was still Harry - but this version of him was one you didn’t know. Or maybe it was you who didn’t know herself anymore.

“Sorry.”

“I didn’t know you stayed here, Harry.”

It was true. You didn’t know anything about him. You’d never asked your parents, though they would definitely be privy to what was going on in his life. They knew that whatever had or hadn’t happened between the two of you had contributed to the way you left, so they had made no attempt to keep you updated.

“I didn’t. Came back for my grandma’s funeral and the pub was about to be sold to a chain but no one could afford to take it on. So I did,” he shrugged, his eyes dropping to his feet as he spoke.

You sat back a little, memories of afternoons spent at this very pub flooding your mind. Trying to sneak notes out of the tip jar, Harry coercing his grandma to pass you both shots. “She loved it here,” you whispered, a soft smile on your lips as you traced a finger along the bar. “I had no idea she passed Harry. I’m so sorry.”

“Forty years of her life behind this bar,” Harry nodded solemnly, his jaw tense. “I couldn’t let it go.”

There was a glimmer of the Harry you knew when he said that. It was the part of him that first drew you in. He was cheeky, stubborn, but his loyalty to his family was unmatched. Beneath the external rebellion, he was sentimental and kind, the first to fiercely defend any of his loved ones, the last to leave one behind.

You had no idea how you’d ended up so disconnected from him. You’d only spent five minutes in his presence, but it felt like the first five minutes you’d ever spent with him.

For a few moments, neither of you spoke. The silence was loaded, more meaningful than any small talk you could have tried to fill it with. It felt as though one wrong word would break whatever fragile truce had settled between you.

Finally, Harry sighed, leaning his forearms against the bar, hands fidgeting with a bottle cap, rolling it over and over between his fingers.

“You left,” he said softly, as if the words themselves had been weighing him down. “And I waited, you know? For a while. I thought you’d come back. And then, when you didn’t…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

There was a long pause, each word sinking heavily in the quiet room, reverberating through you. You felt a pang of guilt - maybe shame - at hearing his side of it laid bare, the rawness in his voice making it hard to breathe.

“I didn’t know how to exist here,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. The words felt flimsy, inadequate, but they were all you had. “I needed to figure out how to do it on my own.”

“And did you?” he asked, something sharp and almost accusing in his tone.

You hesitated, because you weren’t sure how to answer that. Had you? The years had passed, but you weren’t sure you’d changed as much as you thought you would. You’d found your independence, learned to stand on your own - but there was still a part of you that had never let him go, that had held onto the version of Harry you’d left behind.

“I don’t know,” you said finally, the words tasting bitter. “I thought being back here would answer that for me.”

You turned away from him, your heart pounding as you glanced around the pub, taking it in. “It’s changed a lot in here,” you mumbled, never feeling less at home than you did in that moment.

“The whole town has changed.” Harry shrugged, his jaw tense as his eyes followed yours.

The atmosphere had shifted when you turned back to face him, an unmistakable tension settling between you. Harry’s gaze was hard, guarded and defensive, like he was bracing himself against something.

“That’s not a good reason to leave.”

“What?”

“That’s not a good reason to leave,” he repeated, arms folding over his chest. “Are you staying?”

“For now.”

“You hurt a lot of people,” he continued, his tone harsh, bitterness dripping from each word.

“I spent my entire teenage years thinking about everyone else. Selfishness isn’t a crime,” you shot back, pushing your empty mug towards him.

“It’s not. But that doesn’t stop it hurting people.”

You narrowed your eyes, leaning your forearms against the bar. “People, or you?”

Harry looked past you at the last patrons filing out, circling around the bar to see them out and lock the door behind them. The silence was thick, stretching through the distance between you.

“People,” he answered finally, those green eyes not quite meeting yours. How had it gotten to a point where you openly lied to each other? A tiny part of you thought that if you ever crossed paths again, you’d fall into your old routine, Harry with the cheeky grin and bad ideas, you with the doe eyes and willingness to follow his every move.

“I’ll get out of your hair,” you mumbled, pushing yourself off the stool.

“No.”

“What?”

“No.” Harry stalked back to the bar, a heavy hand slamming a bottle of whiskey down in front of you. “Have a drink with me, and tell me the truth. You owe me that much.”

You swallowed hard, your body tensing as he sat down next to you. “The truth?”

“Whatever was so bad that you had to leave without even saying goodbye.” His eyes were dark as you looked up at him, his fingers drumming against the bar.

“It’s not even important anymore,” you sighed, feeling the lie settle heavy in your chest. You took a swig of the whiskey, shivering as the heat slipped down your throat, trying to steady yourself. But he was watching you too closely, reading you like an open book. Before you could react, he tugged the bottle from your hands, his chin dropping to his chest.

"Pull the other one," he said, voice low. "Whatever happened kept you away for a decade. Did someone hurt you?"

You almost laughed, bitter and tired. He was looking at you now, his gaze sharp and searching, like he was ready to drag the truth out of you no matter what it cost. But you were lost in your own head, your eyes tracing the tattoos winding down his forearms, lingering on the familiar lines and symbols. He was exactly the man you had always imagined he’d become - steady, solid, carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. But you had never expected to see it like this, up close, with your own eyes.

You reached for the whiskey, snatching it back from him and knocking it back with a grimace. “It was you, Harry.” The words slipped out before you could stop them, raw and unguarded. “Fuck. I realized I’d put my whole life on hold, waiting for you to notice me.”

He froze, his hand suspended in the air, and for a second, there was no sound but the creak of the barstool as he shifted, the slow tick of the clock on the wall. He scratched his head, his eyes falling shut as your words sank in. You could see him wrestling with it, with everything that had been left unsaid all these years.

“And running away was better than just telling me?” His voice was softer now, hurt creeping into the edges, and it made something twist painfully in your chest.

You shook your head, feeling a thousand things you could never say. “How was I supposed to tell you? Hi, Harry, my good friend, I love you, and I’m about to devote my life to you.”

“Something like that,” he muttered, a faint, bitter smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He ran a hand through his hair, shoulders slumping as he finally met your eyes. The silence stretched again, thick with years of missed chances and the weight of what could’ve been.

You both sat there, lost in the quiet. It felt fragile, this moment, like the whole world could split open with one wrong word.

“It wasn’t just that,” you muttered, watching your feet swinging under the stool. “I couldn’t exist here anymore. It gets to a point where it’s suffocating.”

“But you really couldn’t just tell me?”

You met his gaze, feeling the warmth rise to your cheeks, your face hot with the blush that spread across your skin. His dark eyes held you, unblinking, and the weight of everything unspoken made your heart pound. He leaned forward, the faintest crease appearing between his brows, as if he was bracing himself for something he’d waited too long to hear. You tried to look away, tried to hide the vulnerability in your expression, but his gaze was unrelenting, drawing the words out of you.

“I don’t wanna talk about it anymore,” you said, voice tight with restraint. You tried to keep your tone casual, but you could feel the way it trembled, betraying you.

“Why?” he asked, leaning closer, his face serious. His jaw clenched, a flicker of frustration in his eyes that he tried to temper. It was like he already knew what you were going to say, yet he needed to hear it from you, needed confirmation for the ache that had been buried under years of silence.

You took a shaky breath, steeling yourself. “It’s embarrassing, H.” Your eyes darted away, unable to face the intensity of his gaze. “I changed my whole life because of a crush. I moved somewhere where no one knew me because I was scared of everyone here knowing me too well. I got engaged to the first man I properly loved, and he still didn’t match up to you.”

Harry’s face softened, but he looked pained, his lips parting as though to speak. The vulnerability in his expression was raw, his shoulders stiffened with all the things he had wanted to say, to ask. But when he reached for you, you placed a hand over his, silencing him for a little while longer.

“I thought about you every day for ten years,” you said, feeling the words tear from your throat, your eyes bright with unspilled tears. “And now we’re just sitting here like strangers. Do you get that?”

He let out a bitter laugh, a rough, quiet sound that cut through the stillness. He leaned forward, elbows braced against the bar as if he needed the support to hold himself together. “Do I get it?” he repeated, his voice low and raw, his brows drawn in with years of buried pain. “I’ve lived the same ten years as you, except I didn’t get the privilege of knowing where the fuck you went or why.”

He looked down at your hand over his, and his fingers slowly closed around yours, his grip warm and strong. He was still, tension held tight in the curve of his shoulders, in the soft way his thumb brushed against the back of your hand, as if afraid the moment might slip away. He shifted closer, the space between you shrinking, and his other hand rose slowly to your face, cupping your cheek, his thumb grazing your skin.

“What the hell are you doing?” you whispered, breath catching in your throat. You could feel your pulse quicken, every nerve alight with the nearness of him, with the intensity in his eyes, softening into something tender, something hesitant and aching.

“What I should’ve done years ago,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

He leaned in, his eyes searching yours until the last second, like he was giving you a chance to pull away, to stop him. But you didn’t. His lips met yours, hesitant and gentle, as though he were savoring every second, every taste. You could feel him melt into the kiss, his hand sliding to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. The moment you kissed him back, he exhaled against you, letting go of some tightly held breath, and the kiss deepened, grew more urgent. His hands moved down to your waist, strong and steady, pulling you closer against him. You could feel the heat between you, the years of longing pouring into this single kiss.

When he finally pulled away, his breaths came rough and shallow. Without a word, he tugged his sweater over his head, baring his skin, the tattoos winding over his chest and arms like stories you’d never gotten to read. Your fingers traced along them, the tip of your nail gliding over the ink, and you could feel his pulse quicken under your touch.

He smiled faintly, but his expression grew serious again as he leaned down, brushing his lips along the curve of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. His arms wrapped around you, his hands sliding down to your hips, lifting you up onto the bar with ease. You gasped softly, instinctively wrapping your legs around his waist as he tugged your skirt up, his gaze holding yours with an intensity that made your heart race.

In that moment, you were no longer strangers. His face softened, his eyes warm and almost reverent as he looked at you, a quiet promise in his touch that maybe, finally, there was nothing left between you but the truth.

Harry’s mouth found your inner thigh, his teeth clamping down on the sensitive skin. “That’s for leaving me behind,” he murmured, his breath warm against the sting. He moved to the other one, his teeth nipping at you for a second time. “And that’s for making me wait a fucking decade.”

Your breath comes out in shallow moans, your hands planted on his shoulders. That damn butterfly tattoo, the one he’d always told you he would get, almost taking flight as he pants against you, his eyes darkened with lust.

He leaned in closer to your core as you widened your legs, his nose nudging against the wet spot on your panties.

“Ten fucking years,” he repeated, his voice husky. He looked up at you with a plea in his eyes, waiting for you to allow or deny his next move.

“Please,” you whispered, your hips bucking against him as he reached out, pulling your panties aside with a quick hand.

Your gaze landed on the window, the dim lights practically inviting passers-by to peep inside and catch you in the act. But when Harry’s mouth found your slick, you couldn’t bring yourself to care, for the first time in your life - whether you became the town gossip or not.

His movements were rough and unrelenting, his fingers spreading you open as his tongue flicked against your clit, appreciative murmurs vibrating against your skin.

As if he could read your mind, his thumb took over the pressure on your clit, rubbing circles against the nerves as you writhed. His tongue licked at your slick with an intensity you’d never know before, his free hand slipping under your jumper to grip at the curve of your waist. Tingles spread from his touch, the lust taking over your body as pressure built in your core.

Without warning, Harry pulled away, pulling your legs around his waist as he stood up. A needy whine fell from your lips as your high dissipated, the soft skin of his abs rubbing against your entrance.

“You made me wait. You can’t handle it now?” he murmured, his lips warm against your neck, the whiskey still hot on his breath.

He took the stairs two at a time, the ancient wood creaking under his feet. You looked around the apartment as Harry weaved through the dark, brushing against tables and knocking over a stray glass, too focused to care. The room smelled faintly of him - whiskey, smoke, and that earthy, familiar scent you couldn’t place. It was messy, cluttered with books and clothes, but your heart warmed with an odd sense of belonging the moment you crossed the threshold. Your clothes came off at some point during the journey, a trail of knits and underwear reminiscent of Hansel and Gretel’s, but one that would only lead you to the person you were before you knew how it felt to be fucked by Harry Styles.

He stumbled slightly, caught himself, and half-laughed, his hands steady on you as he dropped you onto the bed. You landed with a gentle bounce, your heart racing, heat building in your chest. You needed to pinch yourself in case it was all a sick dream. All those days of stolen glances and lingering touches that meant nothing and everything, all those years wondering where he was and what lucky woman hadn’t run away from him.

For all those years, you’d told yourself he was stuck in your head because of the what ifs. What if you stayed, what if you’d forged a life together, what if you hadn’t acted on hormone-driven impulses.

Harry was intense, magnetic in a way that made it impossible to look away, but the idea of actually being with him had always felt like a distant dream. And yet, there he was, breathing ragged and close, his weight settling beside you, hands resting on either side of your head as he held you in place with a gaze that felt as if it could unravel you.

“You really want this, don’t you?” he asked, voice low and edged with that same maddening confidence that had drawn you to him in the first place. His tone was challenging, almost taunting, but there was something vulnerable lurking in his eyes.

You took a breath, feeling a knot in your chest loosen as you nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. “Always have.”

His smirk softened for a moment, something unreadable flickering across his face, and you could sense the weight of all the things he’d never said hanging thick in the air. He leaned down, pressing his lips to yours, and this time, there was nothing held back - no restraint, no hesitation. Just an undeniable pull between you, finally given permission to break free.

“One condition,” Harry rasped, leaning down to press kisses across your bare chest. “When you leave, you keep in contact this time.”

“I will, Harry. I swear. If I leave,” you grinned up at him, your nails scratching at the base of his head.

A low chuckle escaped his lips as he traced a path down to your collarbone, his breath warm against your skin. “If?” he murmured, his voice thick with a mix of amusement and disbelief. He pulled back slightly, catching your gaze with a look that was both playful and deadly serious. “I’m not planning on giving you a reason to run.”

You felt the weight of his words, the lost time between you settling heavy in the air. He wasn’t going to make it easy.

“I won’t this time, I promise,” you whispered, fingers tightening around his neck, pulling his lips to yours, praying your kiss would convey how deeply sure you were.

Harry looked at you for a long moment when he pulled away, studying your face as if trying to memorize every detail, as though he wasn’t sure you’d really stay.

His eyes dropped to your tits as he reached down to stroke his cock, pulling his lower lip into his mouth as his thumb grazed over the wet slit.

You pawed at him impatiently, biting back the whimpers that threatened to spill out of you as he lined himself up at your entrance with one last look into your eyes.

You felt your life altering in front of you, your trajectory changing to what it could’ve been a decade before, fate pulling you and Harry back onto the same path, the one your should’ve always been on.

But when he pushed himself into you, that familiar pressure tinged with pain, the feeling of being filled like his cock was the missing fucking piece - your mind was clear. You wrapped yourself around him, your body fighting to be as close to him as possible, your moans syncing to his thrusts.

“Harry,” you whimpered, mouth falling open as his free hand found your clit again, drawing your body back to how close it had been to climax.

“I know, baby girl. I know,” he rasped, his voice strained as he fucked into you, his thumb unrelenting as it worked at your bud, his strong body overpowering yours.

Your hips bucked into him, your legs starting to quiver around his waist as you writhed and jerked, your moans mixing with the deafening slaps of skin-on-skin contact.

“It’s mine, this is mine,” Harry growled, his possession tipping you over the edge. His. That was all you’d ever wanted to be.

Your orgasm came on strong, your body tingling and tensing from your head to your toes, your fingers clamping around his shoulders, your back arched into his chest.

Your walls were fluttering around him, your pussy desperate to milk him for all he had.

His thrusts grew sloppier, his control slipping as he stared down at you, committing the image of your high to memory, the first thing he’d want his mind to see when he woke, the last thing he’d see before sleeping. His hand slipped under you to the curve of your ass, angling your hips to allow him deeper, his cock hitting spaces you didn’t even know you had.

“This is just the warm up,” he grunted, pulling his cock from you at the last minute, his come spilling onto your chest, your lips curling into a smirk.

“I think there’ll be plenty more of that,” you whispered, pulling his lips back onto yours, barely unable to kiss him with the smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

mehhh i don’t know about this one … but ive been itching to post something 👉🏼👈🏼🥹

taglist: : @angeldavis777 @softestqueeen @jerseygirlinca @palmettogal508 @drewsephrry @austiebuttbutt @indigo24hughes @peterparkerbae @im-an-overthinker r @daphnesutton @loveableidioticweirdo @tenaciousperfectionunknown @swag13r @ashleighsss @tswiftsgf @chesthairrry @nikkisimps @hannah9921 @lilfreakjez @prettygurl-2009 @s-h-e-l-b-e-e @indierockgirrl @cicicavill7 @cohnfusedarling @ell0ra-br3kk3r @stylesfever @stylesbrock @harry-nialllover @triski73 @meetmeintheemeraldpool @harryshousewitnessprotection @danaehldy @fairytale07 @storyschanging @wannaliveinparadise @mrs-anna-styles211994 @mema10 @fangirl509east @devilsqueen722 @harrrrystylesslut

[verstappen-cult]

# PINING IN ANTICIPATION | MV1

Neither you nor Max know how it started but it made you feel better and that was enough for him.

Pairings: Max Verstappen x Fem!Reader. Content Warnings: +18, cursing, smut, unprotected sex, cockwarming, a lot of feelings, hurt/comfort.

Gwen’s radio message. . . 💬 : okay, so, this was gonna be a porn without plot kinda drabble but this thing came out instead. please don’t expect anything fancy because i really suck at writing smut.

Max opens the door before you could even start to question yourself.

He’s surprised to see you knocking on his door at two in the morning. You start to regret coming to him when you see him rub the sleep from his eyes. “Y/N? What are you doing here?” You look down, choking on a sob. “Hey, hey, what happened?”

Max is by your side in a second, wrapping an arm around your waist to guide you inside his apartment. He doesn’t let you go until you’re sitting comfortable on the couch, tucking your legs beneath you. 

“Did something happen?” 

“Had an awful fight with mom,” You fidget with your fingers, the corners of your eyes already filled with tears. “she said really mean things.”

Max reaches out and grabs your hand, thumb caressing the inside of your wrist. It’s not the first time something like this has happened, he’s very familiar with the relationship you have with your mother because it is pretty much the same relationship he has with his father. Actually, when you first met, you bonded over the awful parents and experiences you had as kids. 

“Couldn’t stay home alone.” You say, shyly. “I’m sorry for coming at this hour.”

“Don’t worry about that.” 

The silence stretches between you two. Max looks carefully as you get lost inside your head, staring straight ahead at nothing in particular. He can almost hear your thoughts. He knows what you need, the only thing that makes you feel better and gets you out of your head. 

Max doesn’t know exactly how it happened. One moment you’re in the brink of an anxiety attack and then, in the blink of an eye, you’re sitting on his cock, face buried into the side of his neck as he rubbed your back up and down.

It wasn’t sex because you didn't kiss, there wasn’t some awfully awkward dirty talk and neither of you came at the end — well, not that you know. If Max had to lock himself in the bathroom after you fell asleep because he was still so painfully hard, it’s definitely not something you need to know; he still feels disgusting and will take that secret to the grave. 

You didn’t talk to each other for at least two weeks after that. Max wanted to reach out but you were ignoring him, and he wanted to give you space to sort your head out. And when one day you sat down next to him and started to apologize and ramble about not wanting to lose him because he’s just so important in your life, Max was finally able to relax because you were fine. Everything was fine. 

You had a long conversation. And it was that day when Max learnt that what you did was called cockwarning and it was actually something people do to feel better. For you, it was about feeling physically as well as emotionally close with the other person, so, that is why it was so easy for you to do it with Max, you felt safe and you trust him. You also explain to him how, when things are just too much, feeling that deep pressure inside of you as well as the warmth emanating from a body under yours is, somehow, enough to stop your mind from reeling with questions, and feelings, and emotions. 

Max actually googled it. He opened an incognito tab and typed the words. He doesn’t know how much time he spent reading about experiences and actual studies about something that he had never heard of before. But it was like you said—many people do it because they feel safe that way, others because they don't want to think and it’s the only way they can relax and go into something called sub-space — Max didn’t do research on that because it was too much information and he just couldn’t handle it — while others do it just because they like it, no real meaning behind. 

You promised it wouldn’t happen again.

And, well, you should’ve known better. 

After the second time, you came to an agreement. Max would help you because he’s that good of a friend and cares about you. And because he didn’t want you to be looking for somebody else who could help you if you already felt safe with him. 

He never found it weird, and you appreciate that. 

So, now everytime you feel overwhelmed and can’t get out of your head on your own, Max is there to help you. Even if all you want is to just sit on somebody’s cock and pass the time, relax. He doesn’t care. 

It’s good that after the second time he was able to gain some control and not embarrass himself and you in the process. Max still feels like, one way or another, he’s taking advantage of you and you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve had to assure him that it is not like that and if you ever feel uncomfortable you will tell him. 

“Y/N?” He rubs the palm of your hand but you don’t look at him. You don’t react, not when he lets go of your hand and kneels in front of you and not even when he cups your cheek with his hands. “Hey, Y/N, I need you to get out of that pretty head of yours. Could you do that for me?” Max sighs in relief when he finally sees your gaze focusing on his face after what feels like hours. “There we go, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

The corners of your mouth go up to form a sad smile. 

“You need my help?” Max asks, thumbs caressing your cheekbones. You nod, but that isn't enough. “You know we don’t work like that. I need words.”

It’s not the first time that the way he speaks to you sends a shiver down your spine. You’ve just become pretty good at ignoring it. 

“Yes,” You breathe out, closing your eyes to center yourself and stop the whine threatening to leave your lips. “I need you.” 

“Good,” He almost says Good girl, but holds his tongue. “You want to go to the bedroom?”

You shake your head. You don’t feel strong enough to walk there. “No, it’s okay. We can do it here.” You say in a small voice. “I’m really sorry for coming. “I’m fine, okay? I just need to relax an—”

“Hey, don’t, okay? I told you to come to me when you needed me. Night or day.” He reassures you, but you still feel like crying. “You think you can wait for me? I need to go get something.”

“No! Wha—why?”

Max tries not to laugh but you’re pouting and he finds it cute. “I need to get the lube,” Your pupils are wide and a faint bush covers your cheeks, because he doesn’t finger you to help make things easier, even though he has said he’s okay with it, you’re not. “I’ll be back in a second.” He leans to leave a kiss on your forehead before dissapearing.

You hide your face in your hands, breathing in and breathing out just like your therapist taught you. Only when you feel like you won’t pass out, you decide to speed things up by removing your jeans. 

You don’t like feeling like this. It’s almost comical that after all this time, knowing how your mother is and how always will be, she still has so much power over you. A few mean words and you are ten years old again. You can’t hate her, she’s your mother after all, but you’ve tried, only God knows how much you’ve tried to hate her and not come back running back to her when she tells you some nice things. It’s a vicious cycle that not even with therapy you’ve been able to stop.

When Max comes back he finds you sitting on the couch only in your underwear. You avoid making eye contact, feeling a little embarrassed for not wearing your cute lingerie. You chastise yourself for going there because this is not about sex, and it’s definitely not the first time that Max has seen you like this. 

When you look up, he’s already watching you. “You okay?” You nod, not trusting your voice. 

You break eye contact when Max moves his hands toward the waistband of his sweatpants. 

“You need help?” 

You see Max smiling from the corner of your eyes. “No, I already took care of that.”

Max is quick to shove his sweatpants down his thighs and join you on the couch. He pats his thighs and opens his arms for you, and you’re immediately moving to straddle his lap. You steady yourself grabbing Max’s shoulders, hovering over his lap and looking up to the ceiling as he busies himself opening the lube and dripping some over his cock. 

Your heart skips several beats as you look down to find him stroking himself to spread the lube. You’ve seen him do the same thing at least four times but you still feel like passing out every time you see his big and skilled hand move. Not for the first time you let yourself wonder how would his fingers feel inside of you. 

Max grabs your waist with one hand and uses the other to run the tip of his cock through your folds. You close your eyes and stop breathing as he, finally and slowly, sinks into you. You bite your lips trying to get used to the stretch, Max rubs circles on your lower back as he lets you adjust. You’ve done this quite a few times but you’re still not used to it. 

“You can—” You sigh, opening your eyes but Max is not looking at you. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He focuses his attention back on you, and smiles. You try to smile but your expression changes when you move all the way down, a whimper leaving your lips at finally having his cock buried deep inside of you. 

Max groans, grabbing your waist with more force than normal before letting go and, instead, grabbing the cushions by his sides. 

You lose the grip and wrap your arms around his neck, immediately resting your head on his shoulder and relaxing against his body. “Thank you.”

Max makes a weird noise, but you feel him nod. He lifts his hands and places them on your waist, fingers already caressing your back, sides and neck. 

Max turns his head just enough to be able to leave a kiss on your cheek before going back to his initial position. He reaches for the remote and turns on the TV, choosing to put on some comedy film as a background. 

The only thing you can feel and think about is his cock inside of you, making you feel so full, and the warmth emanating from his body, grounding you and, at the same time, making you feel like you’re floating around. There are no bad thoughts, you’re not thinking about the fight you had with your mom anymore. 

You’re not actually too lost inside your head, the walk to Max apartment helped you clear your mind a bit. You’re still a little shocked by the words and things your mother did, definitely, but once you reached Max building, you were feeling a lot better. If you ended up coming up anyway, well, Max offered to let you sit on his cock overwhelmed or not and you wouldn’t let that offer pass. You don’t know how much time you have together because one of these days Max can find a girlfriend and you will have to go out and look for somebody as understanding as your friend. 

The mere thought of Max with another girl makes you want to throw up. So, you shut your thoughts off. 

You don’t know how much time passes, but your legs start to feel numb and your back hurts, so you shift your weight which makes Max whine, cock twitching inside of you. 

“Sorry.” You whisper, stopping your movements. 

“No, it’s—just,” Max closes his eyes tightly, and you can see a drop of sweat slipping down his forehead. “You just—” He groans, unable to say what he so badly wants. 

You move from your place on his shoulder, eyebrows raised in confusion. “What?”

“Nothing,” Max’s voice is hoarse and the smiles he gives you don't reach his eyes. “Just—lie back down, come on.” He pats your back but you don’t move. 

“Max, tell me.” He shakes his head, dropping his head on your shoulder. “Max, it’s me.”

He sighs, straightening up. His sudden movement makes you both moan. 

“It’s just that,” He takes a deep breath and looks you straight in the eye. “You feel really good.”

His confession makes you want to close your legs which, for obvious reasons, you can’t. You feel your face burning but try to play it cool, like his words didn't have an effect on you. 

“Well, I mean, your cock is inside of me,” 

Max's laugh is strained. “Yeah… I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable because of this. If you want we can stop and I—”

“Max,” You cup his jaw, feeling the stubble under your palm. “I’m good.”

Max closes his eyes again, this time letting his head fall backwards against the couch. “You know the first time we did this,” He swallows, and you’re mesmerized by the way his Adam's apple bobs. How would it feel to kiss it? “I, God I can’t believe I’m going to say this out loud.”

“Max, come on. Just say it.” You let your fingers fall from his jaw all the way to his neck, just above his Adam’s apple. You can feel under your fingertips how it moves when he swallows again. 

“You will think I’m a perv,” He opens one eye, when you smile reassuringly he opens both. “Please don’t think I’m some kind of pervert but… I had to lock myself in the bathroom to,” He shrugs, doing the movement with his fist. 

“What?” You tilt your head. 

“To jerk off!” He says, frustrated. One of his hands leaves your waist to put it over his eyes.

You blink at Max. 

He looks back at you between his fingers.

His confession makes you feel that something you’ve been trying to ignore ever since that first night. 

“That is totally normal.” You don’t want him to feel bad, so reassuring him that it’s okay is actually the only thing you can do. “As I said, you’re buried inside of me, if you didn’t feel anything then that’s a problem.”

Max sounds a little more relaxed when he laughs again. 

But then there’s silence and eye contact. The only sound in the room coming from the TV and your heavy breathing. 

You feel that shiver running down your spine again, desire pooling in the pit of your stomach. 

“I’m sorry, I’m making this all awkward.”

“No, no. It’s good.”

Max raises his eyebrows in question. 

You decide not to answer with words. Instead, you shift your hips, Max cock impossible deep inside of you. 

“Oh fuck,” Max groans, closing his eyes tightly. His hands grab the cushion by his sides again but you want those hands on your waist, your breasts, all over your body. 

“Max,” You whine, grabbing at his shoulder and feeling how tense he is. 

“It’s okay,” He breathes in and out, just like you were doing not so long ago. “it’s okay. I’m sorry.”

You frown, “Max.” You try calling his name again, when he opens his eyes you can see how much his eyes have darkened.  

Max sucks in a sharp breath when you steady yourself by grabbing his shoulders to lift yourself up, pulling almost all the way out and letting yourself fall back down. Max’s moan is obscene. 

“I’m sorry, sorry, oh God, I’m sorry,” You babble, hiding behind your hands. What the fuck are you doing? “I didn’t mean to.”

“Hey,” He calls your attention, taking your hands and pulling them away from your face. Max cups your jaw guiding your face to look at him. “You want this? I need you to tell me because,” Max gaze falls to your mouth and he brushes your bottom lip with the pad of his finger. “I want to fuck you so bad.”

You nod, but then remember that he likes to hear you. “Yes,” That’s all Max need because he’s wrapping his arms around your waist, almost hugging you, and lifting you to pull out and then fuck back in. It nearly leaves you breathless. 

You gasp, grabbing onto him for dear life. It’s inevitable for you to look down and watch how his cock pulls out and then back inside, stretching you so good. 

“Look at me,” Max says, grinding his cock deep inside of you. And you have no choice but to look back up at him. The expression of pure pleasure on his face makes you clench around him, which takes another obscene moan out of him. 

He feels so good. 

You want to tell him how good he feels. How good he’s fucking you but you’re only capable of incoherent sounds, moans and whimpers. 

“Max,” You choke on a moan. One hand leaves your waist and slips under your shirt to pinch at one of your nipples. You actually have to put a hand over your mouth to avoid screaming. 

“I want to hear you. Please, let me hear you.” Max practically begs and how could you deny him that? The next time he does it, you let him hear you. And probably the whole building too. “Good girl.” Your cunt squeezes him tightly as he rolls his hips into yours. “You like that, don’t you? You like being my good girl?”

“Yes, yes,” If you had the strength you would be bouncing on his cock, but you can barely hold onto him as he fucks you nice and hard. “Max, Max.” His name falls like a mantra from your lips. The squelching sound of him pounding into you, mixed with the moans and groans fills the air around you. 

“You feel so good— fuck, so fucking tight.” Max groans into your ear. His thrusts are deep and rough, causing your eyes to roll to the back of your head and nails dig into his skin, knowing you’ll leave marks that will last days. 

Max leans closer and licks a stripe of sweat from your neck and, somehow, is enough to make you hit your peak. You walls clench around him, like you’re actually trying to suck the life out of him.

“Max, Max I’m so close,” At this point you don’t even know if you’re whispering or screaming, but Max hears you either way.

Max expertly finds your clit and, right on cue, your orgasm comes crashing upon you, warmth washing all over your body as Max keeps on fucking you, searching for his own release. 

“That’s my girl,” Max breathes out, movements faltering. “I’m gonna come, fuck, gonna come inside of you.” Max feels his orgasm like he’s experiencing it for the very first time, like he was waiting for this moment his whole life. And he probably was, really. 

Max squeezes his eyes shut, hips stuttering and your name falling from his lips as he spills inside of you. Your whole body gives up. You’re glad Max is there to hold you close to his body. He pants in your neck, both of you trying to catch your breath and thinking about what the hell has just happened? 

“Did so good for me, sweetheart.” He whispers, leaving a kiss behind your ear. He doesn’t move more than to settle against the cushions with you on top of him and his cock still buried inside of you. And you feel so dizzy and stuffed full of his cum that the only rational thing you think about doing is to lift your head and kiss him. 

Max whines into the kiss. He doesn’t care that the kiss is messy because you can’t coordinate and are so tired you feel your body going limp, but he lets you kiss him until you need to catch your breath. 

He smiles softly at you. “That was good, uh? I bet you don’t even remember why you came here in the first place.”

“Oh, shut up!” Max likes making you blush, so he won’t ever shut up. 

“You know,” He brushes a strand of hair out of your face, fingers lingering on your neck. “You are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. I always wanted to—“ He sighs, and you lean into his touch. Max feels like his heart is about to explode. “I didn’t think I could ever have a chance with you.” 

“What are you talking about?” You squeak because surely he doesn’t mean what he’s saying. Because that would mean— 

“I’m saying that you are,” He kisses your cheek. “the most,” Now, he places a kiss on your chin. “beautiful, and smart, and sexy,” Max leaves kisses all over your face. “girl I’ve ever seen in my life.” Finally, his lips find yours, but it’s quick and not enough. You want to keep kissing him for the rest of your life. 

“Max,” You whisper, tears in the corners of your eyes. “You—I,” You groan, letting your head fall against his forehead. “You know I’ve been crazy for you my whole life, right?” 

“No, that I did not know.” He’s teasing you, you hear it in his voice. “Well, maybe I had my suspicions.” 

“Max! You never say anything?” A thought crosses your mind and you feel mortified. “I feel like I took advantage of you now.” 

“What did you say to me? You would’ve told me if you weren’t comfortable. And I would’ve done the same thing.” You pout and Max can’t help but think, again, that you’re the most beautiful girl in the entire world. “When all of this cockwarming thing happened, I thought it was the only way I could be close to you. And I was helping you in the process, so I was more than happy with being just that.” 

“I didn’t keep coming back to you because of my feelings,” You start saying, playing with the collar of his shirt. “but because I’ve always felt safe with you. I knew—I know I can trust you. I mean, that became clear when you offered to let me sit on your cock the first time.” 

“I did not do that!” 

“You totally did!” You laugh with your whole body because you’re that happy. But that makes you shift your hips which makes you wince at feeling Max softening cock still inside of you. 

“You good? It wasn’t… too much?” He sounds insecure, you see it on his face too. It’s cute.

“It was pretty good, Max. If not I wouldn’t have let you fuck me.” Max rolls his eyes, chuckling, and you rest your head on his shoulder one more time.

“You want me to pull out?”

“No, just—hold me, okay?” Max makes a pleasing sound, lips finding your temple. 

“Always.”

[sceletaflores]

isn't it messed up how i'm just dying to be him?

pairing: stanford!art donaldson x stanford!fem!reader

summary: and there it is. there’s that glimmer of attention, that hint of acknowledgement of him. the heavy look of rage taking over your features, the bite in your tone, it’s what art’s wanted for months. your undivided attention.

—or: art tries to get through to you about patrick, it doesn't go how he thought it would.

word count: 6.2k (i'm so sorry lmao pls still read it's good i promise)

warnings: 18+ SMUT MDNI, p in v, rough sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it y’all!), switch!art a little bit, creampie, kinda hate sex but not really, more like angry sex, swearing, fighting as foreplay, art is lowkey a little gay for patrick (it's literally canon), tiny bit of manipulative!art, art is just kinda an asshole in disguise honestly, hints of mean!reader cause i live for that shit, tashi and reader are cute besties, art being a bad bro, porn with too much plot, no use of y/n.

authors note: so this is basically a re-worked version of art and tashi’s dining hall scene when he’s trying to convince her that patrick isn’t in love with her. it’s really similar just way more messy and angry and with sex. this is literally just a tiny thought i had that somehow spiraled just a little bit, but i needed some lowkey asshole!art in my life. i had so much fun writing this, like way too much fun lmao. title is a lyric from fall out boy’s "sugar, we're going down swinging" cause that song fucks so hard and it's soooo art coded. okay bye! mwah xoxo

psst! tftw series masterlist!

Art Donaldson is a patient guy. He's nice, understanding, empathetic. It's something he prides himself on, lots of guys on campus are pricks, but not him. He's "the sweet blonde guy that plays tennis, like, really well!" according to most people who've met him.

That being said, he's not blind to the fact that you frustrate him to the point of wanting to shout himself hoarse and rip his hair out.

It's been a while since he and Patrick met you for the first time at the Open, and Art has been through hell and back about a million times over by now.

He still so vividly remembers watching you step onto the court, the almost visceral reaction he had. The crowd was cheering and clapping nearly as loud as they were for Tashi. There were even a few signs made in support of you scattered throughout the stands. Big poster boards plastered with your name and your winning streak and pictures of you playing, tennis balls and rackets drawn from markers decorating them.

It was obvious you were a favorite, and it was more than obvious how much you lived for it.

Smiling and waving to the crowd, fully basking in their respect and adoration. You were nearly glowing, Art couldn't take his eyes off you. He could tell that Patrick was thinking the same thing, if the way his thigh tensed up where it was plastered against Arts was any hint, his breath slightly catching as you started stretching.

"Goddamn..." Patrick had muttered under his breath. Art could distantly see his hand clench on top of his thigh when you bent over to tighten your laces. He always tries to be less shameless than Patrick but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t just as affected by you, fighting the urge to shift in his seat.

After you and Tashi walked up to the net with matching smiles and shook hands for a little longer than usual, it was time to start. Art watched as both of you got in position on the opposite ends of the court. Both of your faces lost the easy-going, excited expressions you’d shared when you first walked out, hardening in concentration as Tashi got ready to serve.

Patrick and Art openly gawking at the two of you would have been embarrassing if it wasn’t so fucking justified.

You and Tashi made magic happen on that court. 

It was powerful hit after powerful hit. Tashi’s backhand was out of this world, your overhand was a monster. Every rally, every volley, every serve was pure perfection. Art had never seen tennis played like that before in his life, he couldn't help but get sucked into your world the longer he watched.

The match was close, completely neck-and-neck throughout each set, neither of you willing to give an inch to the other. Tashi won by a single point, hardly wasting any time before she vaulted over the net to come barreling into your open arms, crashing into you so hard it knocked the two of you to the ground.

You both grasped at each other like lifelines on the hard concrete of the court as the announcer crowned Tashi the 2006 girl’s U.S Open champion.

Art let out a long breath and deflated a little deeper in his seat. His mind racing, he didn’t need to look at Patrick to know he felt the same. They sat in silence like that until the stands were practically empty. 

“What time did you say the party was again?”

Art pointedly ignored Patrick staring at him with a shit-eating grin on his face, stretching his arms out in feigned nonchalance. Patrick just snorted, shaking his head and squeezing Art’s thigh.

That was then, now Art sits across from you in the Stanford dining hall at the same table you two eat lunch at everyday, trying to stay cool as you complain about the latest biology lab you’re doing. 

He’s hardly listening to you, too busy trying his best to not glare too obviously at the hoodie you're wearing. One that he knows for a fact belongs to Patrick. You must have kept it the last time he was in town. The Nike swoosh embroidered to the front almost mocks him. Art puts his water down with a little more force than necessary.

Patrick and you being…whatever the two of you are now was something he tried his best to be okay with in the beginning.

Patrick’s his best guy, Art should have been so stoked that you were into him as much as he was into you when the two of them walked up to congratulate you and Tashi at the Adidas party. Only being able to steal you away from the house after you said your goodbyes to Tashi and her parents, inviting you to join them down at the beach.

It was obvious you were playing into Patrick’s attempts to get in your pants. Not blushing or averting your eyes shyly when he blatantly checked you out, throwing out smart comebacks to his sleazy lines, looking up at him through your lashes and biting your lip.

It would have been soul-crushing if Art wasn’t such a good friend. So, he stifled the rising feelings of jealousy and plastered a smile on his face as he watched Patrick shamelessly flirt with you.

It wasn’t like it was your fault. Art didn’t come on as strong as Patrick, he never did. Plus it wasn’t like he and Patrick had talked about who could try and score with you prior to the party, anything was fair game.

Besides, you were nice enough to Art that night. Chatting about college admissions and smiling at him over your coke bottle. Sure, it stung seeing you laugh at Patrick’s stupid jokes while the two of you smoked off the same cigarette, but there was nothing he could do about it.

You choosing Patrick had nothing to do with him. Everyone always chose Patrick, he was used to it by now.

At least he thought he was, but the longer it was just you and him, the more angry he felt each time Patrick would visit and steal all your attention. It wasn’t just jealousy or frustration anymore; it was a gnawing, consuming rage that twisted his insides every time he saw you light up around Patrick.

Patrick didn't fucking deserve you. You were too good for him. Nothing like all the easy, ditsy girls he fucked his way through at the academy. You were special, unlike any girl Art’s ever met. Patrick would just take you for granted. He'd grow tired of you, completely dismissing you when he got bored enough. Any day now he'd call Art to spill on his latest hookup with some chick he met on tour. 

But Art didn’t want to sit around and wait for that day to come. He couldn’t stand the thought of you being hurt by Patrick’s inevitable indifference. The idea of you, heartbroken and discarded, made his blood boil. You deserve more than that. You deserve someone who sees you for who you truly are, not just a trophy. 

Art knows he could be that person for you if you’d give him a chance, if for once you’d look at him instead of Patrick. He just has to find a way to get you to understand that.

“Pat texted me this morning,” you say from across the table, boredly poking at your pasta. “He’s gonna be here later this week, says he wants to go see 30 Days of Night. You and Tashi should come with us.”

Art hums noncommittally, not looking at you as he takes another bite of his salad. You do this a lot– extend invites to Art and Tashi when you and Patrick go out.

Art knows you think you’re being nice by trying to make them feel included, but getting invited usually means having to watch Patrick touch you and kiss you and walk around with his hand in your back pocket.

Art’s fork stabs into his salad roughly. He takes a slow breath, trying to calm the emotions starting to swirl inside him. “Yeah, sure,” he says eventually, forcing a smile. “Sounds fun.”

He sneaks a look at you from under his lashes. You’re already looking at him, brow raised at his clipped tone. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

Art shakes his head, waving a hand dismissively. “No, no, it’s fine. I’ll be there.”

“Okay,” you say slowly, still watching him with a hint of skepticism. “Are you alright? You’ve been weird all day.”

Art lets out a small laugh, but it sounds more sour than sweet, and finally looks up at you. You look back expectantly, concern lingering in your eyes. “Nothing, it’s just…” he pauses, drumming the fingers of his left hand on the table, “the fact that you two are still going out surprises me. That’s all.”

He regrets it as soon as he says it, words sounding way more patronizing than he wanted. His chest immediately tightens with guilt, but he doesn’t wince or shrink back like he normally would, just keeps his eyes on you.

Your brows furrow, a tiny frown pulling at the corners of your lips. “What?” you ask, fork stilling in your hand. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Art just sighs, putting his fork down and leaning towards you. “I know Patrick better than you do,” he says with a tiny shrug, “he’s always had a hard time with…commitment.” He says slowly, searching for the right word.

You don’t say anything for a couple seconds, eyes scanning over his face slowly like you're examining him. Art forces himself to not start squirming under your intense, studying gaze.

You don’t seem to like what you find, eyes narrowing as you push your tray away from you and lean back in your seat. “Are you seriously shit talking your own best friend right now?”

Art’s brow raises, that wasn’t the reaction he was expecting, at all. His jaw ticks in annoyance, his hand balling into a fist on the tabletop.

“I’m not trying to shit talk him,” he says calmly, voice tinged with frustration. “I’ve just seen how things go with him. I’m looking out for you.”

Your eyes harden, disbelief mingling with irritation. “So, what? You think you know what’s best for me or something? Are you my keeper now?”

That pisses Art off, now you’re just being an asshole. His brows furrow, arms crossing in front of his chest defensively. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.” He says, tone harder than before.

You scoff, anger spilling over your face. “Well what the fuck do you mean then, Art? Because you dancing around whatever it is you obviously want to say is really starting to piss me off.”

Irritation flares in Art’s chest, piercing and sudden. He swallows it down, breathing out his nose slowly to try and calm himself. The air between the two of you is tense now.

You’re loud enough that a few people sitting at tables nearby start to quiet down, discreetly trying to listen in.

“Patrick doesn’t love you.” Art says spitefully, his fingers grip the muscle of his arms tighter. It’s childish, but he doesn't care.

Your eyes widen, clearly caught off guard. You recover quickly, letting out a disbelieving laugh as you push away from the table with a harsh scrape of your chair. "Excuse me?" Your voice cuts through the air, sharp and incredulous.  

He stays silent, letting the weight of his words hang heavy in the air. Your eyes narrow, searching his face for any sign of retreat, but Art meets your gaze head-on, jaw set stubbornly.

You stand with your arms crossed over your chest as you stare down at him. “Why are you telling me this? Why do you care if Patrick loves me or not?”

Why do you care? The question makes his heart drop down to his stomach. Dread mixes with the anger in his chest. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go, he doesn’t want to make a scene in the middle of the dining hall. You’re just being so difficult.

You’re jumping to defend Patrick, not even trying to hear him out, just like you always do. Still refusing to give Art the attention he deserves. It’s fucking infuriating.

“I’m just saying,” he says, voice distant and cold, “he hasn’t been in love with you for a while. He’s told me.” 

It’s a lie, he’s hardly spoken to Patrick recently, but he’s in this now. He may as well go for broke, he always plays to win after all. 

Your face contorts grimly, another disbelieving laugh punches it’s way out your chest. You don’t seem to notice the amount of heads turned in your direction, or maybe you just don’t care. “Oh, he’s told you that has he?” you parrot back mockingly, head cocked to the side as you stare daggers at him, “That’s fucking bullshit Art!”

Art clenches his fists, jaw flexing in anger. He’s never seen you this mad before, never expected to be the cause of it. But at the same time he’s fucking angry too. Angry at you. Angry at Patrick. Angry at himself.

His eyes narrow, holding your own heated gaze without backing down because if there's one thing he hates most, it's losing. “You don’t get it do you?” He mutters quietly, shaking his head in dismay. 

Your jaw tightens, eyes blazing as you lean forward, bracing your hands on the table to get up in his face. He can smell the familiar fruity sweetness of your perfume.

“What’s there to get? The only thing I’m getting right now, is a front row seat to you being a vindictive little prick.” You bite out, breath fanning over Art’s face. “Who even said I wanted Patrick to be in love with me? Who said I gave a fuck about any of that?” You question sternly, brows furrowed as you scowl at him.

Art scoffs loudly, his face twisting in disgust as he rolls his eyes. His blood boils at having to sit here while you bitch him out. He wants to strangle you, to take you by your shoulders and shake you so that you’ll listen.

To make you see what he sees. To make you love him. “Please,” he hisses through gritted teeth, shifting so he’s leaning across the table just as you are, his eyes dark. “Everyone wants Patrick to love them. Everyone wants his attention. You want it.”

You just blink at him, taken aback by his outburst. You stare at him, not budging as your eyes scan over his face for a second time. And there it is. There’s that glimmer of attention, that hint of acknowledgement of him.

The heavy look of rage taking over your features, the bite in your tone, it’s what Art’s wanted for months. Your undivided attention.

After a few tense seconds you just laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “You might be the worst fucking friend in the world.” You say simply, like you're reading off this week's forecast.

Maybe he is.

Art can feel the heat rising to his cheeks in anger, in embarrassment, in hatred, in lust. The way you’re looking at him makes something stir deep in his gut. His heartbeat echoes in his ears.

You’re so mad, but in that you’re giving him a hint of your attention, giving him the time of day, and you’re still fucking defending Patrick. Rage seethes in him, hot like fire. Yet even in this moment, you’re the only person that really matters. The intensity of your gaze pulls at something raw inside him.

“He doesn’t deserve you.” His voice is lower, pinched with thinly veiled frustration threatening to boil over.

"And you think you're the expert on what I deserve, Art? Last time I checked, your own love life’s track record isn't exactly stellar."

It’s a low blow, bringing up how Tashi rejected him a while back. He hadn’t told you about that, so Tashi must have. He laughs, but his lips are pulled up in a sneer.

"Don’t start deflecting,” Your name falls from his lips sharply, stabbing through the thick tension in the air. “This isn't about me, it's about you. You're setting yourself up to get hurt, and I'm just trying to warn you–"

"Yeah, well, I didn't ask for your fucking opinion," you snap, "maybe you should focus on your own damn problems.”

Art’s jaw tightens further, his frustration finally getting the best of him. "Fine, do whatever the hell you want. But don't come crying to me when Patrick does what he always does— leaves you for someone new."

You stare at him incredulously, shock and anger warring in your expression. "I can't believe you just said that."

"Yeah, well," Art mutters bitterly, looking away. "Believe whatever you want. Just know that he’s playing with your feelings.”

You huff, throwing your arms out at your sides in frustration. “What fucking feelings Art!” you say loudly, not quite shouting but you’re getting there. “Sure, Patrick and I fuck but that doesn’t mean we’re playing husband and wife with each other!” 

You’re definitely way too loud, voice steadily rising in volume the more you talk. Seemingly not caring about who’s around to hear you yell about fucking Patrick. “In fact,” you continue, shaking an accusatory finger at Art, “you’re the one trying to get in my head and play with my feelings, you fucking hypocrite.”

His mind whites out, filled with blinding jealousy all over again. He wants you so fucking badly, he could be everything you needed. Why can’t you see that? How could you be so blind? How could you not see that Patrick was using you, just like he used everyone else?

Art leans further across the table as you speak, his hands coming up to grip the edges of it tightly. “You’re so fucking naive, you know that?” He snaps in a biting tone. It’s harsher than he’s spoken to you during this whole fight.

Your voice drips with sarcasm as you lean forward, eyes locked on his. "Oh, well forgive me for not seeing the truth according to Saint Art."

“So fucking naive.” He repeats, spitting the words across the table meanly.

“And you’re a fucking pussy.” You bite back, leaning in even closer so Art can see your lips form around the words maliciously. You sway close enough that the tip of your nose bumps against his. His breath catches, going ragged in his throat. You’re so close to him. He can smell you, can practically taste you on his tongue.

He wants to take you in his arms, to hold you and kiss the anger off your face. The only thing keeping him from lunging out is the way you look. Your whole body is rigid with anger, eyes dark and cheeks flushed. You’re so beautiful. He has to remind himself that he’s supposed to be pissed at you and fight the urge to pull you in and really taste you.

But then you're backing away completely, “I won’t waste my time on stupid shit like this,” you mutter, turning to pick your bag up off the floor. “Thanks for lunch, Art.” You say sarcastically, not even looking at him as you turn on your heel and walk towards the dining hall’s exit before he can respond.

Art’s heart lurches forward at your words, not with pain, but with want. He watches you leave, the regret quickly setting in once you’re not here to play into his resentment. It hits him like a cold shiver, he wants to feel good for speaking his mind, for telling you how it is. Maybe on some level he does, but it’s overshadowed by how awful he feels.

Art stares down at his unfinished salad, appetite gone. He sighs loudly, standing up to toss his own tray plus the one you left behind. He tries his best to ignore the stares he can feel following him as he walks out.

ᯤ

Art wallows in misery for the rest of the day, skipping the practice he had planned after lunch. He just locks himself in his dorm, laying on his mattress and staring at the ceiling as he replays the fight in his mind. Replaying every word you said to him, every word he said back to you, every angry look you gave him. 

He thinks about texting you a thousand times. Typing and deleting different messages until he eventually gave up. He knows you’re beyond pissed, that him reaching out will only piss you off more and he wants to try and salvage this before you completely shut him out. The thought of losing you is why he never wanted to bring it up in the first place, regret settles in his gut like a ball of lead.

And yet, there was a small part of him that hoped, despite the shit show in the dining hall, that you’d see the quiet care he showed, the way he was there for you, and choose him for once. But hope was a dangerous thing, and Art wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold out.

Hours go by with nothing from you, it’s the longest you’ve gone with talking since the semester started. He forced himself to study for his biology final in a lazy attempt at taking his mind off you. You’d usually be in his dorm room right now, all spread out on his bed like it’s your own as you talk his ear off about something like your asshole psychology professor. 

The longer he sits at his desk the longer the ache in his chest consumes him. Art would do anything to know what you were thinking right now. He’d grovel for your attention, he’d fall to his knees and beg and plead if that’s what it took for you to forgive him. 

He’s getting ready for bed when his Blackberry pings on his night stand, it’s almost embarrassing how fast he rushes over to it. His heart stutters in his chest when he sees it's a text from you. It’s only two words, a simple ‘come over’. 

Art’s never moved faster in his life, rushing out of his room with only his phone, wallet, and keys. 

He makes it to your dorm in record time, nearly sprinting across campus to hurry up and get there before you change your mind. All that needy rushing completely vanishes once he’s actually outside your door. 

Art hesitates, staring at the little door decals taped on with your name written on them in black sharpie. He rests his ear against the door, but he can’t hear anything. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth, brows pinched as he wrestles with himself.

“C’mon Donaldson, don’t be such a little bitch.” Patrick’s voice rings out in the back of his mind. He takes a breath and knocks on the door.

Barely a second passes before it’s swinging open and you're there, gripping the front of his shirt and dragging him inside your room. Art's back hits the closing door with a thud, his breath catching in surprise. His hands shoot out to brace on either side of the door, knocking over a racket resting on the wall. Everything he brought with him falling to clatter onto the wood floor loudly.

You look rough, eyes slightly red and puffy like you may have been crying. Your breath comes out in short, quick bursts as you stare up at him. All the anger he swore would come rushing back when he saw you drains out of him in a second.

His face softens, a tiny frown on his lips. "Hey, what’s going on?" he asks, voice a mix of confusion and worry. His hands come up to hover near your hips, hesitating at the last second, not sure if he should touch you.

Without a word, you’re flying forward while yanking him down by his shirt. Closing the distance between the two of you with your lips crashing against Art’s. It’s so sudden, so completely out of left field, that Art stumbles forward a few steps, hands gripping your hips tightly to steady himself.

It’s almost pathetic how easily he kisses back, not even hesitating. Flashes of Patrick’s face go through his mind as he eagerly reciprocates, not stopping him from pulling your hips flush against his. He definitely might be the worst friend in the world, all the loyalty he felt to Patrick tossed out of his mind the second your tongue slides past his lips.

It’s intense, there’s no romance or gentleness about it. Your lips move against his almost violently, all the aggression and anger from earlier still very much there. He’s never kissed a girl like this before, it’s not how he imagined his first kiss with you would go. He’s still getting hard in his sweats anyway.

Your tongue fucks into his mouth roughly, it reminds him of the time he and Patrick kissed when they were still at the academy for “practice”. He moans loudly into your mouth, letting you dominate the kiss and just trying his best to keep up. Your teeth clack against his roughly, biting down on his bottom lip hard enough to have him whining embarrassingly high and needy.  

“It’s over with Patrick,” you breathe hotly, slick lips brushing his with every word. “I want you to fuck me.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

Art’s dick feels hard enough to burst out of his sweats by sheer force, but he pauses, pulling away from you with a hesitant look. "I-" he tries, voice cracking slightly. He can feel his cheeks starting to burn as he clears his throat. "I don't think that's a good idea. It's so soon, and I mean you're obviously going through something and I don't want to take advantage of yo-"

An incredulous laugh bursting from your lips effectively cuts Art off, your eyes roll to the ceiling in dry amusement. “God, Art.” you scoff, both hands pushing off his chest to create space between the two of you. He keeps his hands on your hips, the thin material of your bottoms bunching in his grip. “You’re such a fucking little bitch, you can kiss me but you won’t fuck me? What is it? You scared of Patrick or something?”

The taunt hits Art like a slap across the face, he freezes for a second before disbelief gives way to white hot rage. You just stare up at him smugly, lips red and wet. Art bares his teeth, using his strong hold on your hips to force you backwards until your knees hit the edge of your bed.

“You’ve pushed me and pushed me and pushed me,” he spits, glaring down at you as he speaks. “Acting like such a fucking brat. You want me to fuck you?” He pushes you back onto the bed roughly, covering your body with his, letting his weight sink you deeper into the mattress. “Fine, I’ll fuck you.”

Art sits up, ripping his shirt over his head and tossing it somewhere behind his shoulder. Your greedy eyes rake down the toned muscle of his torso, hands coming up to lightly scratch your nails over his abs. His breath hitches, goosebumps breaking out all over his skin. He grabs your wrists, forcing them down and pinning them to the bed. “No touching.” he chastises, leaning down to bite the skin of your neck roughly. Sucking hard enough that he’ll definitely leave a mark. 

His dick twitches against the inside of his sweats at the thought of you walking around campus with his claim staked on you, at the thought of Patrick, if he was still coming down, seeing it and immediately knowing who left it there. He slides his knee between your legs, he can feel the warmth radiating from your pussy, can feel how you’re so wet it’s soaking through your bottoms and onto his thigh. 

You hiss at the sting of his teeth, trying to squeeze your wrists out of his strong grip. Your thighs tighten around his knee, hips bucking up against him. “Are you gonna fuck me anytime soon, Art? Or do I need to find someone else that’s not all talk?”

Art chuckles darkly, nipping at the sensitive skin of your collarbones. “You can bitch and moan all you want, but I haven’t even touched you yet–” he leans forward to whisper directly into your ear, “–And you’re still fucking soaked for me anyway.” He drags his tongue along the shell of your ear in a dirty stripe. 

You let out a keen, pretty and high, grinding your hungry pussy against his knee faster. He lets go of your hands, grabbing your hips and flipping you onto your stomach. Tossing you around like it’s nothing, just manhandling you.

“God,” he groans, big hands coming up to knead the meat of your ass, spreading it lewdly making you moan softly. “You’re so fucking hot.” He whispers, words falling from his lips like he couldn’t hold them in any longer.

Art keeps one hand tight on your hip, the other fumbling with the drawstring of his sweats so he can push them down to finally free his aching dick. Letting it spring out to slap up onto his bare stomach, trailing a thin line of pre-come across his abs. 

You squirm under him, feet kicking out as you struggle in his hold. Your head craning over your shoulder and zeroing in on his dick, hard and red and leaking. “You came over here with no panties on, Donaldson?” you taunt, pushing your ass back onto the sensitive length of his erection. “How slutty–” 

“Shut up,” he snaps harshly, but his dick twitches where it’s dragging over the seam of your ass. He’s leaking like a faucet, leaking like a girl, all over your light green plaid bottoms. It strikes him suddenly, how familiar they look. He stares at the worn down fabric covering your ass, at the way his pre-come stains the material darker, at the way they hang too low on your hips, too big for you. 

“Are these…are these Patrick's,” he asks slowly, voice low as his fingers skim over the soft material. You chuckle wickedly, wiggling your hips back teasingly. 

“Yeah, they are,” you say, sliding your ass back and forth over Art’s dick. “You’re leaking jizz all over your best friend's pants, Art.”

Art groans loudly, chin dropping to his chest as hips jerk against your ass involuntarily. A full body shiver wracks through him like lightning, eyes screwing shut as he tries not to come all over your ass. “Shit–” he bites out sharply, voice rough and scratchy. He can distantly hear you laughing at him through all the white noise buzzing in his ears.

He breathes out through his nose, willing himself to calm down. He needs to be in control for once, needs to teach you a lesson for ignoring him for so long.

Art’s hands come up to the waistband of your– Patrick's– pants, fingers digging underneath the loose material and forcefully yanking it down along with your panties, only pulling them down to your mid-thigh. You yelp in surprise, hands gripping the sheets of your bed tightly. 

“I need to get inside you, right fucking now.” he rumbles thickly, flipping you onto your back again. He needs to see your face when he fucks you for the first time, needs to burn it into his mind forever.

“Fuck yes,” you reply eagerly, arms coming up to circle around his shoulders. “Finally.”

Art doesn't reply, eyes fixed on your bare pussy, so fucking wet and shining underneath the shitty ceiling light of your dorm. His mouth waters, he wants to drop to his stomach and eat you out until you're shaking and squirting all over his face. His dick drools at the thought, but he’ll have to wait. He needs to fuck you.

He takes his dick in his hand, dragging it through the silky skin of your soaked folds. He spreads your wetness around your clit, rubbing the leaking tip over you back and forth teasingly. You whine, thighs starting to shake on either side of him. He drags his dick back down to your clenching hole, lining up and slowly sinking inside the tight, wet heat.

Art doesn’t give you any time to adjust to the thick head of his dick breaching your tight hole, burying himself to the hilt inside of you with a sharp thrust. 

“Fuck!” you cry out, legs coming up to wrap tightly around his hips, digging your heels into his lower back. “Shit, fuck you’re– God, you're so fucking deep.”

“I’m going to use your fucking pussy however I want,” Your name falls from his lips, dirty and blistering. “because it’s the least I deserve for putting up with your bullshit for so fucking long, and you’re going to be good and lay there and take it.” He drives his point home with a mean thrust of his hips.

“Fuck you, Art.” you mutter back, trying to keep up the bratty act even though your voice is going breathless and needy.

Art doesn’t ease into it, pulling back only to start pounding into your pussy ruthlessly. Sharp slaps of his hips stinging your ass each time he drives back in, your eyes roll back in your head, slack lips parted in pleasure as he fucks you. 

Art can’t help but lean down to claim your mouth, kissing you a little too sweetly for the moment. He can’t help it, not when you’re under him making the sweetest noises, letting him fuck your perfect fucking pussy like he owns it. God.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Art growls, breaking the kiss to rest his sweaty forehead against yours. “You’re so fucking, tight. Feels so fucking– shit, so fucking good.” His hips speed up, desperately rutting into you.

“Art,” you whine, nails scratching down his back hard. “I’m so close, fuck I’m so close– keep going, don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop–”

He cuts off your rambling with a kiss, groaning at the way his name sounds getting fucked out of your mouth. The loud squelch your pussy makes each time he buries himself back inside has his ears burning, he can feel you soaking the skin of his thighs with every thrust.

“Wanna feel your tight pussy milk me dry,” he grinds out through gritted teeth, picking up his pace. “Fuck, I‘m gonna come, I’m gonna fucking come.” He ruts into you harder, splitting you open with every thrust. The skin of your ass turning red and raw from how hard he’s giving it to you. 

Your hands come up to bury themselves in his hair, tugging sharply to make him look at you. “Inside,” you pant, eyes glazed over and wild, “come inside me Art, please. I’m on the pill you can, you can come inside me.” Your legs tighten their hold on his hips, ankles locking snugly over his lower back so he couldn’t even pull out if he wanted.

“Fuck!” Art shouts your name hoarsely, hips stuttering as he unloads in you. Hot come spraying the walls of your pussy. You let out a broken moan, your whole body shaking as you come with him. Your pussy chokes his dick so tightly, gripping him like a vice, milking him.

Art tilts his head up, catching your lips with his to greedily swallow down all your moans. He keeps going, shallow thrusts of his hips working you through the aftershocks of your orgasm until you’re kicking at his back, whining at him to stop. He collapses on top of you, his sweaty skin sticking to the fabric of your shirt. 

It’s quiet for a while, the two of you silently trying to catch your breath. Your hands come up to his head, sliding into the messy strands of his hair. “It’s pretty late now,” you say slowly, nails scratching against his scalp softly. “You could…you could stay here if you want.”

Art hides the wide grin breaking out on his face in your chest, arms coming up to circle around your waist. “Yeah, that sounds good.” He whispers back, squeezing the soft skin of your hips once.

It’s only later, when you’ve fallen asleep on his chest, that he stares up at the ceiling lost in thought. He’s too worked up to sleep, so fucking thrilled that it worked. His plan actually worked. You’re his now. He looks down at you, glowing softly in the moonlight filtering through your window, deep hickeys scattered across your neck. He drags his fingers along your cheekbone, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

This is what he’s wanted for so long, you.

You asleep in bed with him, you curled up in his arms, you with his come steadily dripping out of your swollen pussy.

Art can hear his Blackberry start buzzing on your nightstand, lighting up with an incoming call. Even from far away he can read the name displayed on the screen. Patrick. He lets it ring.

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Anything You Can Do I Can Do Better (M)

★  PAIRING: Academic rival!Haechan x afab/fem!reader

☆ WORD COUNT: 4.8k

★ GENRE(S): Smut, E2lover, Rival2lovers

☆ SUMMARY: Haechan and you have never gotten along, and your friend group is sick of it, so they make a bet that the two of you can't ignore. When put to the test, will your hatred for each other still stand?

★ ☆ WARNINGS: 18+, minors do not interact, Meandom! Haechan, aphrodisiac drug, mentions of drinking, sexual bet, sexual intercourse, swearing, unprotected sex, creampie, Haechan being mean, lowkey forgot what I wrote, so just BEWARE.

☆★ NOTES: Yuh! This idea has been stuck in my head for a while. Another saga of me failing the Don't write another hate2love challenge! FYI, I'm not a writer; I'm just a person who writes occasionally. Lovers in e2l not found more of a fuck buddy type relationship. Anyway I just wanted to say thanks for the support on my other fics. I don't usually write that often but the good feedback encourages me.

At this point, your friends were getting tired of it. You two were constantly at each other's throats. They initially believed you could'nt stand one another, but recently, the atmosphere in the room after your shouting matches was too intense to be fueled solely by animosity. The flames behind your eyes burned too brightly for them to be caused by resentment alone. They used to hold you back from lunging at him, but now they wondered what would really happen if you got your hands on him.

Haechan and you had known each other since middle school. You two shared a lot of the same classes, and unfortunately, you both had parents who expected you to excel in school. You were always trying to one-up each other or stamp out the other's resolve. Your relationship was rocky from the start, and even if you two weren't fighting for the top spot, you doubt you would find him likable.

Haechan was a natural at everything. He didn't have to try very hard to be the best; he just got it. On the other hand, despite spending hours studying, you could just barely match his performance. You were jealous of how easy he made it look. The fact that he would flaunt his success in your face didn't help.

“Can't keep up?” He would say after outperforming you on the final exam by 10 points, he had that same smirk that seemed permanently etched onto his face on full display. You had spent days preparing for the test, even skipping a few hours of sleep. Haechan never studied; the most he ever did to prepare for an exam was to quickly skim the material a few hours before the test. Even then, he would still ace it.

You expected to grow up and put the rivalry behind yourselves during high school, but he would jump at any chance to make you look like an idiot. You could say the sky was blue, and he would argue that it was actually the reflection of the ocean that gave the sky the illusion of being blue. Back in middle school, you limited all interactions with him for your own sanity. However, in high school, he somehow managed to join your friend group, so you were forced to endure him during hangouts. You eventually got used to his presence and the non-stop teasing. It wasn't until you received your acceptance letter to the college you would be attending with your friends that you thought you would finally be free from him. Haechan's parents had wanted him to go to a college that was 4 hours away from your hometown, and you counted down the days until graduation.

Luck was never on your side.

Due to Haecahan's tendency to put things off, he wasn't able to submit his application in time, and as the school was very competitive, the available spots quickly filled up. Luckily for him, your college had an extended application process, which allowed him to send it in late, and he was accepted. Now here you are two years into college, and Haechan is still insufferable.

You two were on two completely different career tracks, so your classes never overlapped, so at least you stopped fighting about grades. Being at the top doesn't matter to you anymore, anyway. You hated the pressure that your parents put on you growing up. Before, you would have had a heart attack if you saw a B, but now you just shrug them off. Even still, all you two do is just have petty arguments because that's all you have ever done.

“You would not be able to see an explosion in space; it's a vacuum; fire can't exist.”

"Well, I've seen Star Wars, so I think that proves my point.”

“That's Fiction! You know, like the idea of you having a brain,” you roll your eyes.

“Almost like your sense of humor? I was joking. Of course I know that I took astronomy before you," he smirks.

He was constantly trying to get under your skin. You take a long breath and try to calm yourself down. "Well, yeah, because I took a different science asshole." Your friends say it's because you always give him a reaction, but you hate being wrong. You had to get the last word, especially against know-it-alls like him.

Despite your complaints, he isn't entirely horrible. On the days that you two aren't arguing, he's making you laugh so hard that you practically fall over. He's not a complete jerk all the time; it's just that once you two get started, it's hard to stop.

“Oh please, can you two cut it out? You have either had too much alcohol or not enough if you can still think about arguing,” your friend Johnny slurs.

It's Saturday night, and you have just finished off an exhausting exam week. Your friends felt a celebration was in order to wind down from the trying week. Now the only thing trying was Haechan testing your patience. You're at Johnny's house, and everyone is spread out around his spacious living room, bottles of alcohol scattered several surfaces. Johnny’s family was well off, and he lived off campus in one of the few estates that his family owned. The house had two stories and a pool in the backyard. On the weekends, you would spend the most of your time here.

“You're right I came here to relax, not burst a blood vessel.” You sigh and take a seat next to Johnny on the couch. You take a couple sips from whichever unopened can of cheap alcohol is nearby. Even though you could already sense a buzz coming on, it needed to hit harder if you were going to have to deal with Haechan all night.

Hyuck chuckled and found a spot on the carpeted floor. "Sorry, the princess just seemed like her day was going too well; I had to ruin it a little," he said.

Your friend Yuna raised an eyebrow in his direction and smirked as she took another sip of her drink. “For you to hate her so much, you sure do spend a lot of time thinking about her.”

“One point Yuna, '' you smile at your friend's rebuttal. Arguing with Haechan could be tiring, but your roommate always had your back.

“I think you two just need to hug it out... in a room... alone,” your other friend Mark joked.

You dryly laugh, "So funny."

“You scared?” Hyuck says with a wicked grin. He leans back on one arm as he sips on his drink, still eyeing you confidently. It's at times like these that you betray yourself the most. He looks so good with his light brown hair framing his face; it's grown so long now that it covers his eyes if he doesn't push it back. The alcohol must be hitting because now all you can imagine is pulling on the soft brown locks and not out of anger. You must have taken too long to reply, because now he's raising an eyebrow at you.

“I wouldn't want to be alone with you even if you were the last person on earth."

Johnny cuts off Haechan's response before he can start. "Want to test that theory?"

Questions run through everyone's mind as you all turn to look at Johnny after his outburst.

“What, are you gonna kill us or something?” Haechan responds wearily.

"No, but I should, with the headache you have given me.”

“So…?” You urge him to continue.

"You two keep saying how much you can't stand each other, so how about we put that to the test?" Johnny closes with a sinister grin.

“I feel like you're gonna say something really stupid next." Mark comments

Johnny ushers your other friends into a huddle and tries his best to whisper in his drunken state.

"Guys, just hear me out? We can all feel the tension between these two. They clearly need to fuck or something, so how about we help them along so we don't have to deal with them trying to tear each other apart?”

“How would we do that?”

“We can hear you, and I am NOT fucking him."

“Oh come on, we see the way you two look at each other; you're both just too stubborn to realize it.”

"Hyuck, don't just sit there; help me out here!" you plead

“They have a point, though; you do want to fuck me,” he confidently adds.

"Please, you would be lucky enough if I poked you with a stick,” you say in distaste.

“Order! Order!” Johnny slurs, "Look, I have a way for you both to prove yourselves,” using his beer can as a makeshift gavel.

“Yeah, where were you even going with all of this? Man get to the point,” Mark mutters as he gets comfortable on the sofa.

“"What if you two take an aphrodisiac together and try not to touch each other? If you can last, then you two will win and show everyone how much you despise one another."

The room is silent when Johnny finishes pitching his idea. You think he definitely had one too many drinks tonight. What kind of plan was this? There was no way in hell you would go along with ANY of Johnny's half-baked ideas, but this one was especially crazy. You were just about to shoot down the idea when another voice interrupted you.

“I'm down. What? You can't stand the idea of keeping your hands off me?” Haechan grumbles upon seeing your reaction.

“what? I was just thinking this is stupid. What do I even get out of this? I don't care what you people think,” you huff.

“How about I give you each $500 if you win?”

“Do you-” you start.

“AND Mark does your homework for 2 weeks.”

“Hey! I didn't-” mark says

“AND Yuna does your share of the chores at your dorm.”

“WHA-!” yuna argues

"Deal," you quickly say before anyone can finish their complaints.

"Dude, this is not what we discussed,” Mark complains. Johnny whispers to him about something, and he perks up a little as Johnny makes him a promise. "Fine"

Johnny lays down the rules for you two. You and Haechan will both take an aphrodisiac pill and be restricted to the upstairs bedroom. You’ll have to stay in the room with each other for 3 hours, and if you two can withstand the 3 hours without touching each other, you win. If you lose, you both have agreed to play nice with each other or at least around other people.

As soon as you both take the pink pill, Johnny starts the timer. You make your way up the stairs to the bedroom, where you often crash on the weekends. This was definitely not how you thought you would be spending the weekend.

“We’ll come knocking when the time’s up! Yuna yells from downstairs.

You pout playfully and mock her from over the railing of the stairs. She was supposed to be the reasonable one.

“Oh real mature,” Haechan chuckles as he shuffles past you up the stairs. The staircase was really narrow, and you could practically feel his body heat against you as he went. The pills' effects haven't even fully settled in yet, and you're already feeling things you shouldn't. If you were planning on winning, you would have to get it together. Maybe this wasn't as easy as you thought.

As you make your way up the remaining stairs, you see Haechan standing by the door frame, waiting for you. He rolls his eyes. "You're stalling."

You murmur under your breath, "I'll literally give you my half of the money if you shut up for the next three hours," but drag yourself into the room nevertheless.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

The first 20 minutes aren't terrible. You guys make yourselves comfortable on opposite sides of the room and pick a random wall to stare at. As Haechan makes himself comfortable on the room's lone bed, you take a seat on a little bench that lines a sizable window. You're grateful he keeps his mouth shut. This was probably the longest you two have been in each other's presence without speaking.

It wasn't until about 30 minutes in that the effect hit you. Your breathing grew labored, and your blood started to flow through your veins more quickly. Your body started to heat up. To cool down, you placed your face on the window, breathing fogging the glass. When you looked up to see how Haechan was fairing, he was already looking at you with heavy-lidded eyes as his chest expanded with each deep inhale.

As much as he got on your last nerve, you had always thought he was attractive. His tan honey skin that glowed in the sunlight, his pretty moles that you would kill to kiss, and his gorgeous eyes that always made your heart beat just a little harder when he would glare at you whenever you hit a nerve. You loved seeing him worked up, but the few moments you got to see him when he was happy were moments you stored deep in the vault of your heart. You hated him; there was no time for admiring him.

You tried to shove those thoughts away, but It was as though all the thoughts you had been working so hard to suppress had suddenly surfaced. All you could think about was his plump lips and how they would feel on your body. How his fingers would feel encircling your throat, pressing the chilly rings that decorated his hands against your skin. His golden locks flowing through your fingers as you hold him close. You couldn't resist licking your lips at the idea.

“Don't fucking do that,” he abruptly spoke. He closes his eyes and takes a shaky breath. He spreads his legs further, trying to get comfortable in his spot across the room.

You try to fight the urge, but your eyes travel down his body to the bulge in his sweats. You immediately cross your legs at the sight. You had to clutch onto the pillows of the seat you were in; otherwise, you don't think you could stop yourself from crossing the room in a heartbeat.

“What? Can't handle it hyuckie?” You coo at him, using the old nickname you haven't called him since middle school. You had to find some ground in this setting. You couldn't let him see how weak he was making you.

"Out of all the times you pick to be a brat, now is not the time," he grumbles mockingly.

“Why? Am I getting on your nerves? Hmm, I could only wonder what that must feel like,” you sneered. You were so horny, it's pissing you off. You decide Haechan can use a taste of his own medicine, and what better way to blow off steam than to get under his skin?

“Maybe they were right. Maybe you do need a good fuck for you to lose the attitude.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

"Careful," he smirks, licking his lips.

You know that look; he's testing you. He's daring you to say something else.

"That's what I thought," he says, closing his eyes and attempting to control his breathing.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

You're about an hour in, and you can't take it any longer; you're practically rutting against the seam of your jeans, hoping for some kind of friction.

"Please, I can't do this anymore," you cry out for air. You turn to face him, but he doesn't answer. His eyes are closed, and his brows are drawn together as if he's in pain.

“Haechan!” You scream again; this time he slowly opens his eyes, and you suck in a breath as your eyes meet. His pupils were completely blown as sweat pricked his brow.

“Are you giving up?"

You nod in response.

“That's too bad; I still want to win,” he smirks lazily.

"Let's just forfeit; this is stupid!” You stand from where you were seated and head to the door. This prompts Haechan to finally move from his spot as he uses his long legs to cross the room in three wide strides. Before you can open the door, he stops you. For the first time since you two entered the room, he touches you. While keeping his body an arms' length away from you, he is shoving you up against the door by your shoulders. Your body is on fire at the mere touch, and you're grateful for the little bit of space he has given you.

“Calm down. Think this through,” he huffs as if out of breath. “just-just think of the money.”

“I don't care about this stupid bet! I feel like I'm going to explode,” you cry, fighting to escape his hold, but he just pins you back against the door.

“How about I take care of it then? Hmm?” He begs, never breaking eye contact. “I'll take the pain away, baby. Just work with me, yeah?"

"That defeats the point Haechan; we aren't supposed to touch each other; I thought you were smarter than that," you protest, growing increasingly frustrated.

“As long as you keep those gorgeous lips shut, nobody would ever know.” He slowly closes in on you as he speaks. “I help you out, and when we get out of this room, we pretend like nothing happened, and that we still can't stand each other, deal?” He's a breath away. The close proximity, the way he's practically breathing down your neck, and the look in his eyes that tells you he is only about 2 seconds away from devouring you were all you needed to go along with Haechan's scheme.

You stopped listening about halfway through anyway so you nodded mindlessly before closing the remaining space between the two of you. You're pushing off the door and pressing your body against his as you guide him towards the bed. Even though you can both feel your lungs starting to burn, neither of you has the strength to break the kiss. When his legs met the edge of the bed, he sat, giving you both time to regain your breath. He's resting back against his hands, looking up at you, and his legs are spread wide as if he were offering himself to you.

"Come on princess, take whatever you want from me," he smirks as you get into his lap and nestle down against the tent in his pants. You push him until his back is flush against the mattress, then mindlessly grind down on him. You use his chest to steady yourself as you throw your head back and drown in the feeling. You feel Haechan's hands gripping your waist and then traveling up your torso. His hands explored your body as you got lost in each other. Haechan sits up to meet your lips in another passionate kiss. As he deepens the kiss, he clutches your waist tightly to restrict your movements. You whine at the lack of stimulation, but all he can do is smile against your lips in return.

“Be patient baby; let me love on you.”

“This…was…not…a part of…the deal,” you try to finish as he lovingly pecks your lips.

"Didn't I tell you to keep your voice down? Shut up,” he says, ignoring your insistent whining, lavishing your face and neck in wet kisses. Any “loving” he was going to give vanished at your bratty behavior.

“Stop teasing, hyuck seriously. I think I'm going insane.”

You were on the verge of tears at this point; you needed him to give you some type of relief. That's exactly how he wanted you—desperate and needy—not like you already weren't, but he liked to push you to your limits.

“Lay down for me,” he says, releasing his grip on your hips and patting your thigh to signal you to get up. You swiftly move to lay on the bed, and you watch him as he pulls his shirt over his head and takes off his sweatpants, leaving him only in his underwear. He climbs the bed and helps you remove your jeans. As he's tugging the material down your thick thighs, you remove your shirt and bra. He settles between your legs, and you reflexively wrap your legs around his waist. He has to press his palm down against your lower stomach to stop you from grinding against him again.

"You promise to behave?" He prys your legs free from his waist, trapping them against your chest and restricting your movement.

You nod mindlessly, reaching out to grab him and trying to draw him into another kiss, but he pins your hands above your head, using his hips instead to further pin you down.

"Uh-uh princess, use your words," he adds coldly.

“Please hyuck, I promise I'll be good.”

“You going to be a good girl and keep that mouth shut?”

You were exhausted from having to use your brain to come up with a coherent response; you were at your limit. All you could think about was him filling you up, and every second he didn't, it felt like a year of your life span was shaved off. You did cry this time. You were so frustrated with him; he did this all the time. He never plays nice; he always makes you work for it.

"Oh you poor baby," he coos lovingly as he kisses your eyelids and wipes away your tears. "I'm sorry, but I have to hear you say it," he continues.

"I promise to be your good girl; I swear I won't make a sound, please," you sniffle, trying to hold back your tears.

“If I hear one sound, I'm stopping, and you can walk out of this room and finish yourself off, got it?”

You've learned to respond quickly when he asks you a question, so you nod your head with a "yes sir."

This makes Haechan smile wickedly. Who would have guessed that the same brat who walked into the room with him no less than an hour ago could be so obedient? He was definitely never letting you live this down when this was over. He finally decides to take pity on you, kisses down your body, and removes your panties. He threw your legs over his shoulders, and a quick kiss to your inner thigh was all the warning you got before he nuzzled his nose up against your clit as he licked into your entrance. He savored the taste with his tongue before licking up to your clit and sucking it into his mouth. The sounds his mouth made as he devoured you were wet and noisy as he slurped away at your essence.

You were fighting for your life above him. Reaching for a pillow that was just almost out of reach, you used it to smother your sounds. A sharp slap on your outer thigh served as a warning to keep your voice down. It was the only warning you were going to get. Soon the pillow is long forgotten as you gasp for air. Your thighs began to shake as you choked on your moans. Your back arches, and you can feel your eyes begin to roll. You were going to come, and you would have welcomed it with open arms any other time, but you knew how loud you could get. He was not letting up, and you knew if you came like this, you wouldn't be able to hold back the scream that's been dying to echo against the walls.

You try your best to fight it off. You frantically push at his head, begging him with your eyes as you trap your bottom lip between your teeth, trying to bite back moans. He shakes his head no, but the movement simply adds to the pleasure, and you're about to lose it. You try to get away from his mouth by shifting up the bed, but his powerful arms wrap around your thighs and pull you back down onto his mouth.

"Hae-" His look silences you, and your mouth hangs wide in a silent cry as you spasm on his tongue. It was the most intense orgasm you'd ever felt. Once he helps you ride out the wave, he kisses your pussy one more time before pulling away. As soon as he does, you snap your legs shut, still reeling from the orgasm. His face was practically dripping as he stared you down, hungry.

"Better?" he asks, brushing the back of his palm across his face.

"Mhm,” you reply, causing him to raise a brow, "better,” you quickly follow, using your voice.

Your eyes travel down his body until they reach what you’ve been craving for the most. Haechan was harder than you thought could even be possible. His tip was a furious shade of crimson, gleaming in precum. 

"One more baby," he strokes his length before hissing and gripping the base. "Just be my good girl one more time," he begs.

You almost feel bad. The whole time he was teasing you, he was also teasing himself. You're amazed he's maintained this level of self-control up to this point.

“I don't know if I can keep quiet if we continue,” you plead.

“Open your mouth” is all he says as he prys your legs open and settles between them.

You comply, and Haechan shoves your panties into your mouth. You try to object, but he covers your mouth with his palm for added security.

"My turn," he grins before bottoming out inside you. The first few strokes are so deep, you can practically feel him in your stomach. He's trying to keep control; he's trying to be gentle with you because he knows how sensitive you are, but he's slowly losing it. He's going to use you like a doll. His thrusts pick up pace, and all you can hear in the room is skin slapping against skin unforgivingly. The hand around your mouth clamps down harder as he buries his head into your neck.

“Im sorry... fuck” was all you got as he hiked your leg up higher on his waist, trying to hit deeper. His hot breath fanning across your neck and the soft staccato groans he lets out are the only indications that he is close. Your head is in the clouds, and you can't think straight. You barely register the fact that you came again until he bites at your neck to muffle his deep groan at the feeling of your walls tightening down on him. Next thing you know, he's snapped.

He quickly sits up, throwing your leg over his shoulder as he drives his hips down into you, practically fucking you into the mattress until his hips are stuttering. He pulls the panties from your mouth to kiss you in the hopes of drowning out his own sounds of pleasure. His kiss is messy. It's nothing but tongue and teeth as his thrusts grow slopy. He's practically whimpering into your mouth when he cums.He rides out his high before pulling away from your lips. All you can do is stare at each other as you catch your breath. There is a brief moment of silence before you both burst out laughing. He collapses next to you and pulls you close.

“You think they heard that?” he asks, panting.

"Oh, we definitely heard everything." A muffled voice can be heard through the door, and you assume it's Yunas.

You're too sleepy to feel embarrassed as your eyelids begin to droop.

"Don't worry, you two; we'll say you won as long as you don't try to kill each other again." Johnny's muffled voice can be heard next.

"I don't think she'll be able to do much for a while," Haechan muffles. Speaking to your sleeping form more than anyone else.

"I'll get the plan B girl. I gotchu," Yuna voice fades as she walks down the hallway.

She was definitely gonna grill you for the details. She always wanted a run-down play by play of everything that happened.

Soon, you found yourself drifting off to sleep in haechans warm embrace.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Johnny would call his mission a success. You two stopped arguing for the most part, and the group was able to enjoy more peaceful outings without the two of you turning every conversation into a debate. Your friends were fond of your bickering, but at times it could get to be too much. But now that your relationship with Haechan has blossomed into a….situationship? They were running into another problem.

You two fuck like rabbits.

No matter where you were, you two were slipping off to do who knows what or being all touchy-feely with each other, and your friends didn't want to see or hear any of it. But because you two seemed happier, they learned to cope with it. Yuna bought new noise-canceling headphones to use whenever Haechan would spend the night at your dorm. Johnny upgraded the speakers in the house so that when he had a party and you two snuck away, the music could blast louder to drown out your noises. Mark downloaded more mobile games on his phones to ignore you two when you would get all lovey during movie nights.

Haechan still picked on you, but he saved it more for the bedroom, and you still tried to test his patience any chance you got. You didn't know what you two had, but you didn't mind enjoying it while it lasted or even furthering it. You learned a lot more about Haechan and discovered that you two had more in common than you believed. You also learned he could be a real sweetheart sometimes. Maybe your friends were right all along, and maybe Johnny isn't as crazy as you thought. Maybe you didn't have to be better than Haechan all along.

Rushed ending opps

[boyfiechan]

i'd loveee to read what you could write from prompt 19!! (soft smut🤭)

Thank you for requesting<3 Please let me know what you think of it!

Click here to check out my prompt list.

Missed you so much, he murmured in between the little kisses he planted on your shoulder. Moments like these made you want to be able to stop time, the way his skin felt against yours, chest pressed against you back as he worked his way into getting every bit of the shampoo he massaged into your scalp rinsed, the little sweet nothings being whispered every now and then, the warmth of the water and the steam making your muscles relax.

Usually, it's the other way around. Chan is the one to step inside of your apartment, shoulders slumped and a lot on his mind, looking for you after a way that felt way too long and needing some sort of comfort from you. He absolutely adores the way your home became his place to escape from whatever madness his life has become, and even more how you're always ready to take his hand and take care of him whenever he needed. But every now and then, you're the one that needs him. And just like you, he's always there, arms wide open, a warm shower ready and some food that you could heat up later waiting on the counter.

His hands never let your body as you dried each other silently, sneaking a kiss or two between the towels and the steam. You know he's good at reading you, and he can feel the way you're slowly melting into him, your bare chest touching his as he brushes your hair ever so gently. He loves you like this, trusting him to care for you, completely vulnerable and exposed and so gorgeous in a way that right there, he's sure you were made for him.

His lips found yours in what should be a short, sweet kiss. And it was sweet, it always was, but something in the air and the way you somehow got even closer to each other and the little sound you let out as his tongue found yours made it a sinful kind of sweet, the kind that made him want to kiss you all over and make love to you until you can't even remember what made you stressed in the first place. You felt it, too, a simple want you escaping your lips as your mouths parted and the well known unspoken question found his eyes.

You barely even notice how you go from the bathroom to the bed, his soft lips working their way on your neck, little wet kisses making you shiver as his hands press you closer to his body. You can feel everything, from the way his hair feels against your fingers, still wet and falling slightly in from of his eyes, to how his skin is even warmer and softer than the usual. You can see and feel every inch of his body, strong arms and shoulders holding himself up as his lips trail all the way down to your chest, kissing and sucking and licking every bit of skin like you're the sweetest, most delicious thing he's ever tasted.

There's a mixture of things clouding your mind — his mouth working on you, the contrast between the warmth of your skin and the cold air coming from the AC making you shiver every time his mouth leaves a wet patch on your skin, the way his hands slowly made their way down until they found exactly where you needed them to be. He takes his time exploring you, lips now founding yours as his middle finger moving against your clit so deliciously you can't help but moan against his mouth. You can feel how much he wants you, his needs pretty clear as he occasionally grinds his hard cock against your thigh to get some relief. You know he wants to take his time with you, but you both want the same thing at that moment, and it's so easy to get him to agree as you caress his legs with your feet and whisper a small, whiny please and he bites your bottom lip.

Lift your hips for me, love. Gonna take care of you, 'kay? his voice is so velvety, skilled hands guiding your hips up as he rests a pillow under your body, aligning himself with your entrance. He's eager but savors you, gliding his tip against your folds a few times until he's covered in your juices. One of his hands find yours, giving a little reassurance squeeze. So wet, he half laughs and half whines, sliding inside of you easily, body pressing up against yours again. It's delirious to him how he can feel your walls hugging his cock so perfectly, so deliciously, and even more to you how he gets so deep, filling you so incredibly well.

Love you so much. The atmosphere is dizzying and you know neither of you will last long, tiredness from the long day pending on your back as you moan into each other's mouths. You slightly tug at the hair on the back of his neck as his middle fingers finds his way to your clit again, his other hand holding your thigh as his movements gets messier, needier. You know what he wants to ask you and answer him before he can even manage to say anything, your legs wrapping around his waist as a silent request for him to stay inside of you as you clench around him, head rolling back as you cum around his cock. He doesn't last long either, face nuzzled against your neck as he rides his own high, filling you up.

His body is heavy on top of yours, but you don't mind, one thumb drawing small circles against your waist as his other hand rests on your hair. I love you too, you mumble feeling his smile against your skin. I think we need another shower.

[nextchae]

between the lines — choi yeonjun

word count: 9.8k

pairing: yeonjun x fem!reader

synopsis: Y/N and Yeonjun, two close friends who live together as roommates in the city, have a close friends with benefits/no-strings-attached relationship. As they navigate their individual careers—Y/N as a songwriter and Yeonjun as a choreographer—they struggle with unspoken feelings that simmer beneath the surface.

genre: friends with benefits to lovers, slight angst, miscommunication trope, light smut

The soft strum of guitar strings fills the dimly lit living room, the melody threading through the quiet apartment like a whisper. You sit on the worn couch, your notebook balanced on your knee, as you search for the right words. The familiar comfort of the space surrounds you—walls decorated with concert posters, a few scattered vinyl records, and the faint scent of coffee lingering in the air. It’s a place you’ve grown to call home, even if it started as just a convenience.

Two years. That’s how long it’s been since you and Yeonjun decided to split the rent on this place. What began as a practical solution—a way to save money while chasing your dreams in the city—soon turned into something more. The late-night talks, the shared meals, and the quiet moments between the rush of your lives somehow blurred the lines. You’re not quite sure when the shift happened, when friendship evolved into something more complicated, something without ties or titles. 

You moved to the city almost three years ago, fresh out of college and full of dreams of making it big as a songwriter. You’d always had a way with words, a knack for turning feelings into lyrics that resonated with people. Growing up, you’d spent hours writing songs in your bedroom, dreaming of the day when someone famous might sing them. But it wasn’t until you landed an internship at a small music label during your last year of college that you realized this could be more than just a dream.

The city was everything you’d hoped for—fast-paced, full of opportunities, and alive with the energy of people chasing their own dreams. You threw yourself into your work, writing day and night, determined to prove yourself. It wasn’t easy, and there were times when you wondered if you’d made the right choice, but you kept pushing forward. Music was your lifeline, your way of making sense of the world, and you couldn’t imagine doing anything else.

You met Yeonjun about a year after moving here. It was during one of those early-morning sessions at the company, both of you exhausted but still driven to keep working. You’d bonded over coffee and shared frustrations, finding comfort in each other’s company in a world that could often feel isolating. He’d been working as a choreographer for a few years by then, having moved to the city not long before you.

Yeonjun’s story is different from yours, but in some ways, it’s the same. He grew up in a small town, the kind where everyone knows each other, and where being different wasn’t always accepted. He’d always been drawn to dance, ever since he was a kid, but it wasn’t until he saw a hip-hop performance on TV that he realized it was something he could actually do. He taught himself at first, practicing in his room for hours until he could mimic the moves perfectly. But it wasn’t just about copying what he saw—he wanted to create something of his own, to express himself in a way that words never could.

After high school, he knew he had to leave if he wanted to pursue dance seriously. The city was the obvious choice, a place where he could be anonymous and free to chase his dreams without the weight of small-town expectations. It was hard at first—finding gigs, making a name for himself—but Yeonjun had always been determined. He took whatever jobs he could get, building a portfolio, until finally, he landed a position as a choreographer at the company where you both now work.

Yeonjun pours himself into his work in a way that’s both admirable and heartbreaking. He’s always been the type to push himself to the brink, to give everything he has to his art, even if it leaves him drained. It’s something you recognize in yourself, that same drive to create, to pour your heart and soul into your work until there’s nothing left. But where you find comfort in words, Yeonjun finds it in movement, in the physicality of dance. It’s his way of processing the world, of dealing with the things he can’t say out loud.

You pause, tapping the pen against your chin, lost in thought. The song you’re working on is different from the others. The lyrics feel too close to home, too revealing. You’ve always been good at keeping things casual, especially with Yeonjun, but this song? It’s like a confession you’re not ready to make.

The front door creaks open, and you look up to see Yeonjun entering, his shoulders slightly slouched, the exhaustion from hours of rehearsal evident in his posture. His hair is tousled, and there’s a light sheen of sweat on his skin, a testament to his dedication. He’s always been passionate about his work, throwing himself into every dance like it’s his last. It’s something you admire about him—his unwavering commitment to his craft, the way he’s able to express emotions through movement that you sometimes struggle to put into words.

“Long day?” you ask, setting the notebook aside as he drops his bag by the door and kicks off his shoes.

“Yeah,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “The new routine is killing me. But I think it’s finally coming together.”

You nod, watching him move across the room to the kitchen. He grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and takes a long drink before leaning against the counter, his gaze flickering to your notebook. “Still working on that song?”

“Trying to,” you admit, your voice tinged with frustration. “It’s not coming out the way I want it to.”

He raises an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “Can I hear it?”

You hesitate, your fingers brushing over the pages as if they might burn you. It’s not that you don’t trust Yeonjun; it’s just that this song feels too personal, too risky. But then again, he’s always been the one you could show your rough drafts to, the one who gets it without you having to explain. 

“Maybe later,” you say, offering a small smile to soften the refusal. He doesn’t push, just nods and crosses the room to sit beside you on the couch. The proximity is familiar, comforting in a way that you’ve grown used to but never quite gotten over.

Yeonjun stretches out, his arm resting on the back of the couch behind you, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from his skin. It’s moments like these, when the world outside fades away, that you remember why this whole thing started. The physical connection, the ease of it—it’s always been so simple with him. No complications, no promises, just an understanding between two people who found something they both needed. 

“How was your day?” he asks, his voice low, as if to match the quiet of the room.

You shrug, leaning back against the cushions. “Just the usual. Worked on some lyrics, played around with a few melodies. Nothing groundbreaking.”

He smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling in that way that makes you wonder if he’s amused or just genuinely happy to be here with you. “You always say that, and then you come up with something amazing.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the small laugh that escapes you. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Choi.”

“Is that so?” His hand slides down from the back of the couch to rest lightly on your shoulder, a touch that’s more familiar than you’d care to admit. It’s not meant to be anything more than a casual gesture, but there’s a weight to it that neither of you acknowledge. 

You turn your head to look at him, your eyes meeting his. For a moment, the room feels smaller, the air thicker. You’ve had moments like this before—moments where you could swear there’s something unspoken between you, something more than just friendship or convenience. But just as quickly as it comes, the moment passes, and you’re left with the same comfortable silence that’s defined your relationship for so long.

“You hungry?” he asks, breaking the tension as he stands up and heads to the kitchen again. “I can make us something to eat.”

“Yeah, sure,” you reply, grateful for the distraction. You watch him move around the kitchen, the easy familiarity of it all reminding you of why this arrangement has worked so well for so long. 

It’s easy to fall into routine with Yeonjun. Easy to keep things as they are, without complicating them with feelings you’re not ready to confront. You’re close, closer than you’ve been with anyone else in a long time, but there’s a line you’ve both drawn that neither of you have dared to cross. At least, not yet.

But as you sit there, your notebook still open beside you, you can’t help but wonder how long you can keep pretending that what you have is enough. That the song you’re writing isn’t about him. That the feelings you’ve buried won’t eventually surface, demanding to be acknowledged.

You glance at Yeonjun, who’s now humming a tune as he chops vegetables, and you feel that familiar pang of uncertainty. He’s your friend, your roommate, your…whatever this is. But more than that, he’s become someone you can’t imagine your life without.

And that’s what scares you the most.

As the scent of food begins to fill the apartment, you pick up your pen and return to the lyrics, hoping that somehow, the right words will find you. But deep down, you know that this song—like everything else between you and Yeonjun—won’t be finished until you’re ready to face what’s really there.

Until then, you’ll keep writing, keep playing, and keep pretending that the notes between the lines don’t mean anything more than they should.

But you know better. And so does he.

Yeonjun's humming fills the small kitchen as he moves with practiced ease, his hands skillfully chopping vegetables while he sways to a beat only he can hear. You watch him from your spot on the couch, momentarily distracted from your lyrics. There's something calming about the way he moves, a rhythm in everything he does that makes you think he was born to dance.

You close your notebook and set it aside, deciding to give up on the song for now. The smell of sizzling garlic and onions begins to fill the air, making your stomach grow in anticipation. Yeonjun always jokes that he's not much of a cook, but you know better. He's not a gourmet chef, but there's something about the way he prepares a simple meal that makes it taste like home.

"Smells good," you say as you walk over to the kitchen, leaning against the counter beside him.

"Thanks," he replies, flashing you a grin.

"It'll be ready in a few minutes."

You nod, letting the silence between you stretch out comfortably. Moments like this are what you've grown to cherish-simple, unassuming, and yet filled with a sense of closeness that you don't often find elsewhere. It's not just about the physical connection; it's the ease of being in each other's company without the need for words.

When the food is ready, you both settle on the couch with plates in hand, the TV on but more for background noise than anything else. The meal is simple stir-fried vegetables with rice, but it's exactly what you need after a long day.

"You know," Yeonjun starts, his voice breaking through the quiet, "we should do this more often."

You glance at him, curious. "Do what?"

"Have dinner together. Talk. Just...hang out without any expectations."

You raise an eyebrow, a teasing smile playing on your lips. "Are you saying our usual arrangement has expectations?"

He chuckles, shaking his head. "You know what I mean. We're always so busy, and when we're not, well..." He trails off, but the implication is clear.

When you're not busy, you're usually in bed together, caught up in something that's more physical than anything else.

"Yeah," you admit softly, picking at your food. "I guess we could use more nights like this."

The conversation lulls after that, but it's not uncomfortable. Instead, it feels like something unspoken has settled between you, something that's been lingering for a while now. You finish eating and place your plate on the coffee table, leaning back against the couch with a contented sigh.

Yeonjun follows suit, setting his plate aside before stretching out beside you.

His arm brushes against yours, and though it's a simple touch, you feel a spark that you're not entirely sure how to ignore. You shift slightly, trying to create some space, but he's already there, his presence warm and familiar.

You've been here before-curled up on this couch, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body, the line between friendship and something more always blurred. But tonight, it feels different. There's an awareness in the air, a tension that neither of you seems willing to address.

Yeonjun's arm drapes over the back of the couch, his fingers brushing lightly against your shoulder. It's a touch that could be innocent, but the way your heart speeds up tells you otherwise. You glance at him, and he meets your gaze, his expression unreadable but intense.

"You're tense," he murmurs, his voice low, the words almost lost in the hum of the TV.

You force a smile, trying to downplay the sudden rush of nerves. "Just tired, I guess."

He doesn't reply, but his hand moves, his fingers tracing a light pattern along your shoulder, down your arm. It's such a simple touch, yet it sends a shiver through you, one that you try and fail — to hide. Your body reacts instinctively, leaning into his touch, your breath hitching slightly as his hand moves lower, grazing the side of your waist.

"Yeonjun.." You say his name softly, a warning that's half-hearted at best.

You've been here so many times before, and you know where this is heading, but something about tonight feels different.

There's an undercurrent of something more, something that makes your heart race in a way that it hasn't before.

"Hmm?" His hand pauses, his fingers resting lightly on your side, but he doesn't pull away. Instead, he shifts closer, his knee brushing against yours as he turns to face you. "Is this okay?"

The question hangs in the air, loaded with implications that neither of you dares to voice. It's not like he's never touched you like this before-in fact, you're all too familiar with the way his hands feel against your skin. But tonight, there's a hesitation in his voice, as if he's asking for something more than just permission to touch you.

You swallow, your mouth suddenly dry, as you nod. "Yeah, it's... it's fine."

He takes your word for it, his hand resuming its slow, deliberate path along your side. The sensation is maddeningly gentle, his fingertips barely grazing your skin, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. You feel the tension in your body ratchet up a notch, every nerve ending on high alert as he continues to explore.

Your own hand, almost as if acting on its own, moves to rest on his thigh, your fingers curling into the fabric of his sweatpants. It's a bold move, one that you might not have made if you weren't already teetering on the edge, but there's something about the way he's looking at you, something in his eyes that pulls you in, making it impossible to resist.

His breath hitches slightly at your touch, his eyes darkening as he shifts even closer, his body now pressed against yours. The hand on your waist tightens, pulling you toward him until there's no space left between you, his breath warm against your cheek.

"Y/N..." he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that sends a shiver down your spine. There's a question in the way he says your name, a plea that you're not sure you're ready to answer, but your body responds before your mind can catch up.

You lean into him, your lips brushing against his neck, the barest hint of a kiss, but it's enough to send a jolt of electricity through both of you. His hand slides lower, resting on your hip, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulls you onto his lap.

It's a familiar position, one you've found yourselves in more times than you can count, but tonight it feels different.

There's a desperation in the way he holds you, a need that's been simmering just below the surface for too long. You can feel it in the way his hands move over your body, in the way his breath quickens as your lips find their way to his jawline.

"Are we really doing this?" you whisper, your voice trembling with a mix of anticipation and uncertainty. You’re not sure why you even ask, you’ve been here so many times before, but something tonight feels different. Wrong.

He doesn't answer with words. Instead, his hand cups the back of your neck, pulling you in for a kiss that's as intense as it is unexpected. It's not the first time you've kissed him, but it feels like it might be the last time you can pretend this is just about physical need. There's something more behind the kiss, something that makes your heart race and your mind spin.

The kiss deepens, your hands tangling in his hair as you press closer, his body warm and solid beneath yours. His hands roam over your back, your waist, anywhere he can reach, and you find yourself responding in kind, your own hands exploring the familiar terrain of his body.

But as the kiss grows more heated, you realize that you're not just reacting to the physical sensation. There's an emotional undercurrent here, something that's been building for months, maybe even years, and now that it's finally bubbling to the surface, you're not sure how to handle it.

You pull back slightly, your breath coming in short gasps as you look into his eyes. There's a question in his gaze, one that mirrors your own uncertainty.

But there's also something else— something raw and unspoken that makes you want to throw caution to the wind. And for a moment, you're both frozen, caught in the limbo between friendship and something more, unsure of which way to go.

But then he's kissing you again, his lips urgent against yours, as if trying to drown out the uncertainty with the heat of the moment. And for now, you let him, because as much as you hate to admit it, you're not ready to face what this might really mean.

Not yet.

So you lose yourself in him, in the feel of his hands on your skin, in the way your bodies fit together like they were made for this. And you tell yourself that you'll figure it out later, that you can keep pretending a little while longer.

The sound of your footsteps echoes through the long, polished corridors of the company building as you make your way to the songwriting studios. The building is abuzz with activity, a hive of creativity where music is born, and you’ve spent countless hours here, pouring your heart into melodies and lyrics that others will one day sing.

Today, you’re scheduled to work with a team of producers and other songwriters on a new project, a high-profile debut that the company’s placing a lot of faith in. It’s a challenge, but one you’ve grown used to over the years. You’ve always thrived in environments where pressure and creativity intersect—where the need to deliver something extraordinary pushes you to your limits. But this morning, your mind isn’t fully on the task ahead. Instead, it keeps drifting back to last night, to the way Yeonjun’s touch lingered on your skin long after you’d untangled yourselves on the couch.

It’s always like this, the day after. A strange, awkward tension that hangs in the air between you, unspoken but undeniable. You’re close—closer than most friends—but there’s a fragility to your connection that neither of you seems willing to address. Last night’s kiss, the way he held you as if he was afraid you might slip away, only made things more complicated.

But that’s how it’s always been with Yeonjun. Complicated.

As you step into the studio, you push those thoughts aside, focusing on the task at hand. The room is already filled with the low hum of conversation, the team gathered around a table strewn with sheet music, laptops, and half-empty coffee cups. 

“Y/N! Right on time,” one of the producers, Sejin, greets you with a smile. He’s well respected in the industry, someone you’ve worked with before, and his easy-going nature helps put you at ease.

“Morning,” you reply, forcing a smile as you take a seat. “What are we working on today?”

“Just going over the latest drafts for the new group,” Sejin explains, handing you a stack of lyric sheets. “We’ve got a few solid tracks, but we’re still missing that one song to really set them apart.”

You nod, scanning the lyrics quickly before glancing up at the others around the table. They’re all talented in their own right, but you’ve always felt a bit like an outsider in these sessions. You’re used to writing alone, letting the words flow naturally without the constraints of collaboration. It’s not that you can’t work with others—it’s just that your process is different, more introspective, and sometimes that doesn’t mesh well with the fast-paced, team-oriented environment here.

Still, you dive into the work, offering suggestions, tweaking melodies, and trying to find that perfect line that will tie everything together. Hours pass in a blur of creativity, the familiar rush of crafting something new temporarily pushing aside the thoughts of Yeonjun and the tangled mess of feelings you’re trying to sort through.

But as the session winds down, you find yourself distracted once again, your mind wandering back to him. You can’t help but wonder how his day is going, if he’s still working on that new choreography he mentioned last night. You’ve always admired his dedication to his craft, the way he can lose himself in the rhythm, his body moving like it’s an extension of the music itself. It’s something you’ve never quite understood—how he can express so much through movement, while you rely on words to convey your emotions.

“Y/N?” Sejin’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts. “You with us?”

“Yeah, sorry,” you say quickly, shaking your head to clear it. “Just thinking about something.”

He gives you a knowing look but doesn’t press the issue. “Alright, let’s wrap it up for today. We’ll pick this up again tomorrow.”

You nod, gathering your things and heading for the door, but your thoughts are already elsewhere. As you step into the hallway, your feet seem to move on their own, leading you in the direction of the dance studios rather than the exit.

You tell yourself it’s just curiosity—just checking in to see how he’s doing—but deep down, you know it’s more than that. You want to see him, to feel that connection again, even if it’s tinged with the awkwardness that always seems to follow you both the day after.

The closer you get to the dance studios, the more you can hear the faint thump of bass reverberating through the walls, the rhythm quickening your pulse. You pause outside one of the rooms, peering through the small window in the door, and there he is—Yeonjun, completely lost in the music.

He’s dressed in loose sweatpants and a tank top, his skin glistening with sweat as he moves with an intensity that takes your breath away. His movements are sharp, precise, each one flowing into the next with a grace that seems almost effortless. But you know better. You know how hard he works, how much of himself he pours into every step, every beat.

You watch, captivated, as he goes through the routine over and over, his expression focused, his body pushing past the point of exhaustion. It’s mesmerizing, the way he moves—so different from the way you create. While you spend hours hunched over a notebook, searching for the right words, he’s here, expressing everything with the fluidity of his body, the music coursing through him like a second heartbeat.

And yet, for all your differences, there’s something that draws you to him, something that makes you want to understand him better, even if you’re not sure how.

Eventually, he spots you, his movements slowing as he catches his breath. He meets your gaze through the glass, and for a moment, neither of you moves. Then he raises a hand, beckoning you in, his expression softening into something you can’t quite read.

You push open the door and step inside, the sound of the music now louder, vibrating through your chest. The air is thick with the smell of sweat and the faint scent of his cologne, familiar and comforting.

“Hey,” he says, his voice hoarse from exertion. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Just finished up in the studio,” you reply, trying to keep your tone casual. “Thought I’d see how you were doing.”

He nods, grabbing a towel from the floor and wiping the sweat from his face. There’s a moment of silence, the kind that usually doesn’t exist between you, but today it feels heavier, weighted by everything left unsaid.

“How’s the choreography coming along?” you ask, breaking the silence.

He shrugs, a small, self-deprecating smile tugging at his lips. “It’s… getting there. Still needs some work.”

You nod, unsure of what to say next. Things are always a little awkward the day after, like you’re both trying to find your footing again, unsure of where you stand. You’re close, but not in the way most people would define it, and that makes everything more complicated.

“Do you want to see it?” he asks suddenly, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of hope and vulnerability that you’re not used to seeing from him.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” you reply, surprised at how much you mean it.

He nods again, then steps back to the center of the room, his focus shifting as the music starts up again. You move to the side, leaning against the mirrored wall as you watch him begin the routine from the top.

This time, you’re not just watching the choreography. You’re watching him—the way his body moves, the way he expresses emotions without a single word. There’s a passion in his movements, a dedication that you can’t help but admire. It’s so different from the way you create, but in a way, it’s the same. You both pour your hearts into your work, channeling your emotions into something that can be shared with others. 

But while you’ve always been careful to keep a certain distance from the songs you write, Yeonjun dives in headfirst, letting the music consume him. It’s one of the things that draws you to him, even as it scares you. You’re afraid of getting too close, of letting yourself feel too much, but Yeonjun? He’s not afraid of anything. At least, that’s how it seems.

As he finishes the routine, he turns to you, his chest rising and falling with labored breaths, a sheen of sweat making his skin glisten under the fluorescent lights. “What do you think?” he asks, his voice breathless but filled with a quiet intensity.

You take a moment to find your words, still processing everything you’ve just seen. “It’s incredible, Yeonjun. Really. The way you move… it’s like you’re telling a story with your body.”

He laughs softly, wiping his forehead with the towel again. “That’s the idea, I guess. Trying to say something without words.”

You nod, understanding more than you’d like to admit. It’s what you both do, in your own ways—expressing the things that are too difficult to say out loud.

The silence stretches between you again, but this time it’s different. There’s a sense of understanding, a shared recognition of what you’ve both just experienced. And yet, there’s still that underlying awkwardness, the unspoken tension that lingers from the night before.

“Thanks for coming by,” he says after a while, his voice softer, more subdued. “It means a lot.”

“Of course,” you reply, giving him a small smile. “I should probably get going, though. Got more work to do.”

“Yeah, same here,” he agrees, but neither of you moves.

You stand there for a moment longer, caught in the liminal space between what you are and what you could be, before finally turning to leave.

“Y/N,” he calls out just as you reach the door.

You pause, your hand hovering over the handle as you turn back to him. There’s something in his eyes, something vulnerable and raw, that makes your heart ache in a way you’re not sure how to deal with.

“See you tonight?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah,” you say softly, your chest tightening with the weight of what’s left unsaid. “See you tonight.”

The next few weeks pass in a blur of deadlines, rehearsals, and late-night studio sessions. The company is buzzing with the excitement of upcoming debuts, and both you and Yeonjun are caught in the whirlwind. You spend hours hunched over your notebook, scribbling lyrics in the margins of sheet music, tweaking melodies until they’re just right. Meanwhile, Yeonjun is locked in the dance studio, pushing his body to its limits as he fine-tunes his choreography, each movement meticulously crafted to tell the story he’s been envisioning.

You see less and less of him during the day, your schedules barely overlapping. When you do cross paths, it’s usually in the early hours of the morning, when the world is quiet, and the company building is almost empty. You’ll find him in the kitchen, downing a glass of water after a long session, or he’ll find you sprawled on the couch, half-asleep with your notebook balanced precariously on your lap.

But despite the distance growing between you, the nights you do spend together seem to grow more intense. It’s as if the time apart makes the moments you have all the more precious, and when you finally fall into each other’s arms, it’s with a hunger that neither of you can quite explain. You’ll reach for him, or he’ll reach for you, and suddenly, you’re tangled up together, the world outside forgotten.

These nights are different from before. There’s a tenderness in the way he touches you now, a lingering softness that wasn’t there before. He kisses you like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you, his hands tracing patterns on your skin that leave you breathless. You find yourself reaching for him in the dark, needing the reassurance of his presence more than you’d like to admit.

But when the morning comes, the spell is broken. You both slip back into your respective roles, burying yourselves in your work, pretending that nothing has changed. Yet, you can’t shake the feeling that something has—that the lines between what you are and what you could be are beginning to blur.

But no matter how close you get, there’s always a part of you that holds back. You’re afraid to let yourself fall too hard, to risk the friendship you’ve built. And Yeonjun… well, he’s never been one to talk about his feelings. He’s always been the type to show rather than tell, to let his actions speak for him. But there are moments—brief, fleeting moments—when you catch a glimpse of something deeper in his eyes, something that makes your heart skip a beat.

It’s in the way he holds you a little tighter when you’re falling asleep, or the way his gaze lingers on you just a second too long when he thinks you’re not looking. It’s in the small, almost imperceptible shifts in his behavior, the way he’s always there when you need him, even if he doesn’t say much. You’re not sure what it means, or if it even means anything at all, but it’s enough to keep you hoping.

You can’t remember the last time you let yourself relax. Between the relentless grind of work and the complicated emotions swirling around Yeonjun, you’ve been wound so tight it feels like you might snap at any moment. So when Sejin, a fellow songwriter you’ve grown close to over the last few months, suggests a night out, you don’t hesitate.

“We deserve this,” Sejin says with a grin as you and a few others from your team gather at a bar downtown. It’s one of those places that feels both cozy and chaotic, dimly lit with just the right amount of noise to drown out any lingering stress. You order a round of drinks, clinking glasses as laughter and conversation fill the space around you.

At first, it’s easy to fall into the rhythm of the night. You chat with your coworkers, swapping stories about the latest projects, the occasional frustrations, and the little victories that keep you all going. The alcohol helps—loosening your tongue, easing the tension in your shoulders. You’re smiling more than you have in weeks, the weight of your responsibilities slipping away with each sip.

Sejin is by your side most of the night, always quick with a joke or a refill. He’s been a good friend since you started working together, the kind of guy who can make you laugh no matter how rough your day’s been. Tonight, though, there’s something different in the way he’s acting. He’s hovering closer, his touches lingering just a little too long—a hand on your shoulder, an arm around your waist as he pulls you into another laugh.

You try not to think about it too much, telling yourself it’s just the alcohol making you notice things that aren’t really there. Besides, you’re enjoying yourself, and you need this distraction. It’s a welcome reprieve from the complicated mess you and Yeonjun have created, a chance to remember who you are outside of the endless cycle of work and the tension that’s been brewing between you.

But as the night wears on, the drinks keep coming, and before you know it, you’re a lot drunker than you intended to be. The bar is spinning, your words slurring as you lean on Sejin for support. He laughs, though there’s a strange edge to it, and before you can protest, he’s leading you out into the cool night air.

“Let’s get you home, yeah?” he says, his voice sounding both far away and too close at the same time.

You nod, though your mind is hazy. The streets blur together as Sejin hails a cab, his arm still around you as you slide into the back seat. Your head lolls back against the seat, your thoughts drifting to Yeonjun—how you’ve barely seen him this week, how you miss him in a way that’s starting to hurt. You wonder if he’s home, if he’s even noticed you’ve been gone.

The cab ride is a blur, and before you know it, Sejin is helping you up the stairs to your apartment. You fumble with the keys, giggling as they slip through your fingers, and Sejin chuckles, taking them from you to unlock the door. The moment the door swings open, you stumble inside, barely registering the figure sitting on the couch until you hear his voice.

“Y/N?”

Yeonjun’s tone is sharp, cutting through the fog in your mind. You turn to face him, swaying slightly as you take in the sight of him—hair tousled, eyes dark as they flicker between you and Sejin.

“Hey, Yeonjun,” you mumble, your words tumbling out in a slur. “Didn’t know you’d be home.”

Sejin clears his throat, his hand still on your arm. “I, uh, brought her back. She had a little too much to drink.”

“Clearly,” Yeonjun mutters, standing up. There’s something in his expression that you can’t quite place, something that makes your stomach twist in a way that has nothing to do with the alcohol. “You didn’t have to go out of your way.”

Sejin’s grip on your arm tightens ever so slightly. “It’s no trouble. Just wanted to make sure she got home safe.”

Yeonjun takes a step closer, and for a moment, the air between them crackles with something tense and unspoken. You’re too drunk to fully understand what’s going on, but even in your foggy state, you can sense the shift in the atmosphere. 

“I’ll take it from here,” Yeonjun says, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument.

Sejin hesitates, his eyes flicking to you before he finally lets go of your arm. “Alright. Take care, Y/N,” he says, his tone softer as he gives you a final look, something unreadable in his gaze before he nods at Yeonjun and heads out the door.

The silence that follows is heavy, wrapping around you as Yeonjun closes the door behind him. You stumble toward the couch, dropping onto it with a huff. Your head is spinning, and your thoughts are a mess, but even through the haze, you can feel the tension rolling off of Yeonjun in waves.

“You didn’t have to be so rude,” you mumble, your eyes half-lidded as you look up at him. “Sejin was just being nice.”

Yeonjun lets out a humorless laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Nice, huh? Looked like he was being a little too nice.”

You frown, not understanding what he means. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He doesn’t answer right away, his jaw clenching as he looks away, his hands balling into fists at his sides. You’ve never seen him like this before, so tightly wound, like he’s holding back something he doesn’t want to admit.

“It means,” he finally says, his voice low and strained, “that I didn’t like seeing his hands all over you.”

His words hit you like a bucket of cold water, jolting you out of your drunken stupor just enough to understand what he’s saying. You stare at him, your heart pounding in your chest, your mind racing to catch up.

“You’re jealous?” you ask, disbelief coloring your tone.

Yeonjun’s eyes flash with something raw and vulnerable before he looks away, shaking his head. “I don’t know,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe I am. I just didn’t like it.”

You blink, trying to process what he’s saying. The Yeonjun you know is always calm, always in control. Seeing him like this, so unguarded and honest, throws you off balance. But there’s a part of you that’s been waiting for something like this, something real and undeniable to break through the wall that’s been growing between you.

You push yourself up from the couch, your legs shaky as you close the distance between you. You reach out, your fingers brushing against his, and he looks down at you, his eyes searching yours for something you’re not sure you can give him.

“I don’t want him, Yeonjun,” you say softly, your voice steadier now. “I don’t want anyone else.”

His breath hitches, and for a moment, you think he might say something, but then he’s pulling you into his arms, holding you close like he’s afraid to let go. You melt into him, the warmth of his body grounding you, the steady beat of his heart in your ear.

The moment is tender, intimate in a way that feels different from all the times before. It’s not about the physical connection this time; it’s about something deeper, something that neither of you has been willing to acknowledge until now.

“You’re drunk,” he murmurs into your hair, his voice soft but laced with something that sounds like regret. “We should talk about this when you’re sober.”

You nod, your head heavy against his chest. “Okay,” you whisper, your eyes fluttering shut as exhaustion finally takes over. “But don’t go.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promises, his voice the last thing you hear as you drift off to sleep, safe in his arms.

The days following that night out are a blur of awkward silences and strained conversations. You’ve decided to keep your distance from Yeonjun, convinced that if you ignore the unresolved tension, it might just go away. It’s not easy—every time you pass him in the apartment or bump into him in the hallway, there’s an unspoken barrier between you that feels impossible to breach.

You’re confused and frustrated by him and what you can remember of that night. Angered by his idea that he has a right to be jealous over you and your own life when he has made it quite painfully clear that you only fit into a certain part of his. 

Deep down, you’re scared too. Scared that finally speaking the unspoken will completely ruin what you have with him right now. At least, some part of him is better than nothing. 

At work, you throw yourself into your projects with renewed fervor. The music studio becomes your refuge, the rhythmic pounding of your work echoing the unspoken rift in your personal life. You throw yourself into your songwriting, pouring all your frustration and confusion into your lyrics, trying to keep your mind off Yeonjun and what happened.

Your interactions with Yeonjun have become sparse and awkward. When you do talk, it’s about mundane things—what’s for dinner, when you’ll be home, or whether the groceries have been restocked. The warmth that once colored your conversations has evaporated, leaving behind a cold, professional distance. Yeonjun seems to sense the shift, though he doesn’t push. He glances at you with a mix of concern and frustration, but you avoid his gaze, determined not to confront what’s clearly between you.

One evening, as you return from a particularly long day at the studio, you find yourself yearning for the comfort of your apartment. But when you step into the kitchen, you’re met with an unexpected sight: Yeonjun is sitting at the table, flipping through your notebook.

Your heart sinks as you realize that the notebook in his hands is the one where you’ve been jotting down lyrics—lyrics that are deeply personal and mirror the turmoil you’ve been feeling. Panic surges through you as you stride over and snatch the notebook from him.

“What- what are you doing!” you demand, your voice trembling despite your attempt to sound composed.

Yeonjun looks up, surprise etched on his face. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s not for you to read,” you cut him off, clutching the notebook to your chest. “That’s private.”

He raises his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I saw it on the table and was curious. I didn’t realize it was… personal.”

“It is,” you snap, your frustration boiling over. “It’s personal, and it’s not for you to go through.”

Yeonjun stands up, his posture tense. “I wasn’t trying to invade your privacy. I just saw it and didn’t think. I mean, I thought it was just work…”

“You didn’t think,” you say, your voice rising. “That’s the problem. You never think about boundaries. This is more than just work to me!”

Yeonjun’s expression shifts from surprise to something harder, a mix of hurt and frustration. “I was trying to understand. Things have been off between us, and I thought maybe this would help.”

Your heart pounds as you realize the weight of his words, but you can’t bring yourself to fully acknowledge them. Instead, you feel the sting of his presence and the awkwardness of your failed attempts to keep things from getting complicated.

“You don’t need to understand through my work,” you say, your voice wavering. “If you want to talk, talk. But don’t read my lyrics and think you’ve got it all figured out.”

Yeonjun’s shoulders slump as he looks away, a silent admission of defeat. You feel a pang of guilt, but it’s quickly overshadowed by your own frustration and confusion.

“I need some space,” you say finally, your voice quieter now. “I’m going to stay with a friend tonight.”

Yeonjun’s eyes meet yours, a flicker of something unspoken passing between you. For a moment he looks as if he’s going to reach out and touch you, and in that same moment you realize you would’ve done nothing to stop him. But instead he just nods, but his expression remaining guarded. “Alright,” he says, his tone low. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

You grab a few essentials from your room and head for the door, unwelcome tears burning hot on your cheeks. You hope Yeonjun doesn’t notice as you rush out of your small apartment and down through the lobby into the outside night, the chill of the evening air a welcome distraction from the emotional storm inside you. As you make your way to your friend’s place, the city streets feel both unfamiliar and oddly comforting. The argument has left you feeling exposed, like you’ve revealed more than you intended.

When you arrive at your friend’s apartment, you sink into their couch, trying to push the thoughts of Yeonjun and the argument from your mind. But even as you try to relax, the weight of the unresolved tension between you lingers, a reminder of the delicate balance you’ve been struggling to maintain.

You fear that by distancing yourself, you might be pushing Yeonjun away for good. The thought of losing him entirely—of having to navigate your feelings alone—makes your heart ache. Yet, the walls you’ve built around yourself feel like the only protection you have against the complexity of your emotions and the uncertainty of what comes next.

You and Yeonjun manage to skirt around each other all the next day of work, maintaining a silence that’s louder than words. You work diligently, each interaction with Yeonjun marked by a careful neutrality. The emotional distance between you is palpable, and you both seem to be operating under a new, unspoken rule of non-interference.

As the workday winds down, you grab your things and head out, relieved to be done for the day. Sejin catches up with you as you leave the building. His presence is a welcome distraction, and you engage in casual conversation as you both walk toward the sidewalk.

Sejin has always been friendly, but lately, there’s been an undercurrent of something more. Today, as you both make your way out of the building, he seems unusually nervous. You sense a change in his demeanor as he stumbles over his words, clearly building up to something important.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you,” Sejin begins, his voice filled with a hesitant earnestness. “I’ve really enjoyed working with you, and over the past few months, I’ve developed feelings for you. I’ve been wanting to ask you out for a while now. How would you feel about going to dinner with me sometime?”

The question takes you by surprise. Your heart races as you process Sejin’s confession. You’ve noticed his growing interest, but you didn’t expect him to be so direct. Panic rises within you as you try to formulate a response that will be both honest and gentle.

“Well, Sejin,” you start, searching for the right words, “I appreciate your honesty and I’m flattered. But right now, I’ve–I’ve just got a lot going on, and I don’t think I’m ready to start something new.”

Before Sejin can respond, a shadow falls over the two of you. You glance up and see Yeonjun standing a few feet away, his face a storm of emotions. His eyes dart between you and Sejin, and his body language reveals a barely contained frustration. 

Without a word, Yeonjun brushes past you, his stride forceful and his shoulders tense. He makes a beeline for the exit, leaving you and Sejin standing in the wake of his departure. The tension in the air is palpable, and you watch Yeonjun’s retreating figure with a mixture of confusion and concern.

Sejin glances between you and the direction Yeonjun has gone, his face a mix of disappointment and concern. “Is everything okay?” he asks, his tone gentle.

You nod, trying to mask your unease. “Yeah, I think so. I just need to make sure Yeonjun’s alright. I’m sorry, Sejin. Can we talk about this another time?”

Sejin nods, trying to convey a look of understanding in his eyes. “Sure, yeah. I’ll, uh, I’ll see you tomorrow Y/N.”

With that, you turn and hurry after Yeonjun, your heart pounding in your chest. You navigate through the bustling city streets, your mind racing as you try to catch up with him. You call his name several times, but he’s already a few blocks ahead. 

As you round the corner toward the park where you often walk, you see Yeonjun’s silhouette up ahead, walking briskly. You quicken your pace, calling out to him once more. “Yeonjun! Please, wait!”

He doesn’t turn around, and as you get closer, you can see the tension in his posture. The streetlights cast long shadows, and the cool evening air feels heavy with unspoken words. You reach the park entrance just in time to see Yeonjun disappear around a corner, his figure retreating into the darkness.

Breathless and frustrated, you stop at the park entrance, your hands resting on your knees as you try to catch your breath. The realization hits you like a punch to the gut—Yeonjun’s already gone. The distance between you seems insurmountable, and the weight of the day’s events settles heavily on your shoulders.

You take a moment to compose yourself, your heart aching with a mix of regret and confusion. The conversation you had with Sejin, Yeonjun’s reaction, and the unresolved tension all swirl together in a confusing mess. You can’t shake the feeling that you’ve made a mistake, that you’ve pushed Yeonjun away without fully understanding the consequences.

You hurry back to the apartment, your steps echoing on the pavement as you rush to get home. The anxiety you feel is almost tangible, and your heart pounds in your chest. The tension from the earlier confrontation and the sight of Yeonjun walking away have left you feeling desperate to make things right.

As you fumble with your keys at the apartment door, your hands are shaky, and you finally manage to get it open. You practically burst inside, the cool air of the hallway a sharp contrast to the heat of your emotions. Without thinking, you head straight for Yeonjun’s room, your mind racing with fear and determination.

The door is closed, and you knock on it urgently, your voice trembling as you call out. “Yeonjun! Please, open the door! We need to talk!”

There’s no immediate response, and your anxiety grows. You knock harder, the sound of your fists hitting the wood echoing through the quiet apartment. “Yeonjun! Please, let me in!”

After what feels like an eternity, the door finally creaks open. Yeonjun stands there, his face streaked with tears, and the sight leaves you momentarily stunned. Your own tears well up as you take in his tear-streaked face, the raw emotion evident in his red eyes.

“Yeonjun…” you say softly, reaching up to touch his cheek and gently wipe away the wetness. The gesture feels like a small balm against the intense emotional turbulence between you.

He looks at you with a mix of sadness and frustration, his voice cracking as he speaks. “I heard everything. I’ve been hearing around the company that Sejin’s liked you for a while and was planning to ask you out. And it just… it drove me crazy, thinking that I let someone else get to you before I did.”

He pauses, his breath hitching as he tries to gather his composure. “I don’t know when it started. Maybe from the first time I saw you or the first night we spent together here, I just, just didn’t think I could stand to be apart from you anymore. But I was a coward, hiding behind all that talk of ‘no titles’ until it made myself sick, but not as sick as the thought of losing you. So I just held out, and I was selfish to be jealous of you and Sejin but I just, I just–.”

His words spill out in a jumble, and you can see the pain in his eyes. The fear and regret in his voice cut through you, and you realize the depth of his feelings and the extent of his struggle. It’s a painful revelation, but one that brings clarity to the confusion of the past few weeks.

“Yeonjun,” you say, shaking your head as you interrupt him, “I’m sorry too. My new song,” you begin, throat dry at beginning your confession. “The lyrics, they were about you. And us. I freaked out when I saw you reading them because I didn’t want you to know that’s how I really felt, really feel about you.”

Yeonjun’s eyes widen, and he seems momentarily taken aback. “Your lyrics… they were about me?”

You nod, your voice trembling as you continue. “Yes. I didn’t know how to tell you. I was scared too—scared of how you’d react, scared of losing you if things went wrong. I thought keeping things as they were would be easier, but it only made things worse.”

Yeonjun reaches out, taking your hands in his, his grip firm but gentle. “I never meant to hurt you.”

Tears spill down your cheeks, mingling with his as you both stand there, emotions raw and exposed. The vulnerability in this moment is overwhelming, but it’s also a relief. For the first time, you feel like you’re both truly seen and heard.

“I don’t want to hide anymore,” you say, your voice soft but resolute.

Yeonjun nods, his eyes searching yours. You both stand there in the quiet of Yeonjun’s room, holding each other and allowing the weight of the past to slowly lift.

The quiet of Yeonjun's room wraps around you both, a cocoon of stillness that contrasts sharply with the whirlwind of emotions you're both feeling. 

And then his hands are on you again, for the first time again in what feels like an eternity, but for the first time that it really feels like they should be.

The intensity of the moment lingers as you continue to hold each other, the weight of unspoken feelings finally coming to light.

Yeonjun's eyes search yours with a mixture of vulnerability and longing. His hand, still holding yours, gently rubs the back of your hand with his thumb. The small, tender gesture speaks volumes, and you can feel the tension between you start to shift.

"I've missed this," Yeonjun murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. "I've missed being close to you, in every way."

You take a deep breath, your heart racing as you feel the same pull. The barriers between you have crumbled, leaving only the raw, honest emotions that have been building up for so long.

Without thinking, you lean in, closing the space between you.

Yeonjun's lips meet yours in a kiss that is soft at first, almost tentative, as if he's testing the waters. But as the kiss deepens, the hesitance fades, replaced by a consuming need to connect. His arms wrap around you, pulling you closer, and you respond eagerly, your hands finding their way to his hair and the back of his neck.

The kiss grows more passionate, the intensity of your emotions reflected in every touch and movement. Yeonjun's hands slide down your back, tracing the curves of your body with a reverent touch that sends shivers down your spine. You can feel the heat between you, the longing that has been simmering under the surface, finally being expressed in a physical, tangible way.

As the kiss breaks, both of you are breathless, your foreheads resting against each other. Yeonjun's eyes are filled with a mixture of desire and tenderness. 

And in one swift movement, he pulls you to his bed until you’re pinned underneath him. His hands roam over your body, exploring with a mix of urgency and reverence. Each touch is a declaration, a way of expressing the feelings that words have failed to capture.

His long fingers trail teasingly under your top, feeling their way, as they have done countless times before, until they reach your aching breasts. 

You find yourself lost in the sensation of his hands on your skin, the way he touches you with both confidence and care. The intimacy between you is electric, each caress and kiss further dissolving the barriers that had once kept you apart.

His hands seemed to have acted on their own, ripping your shirt off and taking not much longer to unclasp your bra. You find this an invitation and an opening to pull his own shirt off, your palms roaming eagerly against his now bare and slightly sweaty chest.

A smirk rises to his lips as he moves downwards, lazily pulling at your underwear from under your skirt. Your back arches in response, a whimper escaping your lips.

“Jun… please,” you whine, begging to feel him between your shaking legs.

“So needy,” he teases, eyes dark as he removes the rest of his clothes. You do the same, and he hovers over you instantaneously, an unfamiliar yet pleased smile curved onto his lips. 

And then he’s inside of you and your mind is swimming in a sea of pleasure and blissfulness. You’re tangled in each other and for once you don’t feel bad about it or have the lingering feeling that guilt will begin creeping in anytime soon. You feel right now that you’re exactly where you need to be. 

After a while you both settle onto the bed, the kisses become slower, yet your hands still exploring each other's bodies with a desperate need. Yeonjun's touch is both tender and passionate, his hands moving over you with a sense of awe and longing. You respond in kind, your hands tracing the contours of his body, savoring the feel of him beneath your fingertips.

The world outside melts away, leaving only the connection you share in this moment. The passion and emotion that have been building up between you finally find their release, and the bed becomes a haven where you both can express the depth of your feelings.

As you both finally come to rest, entwined in each other's arms, the room is filled with a quiet sense of peace. The kisses and touches have given way to a gentle, lingering closeness, and the weight of the past seems to lift, leaving only the promise of a new beginning.

Thank you for reading! I had a lot of drafts saved so I’ve been posting them over the past few days!

[bouncybongfairy]

hey uhm this is my first time requesting so i hope i explain it well😅

could u write a zuko smut with both of them being banished seperately from the fire nation and they both have to search for the avatar and first they are rivals but then when they both join the gaang (gosh i hate that word) and somehow end up together in a cave with crazy sexual tension and one thing leads to another

if youre not too uncomfortable with it could you put in zuko having a saliva fetish

thanks for reading all this my first language isnt english so the grammar is probably horrible sorry for that

Matching Angst

Prince Zuko x Fem Reader Smut

Summary: After you and Zuko fell off Appa while fighting, you find shelter in a cave. After making up from the argument, things get heated.

Word Count: 1.0k+

TW: Rough Smut, Oral Fixation, Saliva Kink. <3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3

Zuko and you were currently sitting inside a small cave, trying your best to dry off. While you were all flying on Appa, you’d fallen while pushing Zuko who also plunged into the water below. Luckily nobody was hurt but unfortunately that meant you were stuck with Zuko for the night. Anng and Katara came to get both of you but decided that you both needed to work out whatever problems you had with each other. So now you were sitting next to the fire, happy that your clothes were finally dry. Resting your chin on your knees and watching the fire grow. The fight was over directions; so stupid and you guys had already apologized to each other. Old habits die hard and because you both spent so long searching for the Avatar for your honor's sake, it was easy to slip back into that attitude. It was getting colder and even though you had an unlimited fire, the same couldn’t be said for kindling. 

“Don’t make it weird,” he said, coming up and wrapping one of his arms around you. 

“It’s freezing,” you pointed out, holding onto his arm. 

“We’ll be out of here soon,” he said, making a makeshift bed for the two of you to sleep in. 

“I just feel like it’s my fault, if i hadn’t started that argument this wouldn’t be happening,” you said, kicking some of the dirt into the air. 

“If it makes you feel any better: you were right about the directions. I figured it out while we were arguing but felt too stupid to admit I was wrong. Let’s just call it even,” he said, laying on the bed and gesturing for you to join him. 

“Sharing a bed?” you asked, sitting next to him. 

“Yeah, normally I would make two but I figured because of the temperature it’d be safer to share body heat through the night. I mean- not that I would oppose sleeping next to you even if it was hot or-” he started to ramble. 

“It’s okay, I knew what you meant,” you giggle before laying down. 

It was nice enough for a night, not the best either. You knew there was no way you’d be getting any actual sleep. He was spooning you, using his arm as a pillow; the other arm was draped over your waist. He was breathing into your ear, snoring just a little. You could feel his chest rising and falling against your back. Your stomach would flip every time his lower stomach made contact with the arch of your back. Zuko could sleep anywhere no matter what, an ability you wish for. You were admiring how muscular his arm was; without thinking you start tracing one of the veins with your fingertip. He stirs in his sleep and pulls you closer to him. Pressing his erection against your ass, making your back involuntarily arch. Your breath hitches and you hope he doesn’t notice. Goosebumps covering your skin, like any contact he made with your skin felt like fireworks. 

Testing out the water, you start grinding yourself against him. Feeling a mixture of relief and excitement once he started rocking himself against you. He started pressing kisses against the back of your head as things started to heat up further. Not satisfied with the lack of friction, he yanks your shorts down. Pulling his member out and pushing it between your warm thighs. Everytime he trusts, his tip would glide against your slit. Spreading your wetness all over himself, loving how your body reacted when he brushed over your clit. Everything about you was driving him crazy. The way you were trying to hide your face in his arm. How hot your sex felt pressed against his length. His hands were exploring your body, starting at your chest. Pinching and kneading your breasts while groaning in your ear. 

He had to stop himself from cumming too early. Getting up and changing both your positions and shedding the remaining clothing. Now laying on your back and he was towering over you. The fire was burning out behind him, the sight making you melt and burn with anticipation. He leaned down lining himself up with your slit. Using one of his elbows to support his weight, resting it by your head. Bringing the other hand to your face; his thumb tracing your bottom lip. 

“Such pretty fucking lips,” he cooed while burning his length deep inside you. 

He maintained hard eye contact with you while pushing his thumb past your lips. Pushing your tongue down and feeling around your mouth. He started slowly thrusting, fucking his thumb in and out of your mouth to match pace with his hips. You curled your tongue around his digit which his hips snap forward involuntarily. The sudden fullness made you cry out, groaning and whining while arching your back. He started smearing your drool over your lips and down your chin slightly. Gripping your jaw and starting to pick up his pace. Nuzzling his face in your shoulder and pounding into you at an intense rhythm. You wrapped your legs around his waist and raked your nails down his back.

“Fuck!” he loudly growled in your ear as you bucked your hip up. 

You could tell he was nearing his orgasm because his rutting was becoming more erratic, going in and out of rhythm. Sweat was dripping off both of you while using each other’s bodies to cum. Your lower stomach was burning; almost searing as your abdominal muscles started to contact. Clinging onto him and digging your nails into his shoulders while you rode out your orgasm. Seeing you completely cock-drunk, and letting the nastiest cries coming out of your mouth made him cum. Fucking his cock so deeping inside you, your back began sliding forward. Moaning in your ear as he shot ropes of cum into your belly. Pressing wet kisses all over your forehead and cheeks. Slowly rocking his hips, enjoying the feeling of cum leaking out of you.

[underdark-dreams]

yooo i love ur writings sm dude! thank u for providing the MUCH needed and appreciated rolan n dammon food ! if ur still accepting and willing to write for a more masc reader, would u do hcs with rolan (and/or dammon, idc :>) with a top/dom inclined reader? :]

BLESS your patience, anon! I got lost in writing a smut fic for this request this week. But you asked for headcanons, so it doesn't feel fair to make you keep waiting! In thanks, please expect a Rolan x m!Tav oneshot soon. 🖤

Rolan x top/dom M!Reader: Relationship Headcanons

[SFW + NSFW both under the cut]

SFW

This wizard has a serious case of oldest sibling disorder

Rolan can be downright bossy, because a lot of his self identity rests on feeling powerful and in control of things

On a deeper level, Rolan is just used to being the one taking care of the people he loves. Having the scenario flipped—being taken care of for once—it throws him off balance

Falling for a guy who takes the lead and takes initiative might honestly cause Rolan a mild identity crisis without him realizing. He’ll deny the feelings for a week or two, stewing and blushing and unintentionally broadcasting his crush to anyone around him

This was not the plan. So why does he keep daydreaming about you picking him up princess style and tossing him down onto your bed

Inside Rolan’s dying to get swept off his feet and lavished, he just doesn’t know it yet

Maybe it finally clicks for him the first time you pull Rolan close and murmur all your appreciation into his pointed ear

Rolan is so weak for praise and so, so hungry for it, especially from you

He can’t help but melt inside when you tell him how good he is, how clever and competent, how much he deserves to feel incredible and how much you’d enjoy being the one to make him feel that way

Kiss him afterward and feel Rolan whimper softly against your mouth as he goes a bit limp in your arms. He’s entirely yours

He’s not only falling in love with you, he’s discovering a whole side of himself he never gave himself time or permission to explore

But you? You make him feel loved and completely safe

Rolan will occasionally come to you to pout or complain about trivial things, just to get a kiss and hear you assure him you’ll take care of it for your sweet little mage

He’s still flustered by how much he enjoys it at first, even more so when he feels himself flush and stiffen under his robes

Rolan also becomes addicted to the feeling of being wrapped up in your arms

Your arm draped on his shoulder: your hands looped around his waist to keep him tucked in close while you’re kissing: and especially your forearms caging him in against the wall while you grind against each other

Rolan’s still proud, so it’s not easy for him to admit or ask for these things out loud unless you’re alone

But even in a public setting, he will sometimes appear close beside your shoulder and glance over at you with a wordless request that means please hold me a bit, I’m tired/lonely/needy for you

If you don’t notice fast enough, Rolan might softly brush your hand or loop his tail low around your calf to get your attention. You’re the one who awakened these feelings in him, and by the hells he’s not going to be ignored now

Face it: you have unleashed needy sub Rolan upon yourself, you’ll just have to dom up and deal with the consequences

NSFW:

When you’re fucking him, Rolan can be somehow vulnerable and teasing/demanding all at the same time

Old habits die hard…so might Rolan if you don’t give him what he needs

Rolan knows the right word from you or the right gesture pinning his wrist or thigh can get him dangerously close to losing it, and some nights that makes him feel rebellious

He has a smart mouth even in bed, and provoking you excites him sometimes

‘Gods, I bet I can finish myself before you do—’ Rolan’s grip closes around his own hard cock as your slickened fingers gently and slowly prepare him

Other nights he has absolutely zero fight in him. Just a soft pile of Tiefling clinging to the man he loves as he kisses across your shoulders, asking you to take him while you tell him that he’s more than good enough

Rolan may try to hide it (that or he’ll make zero effort), but he’s weak for any time you order him around or direct him

‘Get on your hands and knees’ ‘Spread for me like a good boy, Rolan’ ‘Stop biting your lip or I’ll bite it for you—go on and let everyone hear who makes you feel this good, that’s it—’

It all gets him so needy for your cock that he can’t say no to any of it until you’re filling him

His favorite positions are usually the ones that let him hold onto you for even more closeness—missionary, against his desk in the Tower, etc.

Of course, those don't give him a chance to hide his reactions from you, so you’ll occasionally see him blush dark or squeeze his eyes shut or bite back the sounds you coax out of him

Alternatively: just tell Rolan he thinks too much and fuck him into his mattress so hard he can’t think about anything else at all including his own ego

The way he clutches your shoulders for dear life and pants your name will let you know how much Rolan loves it (and you)

[siampie]

Risk and Reward||Chapter 1: When I Met You

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4.1k

Summary: You have a hard time settling into your new life but with new acquaintances and newfound friendships. You slowly find your footing.

Warnings/tags: 18+ contains smut (not sure, don’t know how to write it but I’ll try), angst, fluff, mutual pining, idiots in love, childhood trauma

A/N: So, this is a first for me. Please be indulgent. I am no stranger to writing fiction. I’ve done it before just not on this platform. Also, this is my first time writing in 2nd POV and for Matt Murdock. There isn’t much of him in this chapter but I hope the small bits I have is as close as it is to his character. I did what I always do before writing fiction, read other writers' work and see how they capture the character and watched videos or episodes to get a good feel of the character. So, I hope you will like it. Feedback is welcome. And just enjoy! Also English is not my first language.

Chapter List || Next Chapter

Masterlist || Join my tag list

Dividers by @cafekitsune

Song the title is referring to:

You gave me a reason for my being

And I love what I’m feelin’

You gave me a meaning to my life

Yes, I’ve gone beyond existing

And it all began when I met you

“Another day, another week.” You whispered to yourself as you stepped in the building where you work. You smiled quickly at the receptionist before making your way to the elevator. After you made the big move across the states, you were lucky to land a job as a proofreader in a publishing house. It wasn’t your dream job but it was the next best thing.

For as far as you can remember, you have always been taking care of your family. Many expectations and responsibilities were put on your shoulders from a very young age. So, when your brother stepped in and decided to move your father in with him, you felt some relief. A load was being taken off of your shoulders. You loved your family. But over the years, you had started to resent them slightly. You resented your father for being sick. You resented him for taking out his bad moods on you. You resented your siblings because they get to live their lives. You resented them for leaving you behind in the dust. You knew you loved them but you resented them. And you didn’t want to hate them. So, you left.

You made the move to Hell’s Kitchen, six months ago and you had big plans. First of which, was to properly kickstart your life. You didn’t think it would be easy. You knew it would have been a challenge but you didn’t think it would be that hard. After six months, you thought you would have made some friends or at least some acquaintances. But shy as you were, and as cautious as you were, making friends did not come easy for you.

You dropped your bag on the ground next to your chair. And dropped your coat on the back of it. Your desk was already stacked with manuscripts that needed to be proofread. You always started your day the same, first you read your emails and answered the most important ones. Then came coffee and then came reading with a red pen. You were to review any typos that may have somehow slipped past the author and the copy editor. You were also to review for issues like kerning and stacking and whether the running head is consistent. Proofreading was the last step before publication. You knew it was an important step, so you did it thoroughly. And you did it well. At least, you thought you did. Your boss had not complained about your work so far. And you took it as a good sign.

One of your coworkers stopped by your desk and softly called your name. You looked up at her. You knew her, you had barely interacted with her a few days before. She had long, red hair, that you loved, and legs for days. Her name was Amelia. A few nights ago, as you were leaving after workhours, she was standing outside of the building. A cigarette between her lips as she was looking for something.

“Excuse me?” She stopped you. You turned to her. “Do you have a lighter?”

“Yeah.” You nodded quickly. Your best friend from high school, had convinced you to buy a pack of lighter once. Telling you that it was the best way to meet people and to make friends. More precisely to meet your future boyfriend. “There you go.” You handed her the lighter.

“Thanks.” She lit her cigarette before giving it back to you. She took a long drag at it. The tension in her shoulders dropped. “I needed that.”

“You’re welcome.” You smiled at her and turned to leave.

“You’re that new proofreader, aren’t you?” She asked you.

“Yeah.” And you gave her your name.

“That’s a pretty name.” She remarked. “I’m Amelia.”

“Nice to meet you.” Amelia was not a proofreader. She was an acquisitions editor. The one, literary agents would come to, to sell a book. The book landed in her hands first, and if they made it past her, they landed in yours last.

You stayed with her long after she finished her cigarette. You walked with her because it was dark out. And Hell’s Kitchen wasn’t the safest place to be after dark. And there was strength in numbers. Coincidentally, your flat and hers weren’t that far apart. So, you walked her home before going to yours.

After that, you had not seen or heard much of Amelia. You thought that was it. But there she was, talking to you.

“So, some of us are going to grab a drink after work and I thought that maybe you would love to join us?” She sat on your desk.

“It’s barely 9 and you’re already thinking about the end of the day.” You scoffed lightly.

“Well, I need something to look forward to.” Amelia laughed. “So, wanna come?”

Your default answer was ready to come out of your mouth. You were already making up excuses to not go. And then you stopped yourself. Why shouldn’t you go tonight? There was no one waiting for you at home. You had no obligations. It could be a fun night out; you could even make a few new friends. Might even start a new friendship with Amelia. After all, she came to seek you out. She wanted to invite you.

“Why?” You had not meant to ask this out loud.

“What?”

“Why invite me? We barely talked to each other? Why ask me?”

“You said you just moved here in Hell’s Kitchen, remember?” Amelia gave you a tight smile. And you nodded at her words. “I figured I do the nice thing and invite you to come with us. Since, you don’t really know anyone here.”

Now, you felt stupid. You could feel your neck and cheeks heat up with your embarrassment. Not everyone was going to hurt you. There were good people in the world, you had to remind yourself of that.

“Sorry.” You apologized quickly. “I—I would love to come.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You nodded quickly.

“Good, I’ll come and get you when it’s time to go.”

You pressed your hands against your neck. If you could see yourself, you were sure there would be splotches of red all over it. Of course, you had to go and ask why? If “no” was your default answer most of the time, “why?” wasn’t too far behind. When your niece had first told you she loved you, your first answer wasn’t to say it back. It was to ask her why? And she had answered very sweetly: “Because you’re funny and you give the best hugs. And you always play with me.” And after that you never asked again. You only said it back. Because you did, you loved her very much.

You did not know why you did this. It was almost as though you did not believe that good things could happen to you. And if it did, it was not sincere. It was because someone wanted something from you and once, they got it. They’d leave you high and dry.

As the end of your day was nearing. Your anxiety was starting to get the better of you. You dreaded the moment Amelia would come and pick you up. You had agreed to it earlier because you genuinely wanted to. But now, all you wanted, was to go home. Not because you were drained or overstimulated. No, because you simply did not feel like going anymore. You were hoping she would forget about you. Or at least, it would have been cancelled.

It wasn’t cancelled. And you couldn’t just bail on them. It was the first time, since you arrived in Hell’s Kitchen, that you had been invited to hang out. If you bailed on them now, you might not be invited ever again. So, you went. And who knows, you might have some fun.

“Josie’s.” You read out as you stopped in front of the bar with Amelia.

“Yeah, it’s a dive bar, really.” Amelia told you quickly. “But the drinks good enough.”

“Okay.”

She pulled you in after her. You both stopped at the bar to order your drinks and she then took you to their table. It was a small gathering. You recognized a few people, there was the receptionist; Clara. Then, there was another proofreader, you had interacted with. Barely. His name was Sebastian and some other people. You sat next to Amelia.

As soon as you sat down, they resumed their conversations. You were a silent observer. You laughed at their jokes. You listened intently to what they were saying. And you were really brief when they asked you questions about yourself. And redirected the attention on someone else as quickly as possible. You did not want the spotlight to be on you.

While your coworkers were conversing with one another, you couldn’t help but glanced around you. Your eyes travelled over the numerous patrons in the bar. Bikers, blue collar workers and some white-collar workers. They were many. The bar seemed to be quite successful.

And then your eyes landed on him.

Dark haired, with red tinted glasses and a cane. His plump lips were begging to be kissed, his jawline was to die for. His hair looked soft to the touch and you were itching to run your fingers through them. His shirt was so tight that it left nothing to the imagination. You could tell that he was well built underneath it. And his smile—oh, his smile was the most beautiful, you’ve ever laid eyes on. It lit up his whole face. Made him look younger. He looked perfect in every way.

You quickly darted your eyes away. You did not want to be caught staring. However, it was too late. Unbeknownst to you, Amelia had caught you looking.

“So, you look like you’re enjoying yourself.” Amelia said as she pulled you to the bar, to grab another drink.

“I am.” You nodded. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“No problem.” Amelia nudged your shoulder. “Would you want to do it again sometimes?”

“Yes, but can we space them out?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that.” She snorted. “It’s only when the urge strikes.” And she turned away from you. She looked over her shoulder briefly. “So, someone caught your eye.”

“What? No.” You answered quickly.

“That’s not what I saw.” She smirked at you. Josie pushed your beers towards you. “You kept staring at glasses over there.” She waved her hand towards perfect man.

“No, I did not.” You protested while pulling her hand down.

“Oh, come on!” Amelia insisted. “It’s not a crime. He’s pretty and you have eyes. It’s okay to stare a little.”

“Stop.”

“But you know what would be even better?”

“I’m going to regret this.” You rolled your eyes in annoyance. “What?”

“If you spoke to the guy. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Rejection.” You simply answered.

“Well, rejection is part of the game.” She shrugged. You gave out a deep sigh, and put your chin in the palm of your hand. “You got nothing to lose and everything to gain.”

Nothing to lose? Easy for her to say. After all, she wasn’t the one who had her heart broken, so many times, that there was barely anything left of it. When it came to the matters of the heart, you did not think that the risks were worth it. Even if it was for a Pretty Boy.

Your eyes landed on him again, in spite of yourself. His eyes seemed to be on you and Amelia. Almost as though he was directly looking at you. But he was blind, right? That would be impossible.

“You’re staring again.” She teased you. And you turned back to the bar quickly.

“Drop it.” You told her sternly. “It’s not worth it.” Her eyebrows went into her hairline. “Plus, a guy like him would never go for a girl like me.”

“What? Beautiful and sweet?”

“I’m not beautiful. I’m not ugly but I’m not beautiful. I’m average at best.” You shook your head. “And I’m not sweet.”

Amelia looked at you baffled by your defensiveness over compliments. You acted as though she insulted you. She pushed your beer away from you.

“First, those were compliments and not insults. So, take them.” Amelia said. “And why would he go for someone else when he could go for you?”

“You’re being this nice to me over a lighter?”

“It’s not just about the lighter.” She told you. “You walked me home. You didn’t have to but you did. It was very kind and sweet. Thus, proving my point. You are sweet.”

“It was practical. My flat isn’t too far away from yours. And it was as much for your safety as it was for mine.” You shrugged. “It’s dangerous at night in Hell’s Kitchen.”

Amelia rolled her eyes and groaned in frustration. “You are going to take that compliment. I will beat it into you, if I have to.”

“That would be assault.”

“You thing you’re funny, uh?”

“I think I’m adorable.”

“Bitch, you’re testing my patience.” And that got a laugh out of you. She shook her head and laughed with you. “You really are annoying.”

“That’s more like it.” You grinned at her. “Want me to walk you home again?”

“Yeah,” She nodded and clinked her beer with yours. “We finish our drinks and then, we’re good to go.”

“Okay.”

She waved her finger at you. “But this conversation is not over.”

“What conversation?” You retorted, taking on a faux air of innocence.

Amelia glared at you which elicited a chuckle out of you. “Put a few drinks in you and you turn into a comedian. Who would have thought?”

“I could have mentioned it. Save you some time.”

“Do you need to have an answer to everything?”

“Should I answer that or--?”

“Oh, shut up.” And you snorted.

She raised her beer to her lips and toss it back. She gulped the rest of the bottle down and slammed it back onto the counter. Both of your empty bottles were left on the counter and you walked back to your small group of friends. On your way there, your eyes automatically found Pretty Boy, once again. Again, his gaze seemed to be on you and you dropped your eyes to the ground immediately. Feeling guilty that you were staring again, you let out a long sigh and muttered to yourself. “If he’s ever going for someone, it would be for Amelia.”

“There you go.” Amelia handed you your coat and bag. “What are you muttering to yourself again?”

“What do you mean again?” You asked stunned, blood rushing to your neck and cheeks. “You caught me doing that a lot?”

“You are not really trying to hide it.” Amelia shrugged. “So, what was it?”

“Nothing. It was nothing.” You pouted while you put on your coat.

“Was it about Pretty Boy?” She smirked at you.

“Oh, stop!” You said as sternly as possible with your lips jutted out in a pout. “It wasn’t about Pretty Boy.”

“Hmm,” She nodded smugly. “I’ll pretend I believe that.” She laced her arm with yours as you both exited the bar.

“He is really pretty.” You smiled shyly. Amelia’s shoulder nudged yours, as she giggled along with you.

“Next time, we see him. You’re talking to him.” You groaned at her words.

That night was the first time, you ever laid eyes on him. And you thought it would be the last time.

What were the chances for you to stumble upon him in this city ever again? He could be living outside of the city. Or it was only chance that brought him there tonight. And this was a once in a lifetime chance to meet the love of your life. And you blew it.

“Shut up!” You groaned as you slapped your forehead. “I did not blow my chance because there wasn’t one to begin with.”

“Voices in your head?” Amelia put down the lighter next to you.

“They’re really loud today.” You shook your head. “And you don’t have to bring it back all the time. You can keep it.”

“I won’t have an excuse to come and see you. anymore”

“You don’t really need one.” You sighed.

“True.” She smirked. “Wanna go to Josie’s tonight?”

“What are we celebrating?” You retorted.

“Nothing.” Amelia shrugged. “I thought maybe we could blow off some steam.” She shrugged and sat down on your desk. “Seeing as those last two months were kinda crazy.”

“Yeah, they were.” You agreed. “I mean we are nearing the end of the season.”

As it were in the publishing world, books are published in a three-season cycle: Winter, Summer and Fall. Winter season came to a close by the end of April and the datelines were getting closer. For the last two months, you and your team had been working nonstop. You and the author of the book you were proofreading, were going back and forth about editing issues he had. And his anxieties regarding the matter were also affecting you. Under pressure and anxious, you and your coworkers had no time to go back out.

“I could use the break.” You leaned back in your chair. “And a couple of beers.”

“It’s a date.” Amelia got back on her feet. “Meet you by the reception desk.”

“Yeah, see you.”

Amelia and you were on the sidewalk in front of Josie’s. She was smoking a cigarette before you both get in.

“Doesn’t it bother you?” Amelia asked you.

“I like the smell of it.” You shrugged.

She took another puff before she elbowed your side. You glared at her.  Her pointy elbow dug into your side painfully. “What’s that for?”

“It seems you’re in luck tonight.” She looked down at you. And with a jerk of her head, she indicated at something behind you.

You turned around and there he was. Tapping his cane on the sidewalk, holding the arm of a beautiful blonde. There was a man, blonde also, walking on his other side. Pretty Boy’s tie was loose around his neck and slightly crooked. A giant smile was on his face as the beautiful lady on his side threw her head back in laughter. You kept your eyes on their little group as they disappeared into the bar.

“Alright, tonight’s the night.” Amelia took a last puff out of her cigarette.

“What?” You turned to her confused.

“We agreed that next time we see him here, you would talk to him.”

“I did not agree to anything. You agreed with yourself.” You told her as she started to drag you toward the bar. “Amelia, stop!” You pulled your arm away from her.

“What are you so afraid of?” Amelia huffed in annoyance.

“Rejection. Humiliation. Mortification. Embarrassment.” You started to list out.

Sure, he was handsome. He was painfully handsome. And although, you had thought of his lips on yours, of his hands running through your hair as he whispered sweet nothings in your ear. Your hands flew to your ears at the thought. They warmed up as your blood rushed to them. You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t talk to him.

“I’m perfectly fine with watching him from afar.” You said quietly, dropping your hands. “Can we go somewhere else, please?” You crossed your arms over your chest, making yourself as small as possible.

She dropped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you into her side. “We already here, so we might as well go in.” You started pulling away from her. “I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to. Relax.” She pulled you back in and turned you towards the doors.

“Promise?” You put your pinky out.

“Promise.” She hooked her pinky with yours.

In most situations, you weren’t afraid to go after what you wanted. Of course, you had to pass it through a few people first. Just to make sure you were making the right decision. Especially, when it came to your job. But when it came to relationships—romantic ones, you never took the first step. You were always afraid that the people you wanted—you desired—wouldn’t want you back. Which explains your lack of experiences when it came to dating. And the disappointing sexual experiences you had.

You sat at the bar and ordered your beer. Amelia sat beside you but kept looking over her shoulder. You turned briefly to where she was looking. And surely enough, she was looking directly towards Pretty Boy and his friends. You sighed and turned back around.

“You promised, remember?” You told her. “Pinky promised. Those are sacred.”

“Yeah, I know.” She pouted and turned back around. “You’re going to regret it later.”

“Don’t I know it?” You exhaled deeply.

How many times have you let someone go before you were too afraid to speak? How much longer will you stay up at night wondering about what ifs? How much longer will you stand in the way of your own happiness? How much longer will you live in fear?

There was comfort in fear. It kept you on your toes. It told you where the edge was. It helped you survive. There was nothing wrong with fear. There were no broken hearts, no hurt feelings. It was safe.

And yet—you wished you could take that step. You knew you could. You’ve done it before. You left the comfort of your home. Of everything you’ve known to come here in Hell’s Kitchen. What was the worse that could happen in talking to him? Nothing, right? It was just talking. A simple conversation between two people. Or maybe, you would just give him your number. He could call you if he wanted to. If not—well, you would keep wondering why he didn’t call you. The thought of it was torture enough.

You glanced back over your shoulder at Pretty Boy. He was no longer sitting with his friends. His coat was still there on the back of his chair, but he was gone. You turned back to your drink, and sorrowfully starting to play with the condensation on your beer.

“What can I get you, Murdock?”

“Just another beer, Josie, thanks.”

You turned your eyes towards the voice. And there he was. So, much more handsome up close. His voice was nice and deep. Music to your ears. You turned your eyes away from him. Your heartbeat was now racing in your ribcage. You looked up at the ceiling, searching for some sort of answers.

“Hey, I’m gonna go out for a smoke.” Amelia announced slamming her bottle on the counter.

“I’ll come with you.” You squeaked out.

“You should definitely stay and enjoy yourself.” Amelia pulled her hair out of the collar of her coat. “I’ll be back in a moment. You should—you know strike up a conversation or two.” And she pointedly looked at the man by your side.

You gasped as she left. “You promised!” You called after her. “Pinky promised.”

“What did she promise?” Pretty Boy asked you. A grin plastered on his face.

You took a few minutes to answer, your eyes following Amelia’s exit out of the bar. And let out a breath. “To not make me do something I didn’t want to do.”

“And what was it? The thing you didn’t want to do.”

You couldn’t help the small grin that came onto your face before you answered. “Striking up a conversation with someone.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “Why not?”

“It’s kind of terrifying for me to—talk to people.” The blood was rushing to your chest, your heart was slamming against your ribcage.

“You’re talking to me now.” His voice seemed lower as he spoke.

You scoffed. “True. I am.”

“How does it feel?” His lips twitched up at the corners.

“Not as terrifying as I thought.”

He chuckled. And you smiled at the sound. “I’m Matt.” He extended his hand out to you.

You put your hand in his. Your breath hitched in your throat as your skin touched his. You cleared your throat before giving him your name.

“You have a pretty name.” He told you.

“You make it sound prettier.” You quipped back, feeling braver now. His eyebrows flew high on his forehead before he let out a laugh. You laughed along with him. “Nice to meet you, Matt.”

“Pleasure’s all mine.” He nodded, this boyish grin never leaving his face.

That was the night you officially met Matt Murdock. It wasn’t as daunting as you thought it would be. In fact, speaking with Matt came easy to you. His eyes were unseeing and yet, they were always on you. And for once in your life, you did not mind the attention.

You didn’t think anything life altering would come of it. If anything, you thought you were gaining another friend.

Little did you know…

Chapter List || Next Chapter

[onyourhyuck]

White Night. | J.JH

— Prologue: “He treats me well.” + “Good for you.” - “But he’s not you.”

— Summary: You’re in a relationship with Jungwoo, it’s healthy and sweet. It’s a relationship you’ve been dreaming about for a while. But it’s not your failed relationship Jung Jaehyun.

— Genre: Romance Smut, minors dni. Mention of Cheating (y/n is wrong for this) heavy kissing, hairpulling, giving head (f receiving), handcuffs are involved later on, fast and slow stimulation purposely. A lot of begging involved. Mentions of breeding. Y/n is a big red flag tbh. I don’t support cheating (this is only for fic purposes) dirty talk and lots of degrading going on.

— Notes: Was listening to White Night by Nct127 writing this…

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You were conflicted with your own body and feelings when you are standing outside your ex boyfriend’s apartment awfully late at night wondering why you are coming to the doorstep you aren’t supposed to. Somehow this whole forbidden sensation and time of space has been making you want to do it more, having your boyfriend not know what you are doing behind his back and this whole situation just makes your skin crawl with goosebumps. The past memories of this place makes it feel like a foreign place but you know deep down this place used to be your home. It used to be a place where you felt like you belonged with the one you loved.

But now it’s just a grey painted canvas in front of you looking like the home you never knew about. It was crazy how things can change in over a year. You wonder if Jaehyun changed or did he stay the same. You’re wondering if he was okay and if he still used the same cologne, if he still ate the same food he used to eat with you, if he still works at the same workplace at that company. There were thoughts like this running in and out of your head one by one.

The courage to knock on the door was very dim you could barely touch up on it. The very small part of your consciousness was holding you back telling you to stop and retreat back, yet the ninety percent of your body was practically ready to knock on it; you were desperate to see Jaehyun. You were longing for him day and night. It’s awful that you can’t stop thinking back on him. When you were single it was so easy to move and stop worrying about Jaehyun, he didn’t cross your mind once when you were single. But suddenly when you are in a relationship — in a loving and healthy relationship with a lovely boy your mind has been betraying you.

It is a horrible thing. You never want to do this. You don’t even approve of cheating but here you are knocking on someone’s door that you used to date for about three years. Now someone is going to get hurt in the middle because of you and your selfish decisions. You always make these wrong doings and somehow you never learn from them. As your hand caress on the door banging on it twice it would take a few minutes until you heard footsteps from the opposite door unlocking it. When the door swung open revealing a young man around six foot wearing a plain white tee shirt that fit his muscular build quite well and the glasses fitting the bridge.

The soft silky blonde locks were pushed back by his hands running through it to brush it out. Jaehyun stares at you with a dazed expression, equally as lost as yours, however the same lingering thoughts on you came up. How were you doing? What have you been up to? Do you still drink that tea he recommended to you? It was these questions that made his poor ole’ heart hurt and ache.

Jaehyun spoke out softly despite him questioning your real motives and wondering why so late you are knocking on his apartment door. “What are you doing here so late Y/n?”

It was such a small question but so hard to answer.

Your saliva sucks back into your throat. You weren’t expecting him to actually stay this calm and not tell you to get lost. He had every right to tell you to go away — afterall you broke up with him. You are the reason this situation has came to an extreme end like this. Jaehyun was a simple bystander to you. Your voice comes out small but enough to be heard. “I… don’t know i guess i wanted to see how you were doing.”

Your response was very clear. Jaehyun couldn’t read through it however. It’s as if one foot was on his side but your left foot was on the other side. He couldn’t tell the real answer and reality with different feet in very vast different ways to go. You can’t halfway ass this too. Jaehyun isn’t here for a giggle.

He stares you downwards. “You wanted to chat with me at three in the morning. That’s it?” He paused seeing you nod at his words. He looks back inside his apartment sully not understanding it. “Okay. How you been y/n?” Nevertheless he still asked how you were. He never once not asked you.

After all he still cares but this doesn’t give you an excuse to come out so late just for a little chat so unannounced.

You look at him couldn’t help but stare into his eyes so deeply that you could get lost in it for decades upon decades. “I’ve been well Jaehyun, you look like you’ve been fine too.” You add with a small smile.

Oh how Jaehyun wished that smile was something he can see every single day on his way to from and from his way to work. Your smile was heavenly enough for him to melt into a puddle. To hear you say you’re doing well was both a bittersweet feeling. He wants you to be happy. He is glad you are in fact happy. But he’s a bit more bitter that you’re not happy with him — it was a weird feeling.

And then his mind wonders off so far as much as his heart was further away from asking you something he had been yearning to hear you say. “And how’s… your boyfriend?” Jaehyun’s eyes fell down to the ground. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t of asked that.’ He thought deeply to himself.

The question brought you into a deep prance. You weren’t expecting Jaehyun to ask you about Jungwoo. Heck you weren’t even aware he knew but he does. Some part of you was hoping that perhaps he misses you just as much as you miss him.

“Oh… oh he’s good.” Your voice stops midway as you smile. “He treats me well.” You say to Jaehyun as your thumbs fiddle with each other nervously perking up to watching Jaehyun.

He gives you a smile full of irony. “Good for you.”

“But he’s not you.” You shut him up instantly with your words crash landing on him like he was a railway forward crushing underneath the weigh of your feet. The way his eyes widen as round as globe made you think you were never going to regret this even if this was the worse horrible decision you could ever do to another human being — you were tired of pretending you don’t miss Jaehyun. You were done with this act. You made a mistake letting someone like him go. Jaehyun pushed forward as you launch yourself to him kissing Jaehyun deeply.

For once again you were reconnected with a kiss you were dreaming every night, every night brought a depressing memory that was a happy one in the present and now it became a reality to you where you’re making out with your ex boyfriend. Jaehyun wanted to let you go and tell you to stop, that this is wrong because you’re with someone else, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to make you stop. You were a gem in his life he was missing just as much. You’re irreplaceable. Every little touch to your fingertip on his skin crawling up like as if spiders were roaming on the body. You give him goosebumps, adrenaline, fear and love. You give him everything he could ever ask for.

Your tongues brush together in a manner like you were drawing on a canvas together finally painting a new chapter together. Your mouths close and open up wide letting enough access between you to sensually kiss as your bodies were twirling in and round each other like a red ribbon to tie a knot. Your knot. Our knot. Jaehyun lifts your body up high pushing you down onto the bed where you lay flat there with your thighs open wide straddling his bottom half on the body. The white sweatpants he wore were soft but not as soft as his baby-like skin. It was a cold complexion but his emotions were a burning rage of ember.

It was unbelievably hot to be underneath Jaehyun watching the plain tee shirt slip and slide off his body just like with ease as if it were nothing but made up of air. Now to your body his hands were growing everywhere on you beginning to explore you once more even though he remembers every detail about you he couldn’t possibly forget you. If he tried it wasn’t possible for him and if he didn’t try he would wallow in your empty presence but now that you’re back it was like a little thing reborn to him. This night was going to be long and he’s going to make it right for you that you will never get enough.

Your mouths shift away for a breather but as your eyes were closed and your clothes were off on the ground scattering somewhere in his dark black bedroom you let out a murmur of pleasant sighs holding out your arms to grab his neck as he was burying his face deep down between your chests fondling them and kissing every little space and inch. Your nipples were sensitive to his kisses which always made him smile deep inside . He loves seeing them go hard with an instant second. It proves how much of an effect he has on you, just as much as you have on him between his legs growing hard just for you.

He could hear you gasp when he lifts your hips up as his body manoeuvres out to the nightstand opening the bottom drawer just to get a pair of silver metallic handcuffs. Your eyes glimpse at the item with pupils growing larger as if you were filled with a new excitement. ‘This was new’,, you thought. Your voice trails over to the handcuffs when Jaehyun reaches to your wrists you obedient gave and not fought back. “What’s with the handcuffs? This is new.” Your wrists stay in the air up to the frame attaching to the bed.

Jaehyun looks down at you from above lifting your chin up with the edge of his thumb putting it under your face. He whispers so sweetly but it was a dangerous kind of sweet gesture. As if he was going to give you the best night of your life ever given. “Oh just a little something i picked up on after you left… i knew they would come handy in the future.” Your ears perk up at the flirting signal on his eyes resting so coolly with his eyebrows. “Oh… that’s kinda hot.” You whisper as your eyes fell down to his lips kissing him deeply once again.

“Oh yeah? There will be plenty of more stuff to come baby don’t you worry.” He whispers in between the kisses taking breaks before fully he pulls away just to hover above your aching pussy pleading for some hand or any kind of pressure to it. Jaehyun was about to give you that right away you’ve been wanting so badly. His mouth reattached to your entrance giving it a plentiful boost amount of sucking and licking; it started off with kitten licks only to open wide and completely devour you from inside and out like you were a stuffy toy.

Your urge to release and come in that moment was so close but you didn’t want it to end just yet. Jaehyun was making it very hard not to finish so quickly you never had this much of a good feeling. You missed it. It brought back so many memories from the past you share with Jaehyun it’s just something you couldn’t get with Jungwoo. Sure he wasn’t bad in bed either but he hardly goes down on you. Unlike Jaehyun he was a master at going down on you with so much knowledge he could learn over the three years being with you. He not only knows your weakness spots where he could pleasure you easily but he knows your emotional weaknesses too. He knows what to whisper into your ear when he makes love with you. He knows you.

Your hips stutter back with each synching mount movement on the man eating you out like he must’ve been starved forever it was unbelievable how fast he would go in and not stop for so long. Not until you come as hard as you can and when you did release your mouth aches wide moaning out at the highest top of your lungs. “Jaehyun… I’m!”

He wanted to tell you he knows you are. He knows that you are at your limits because he could feel you and now he can taste you once again which he never wants to stop. Jaehyun looks up at your rosey cheeks and the warm heated smile you shown as you readjust on the bed. He lifts himself up and pulls your hair down pressing your head flat on the pillows to lay down there roughly. Suddenly his hips click into you and now a stretching yearning pull out on your body makes you jolt in surprise. The way his cock made you feel so much more overwhelmed than before was amazing you weren’t even aware of it until Jaehyun let’s you rest on his thick and girthy cock leaving your velvet walls take him in.

He wasn’t going to let this end however and he didn’t care if he was absolutely going to edge himself just to have a longer night with you. Jaehyun was deep down afraid of you leaving again after this. He didn’t want this to end he wanted it to last forever and only forever. The loneliness you left on his heart after you broke up with him was the biggest pain he has ever experienced and he’s not the type to cry over a lover before until it was you who held the gun to him with your words saying goodbye. If you’re leaving again he won’t know what to do but at least he can spent a loving night with you under him that he can remember you for. You were wanting to beg him underneath to move but something in your heart and head tells you that Jaehyun won’t do as you say.

You whisper tugging on the handcuff restraints forgetting you were tied up. You couldn’t reach him. “Jaehyun can you move?” Your insides were clenching for every bit pressure and friction they can get. You were needing a release. Jaehyun however only smirks down at you leaning down with a glint of evil behind those loving romantic eyes. “Beg for me if you really want it.” Jaehyun shot at you.

“Tell me you want me and not Jungwoo. Tell me you wanted me inside you all this time and not Jungwoo. Tell me how much you missed me.” His voice lowers down. “Tell me you regret breaking up with me.”

He shot at you like he was a wicked gun wanting to take you down. Jaehyun had a literal hold on you physically and spiritually you can see and hear his words having a good toll on you that you weren’t sa aware he did have. For anything you would do for him. Everything and anything even if it made you feel so pathetic. You weren’t ever so humiliated as you are now but something about being forced into submission by your ex boyfriend unaware that your boyfriend was sleeping peacefully and you were getting your brains fucked out by Jaehyun made you feel ashamed and humiliated.

You gasp when Jaehyun’s hands caress your bare throat before grabbing it tightly letting you feel a strong impact yet enough for you to be able to breathe. “I- I want you only you. I regret leaving you. Please fuck me already… I missed you so much.”

There was a sense of achievement inside Jaehyun he has been able to do and that is having you underneath him looking so sensually fucked out begging to be rail in on his bed even though you have a perfected fitted boyfriend you still wanted him. Jaehyun felt a massive ego boost and this was enough for him to take pleasure in looking back on. To see you crying and begging like this? It made him satisfied to say the least. And he obliged just as you gave in. His cock purse inside you like a weapon ready to go with every thrust there was a surprising turn to how your stomach curls up deep within taking every strong impactful force action — it made you want to twist and turn as your insides were railing against your ex boyfriend’s cock burying deep within you just makes this seem more natural.

It has only made you realise how much you missed this. You missed Jaehyun’s touch, kisses, love and words, the purest affection and how he treats you in bed like you’re a complete whore for him. You are just for him whatever he wants you to be. But just as much as he was to you, you couldn’t live with this regret of ever leaving behind your own family. Jaehyun loves seeing your lewd expressions go with every single bump going in you. He was ready for your walls to milk him dry just as much as he was ready to fill you up. His feral thoughts have left a trace of unfiltered words. Words he didn’t have the courage to say to you but now that he was so far lost inside you deep but going deeper now too.

“Look at yourself Y/n. You love going to your ex boyfriend’s doorstep and getting fucked on his bed? You love being slut out by me right? This is exactly what you wanted isn’t it.” You wanted to say yes to everything because it’s true. He read you as if you were a blank book.

Jaehyun exhales. “Fucking hell Y/n. You’re still as hot as before. But now you’re dirtier. How did you get so fucking lewd?” The way your ears loved hearing him talk down on you as he was something else. You couldn’t help but fall a little bit closer than before to climax. “If you’re going to cum then do it now. It’s what you’re good at.” He slurs on his last ends.

Your body couldn’t handle much more of that and just as he ends his words your body came crashing down and releasing a streak of water down below climaxing on his cock. Jaehyun sighs desperately seeing you releasing right there and then it only aroused him more to his finish soon. His gaze staring down at your legs trembling as you were shaken up by your gigantic orgasms he wasn’t going to stop now and practically lets his hands grab your thighs folding them up and starts ramming in to you at an inhuman speed you couldn’t ever imagine.

The metallic handcuffs rattle against the bed frame so much because Jaehyun was going in and out of you quickly you could tell by his messy pace he was nearing close and then after you. Your body was cramped and folded like a freaking ball just rammed in with pleasure overflowing with you and your wrists attached up becoming red and hurting now that he was dragging you down into the bedsheets so hard.

His voice was multitude of pants you couldn’t ignore. “I’m going to fill you up with my load so when you come back to Jungwoo he can have something to think about.” Your eyes clench shut imagining the scene already only to push Jaehyun to the limit where he finally released inside you.

The warmth levitating from his come inside you so deep made you jolt and softly smile at the thought of relieving himself in you. Jaehyun took a few moments to readjust and pull out slowly letting the liquid ooze out in a slow motion he would watch it slow before slanting next to your body dropping there and letting the handcuffs full off your wrists.

He spoke out against the bedsheets as he was watching you. “Leave him Y/n.”

Your gaze turns to Jaehyun.

“Please. Come back to me.” He asked you this time in a gentle tone completely different from what you saw earlier when he was on top of you ramming. You shift coming forward rolling on the side bringing his face in your hands pulling the man forward.

As you did your lips connect in a soft romantic kiss coming with a soft ending. It felt like time has stopped once again with you on his lips.

You hum pulling out. “Okay. Let’s spend the White Night together what do you say then?” Jaehyun couldn’t agree more to that idea.

NCT SMUT FICS.

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@onyourhyuck please refer from translating and copyrighting my work thank youu!! Please reblog and follow me for more updates it helps a girl out.

[astroyongie]

Wet Castle

Note: I can't find the request anymore on my inbox! Anyway this comes from a request that wanted a writing about yn x Wooyoung and x San with the mafia/gang tag. This part one, part two could come out if you guys enjoy this one!

Wet Castle 

pairings: Wooyoung x YN and San x YN 

synopsis: After growing up in one of the most dangerous Seoul Gangs, a strange accident made you decide to cut ties with your affiliation and leave the gang you were so attached with. You moved to Itaewon, doing small works for money, until the day you met Wooyoung, a nice guy next door who worked right under a small coffee shop. You can’t help getting closer to Wooyoung, knowing fairly well that your past life will never leave you alone.. 

Triggers: Mention of subtle smut, drugs, alcohol, hard language.

Part two: here

Part One

You inhaled the smoke, burning your lungs once more. The cold breeze caressed your blushed face, as you blow thick smoke into the air. You hated Itaewon. But it was still better than going back to Seocho District. At night, you would often find yourself in the apartment complex stairs, smoking one cigarette or two, while eyeing the drunk men passing by as they searched for another club to get. Women were nearby too, many dressed with short dresses, giggling like children whenever they got the attention of those richer than them. 

The streets raged in drunk and drugged people and foreigners looking for fantasies. It was a paradise for underground business and a nightmare for those who wanted to live a quiet life.

Fuck, you hated Itaewon. You just hated Seocho more. 

“Y/n?” a voice called and you lazily turned your gaze to the man in front of you. You sighed, standing from the stairs and taking another hit from your cigarette.

“Yeosang.” 

It has been 3 months since you left Zeeta, one of the most - if not the current most- renowned gangs in South Korea. You already knew, it wouldn't be easy leaving such life behind, none of the people you have ever met did. The only way out was certain death, and yet there you were. Hanging by a thread, not fully out, not fully in. 

Yeosang bowed his head swiftly at you, before reaching inside his pocket. He pulled out a small envelope before extending his arm to you. You looked up into his blazed eyes, blowing out the smoke before taking in the small envelope. It was heavy and you could smell its contenance from distance. Money. Dirty money. 

“You can go now.” You ordered and Yeosang tsked.

“I don't take orders from you, white tiger.”

Your annoyed glare didn't seem to make Yeosang react. You have known him for years now, and your intimidating gaze was routine for him. Looking up in the sky, he added. “He wants to know when you are coming back.”

You stayed silent, the uneasy feeling coiling at the base of your stomach. Turning around, you took one step up the stairs before answering, swallowing the aftertaste of this visit.

“I won’t. Tell him to stop sending me money. I dont need it.” 

You didn't look back. Instead you went straight back to your flat, feeling suddenly colder. It was only once you had closed the door behind you, after hearing that click of the lock, that you allowed yourself to breathe in and out. You hated Seocho. But you hated him more. 

… 

The Pirate Coffee Shop was probably the only positive thing in Itaewon. Their coffee was strong and bitter, enough to make you pull a comfortable expression, each time the liquid poured down your throat. The pastries were sweet and the smell of freshly baked goods usually made your body relaxed. Although you didn't eat them that much, being surrounded by it made you feel somehow calm. You take it for a habit to come over each morning, sitting always on the same table in the front of the big windows, at the bottom of the shop. You had become an usual customer to the point where ordering wasn't even necessary. 

It felt comfortable. It felt nice. To have the sun heating your face while you read your books or the newspaper. You almost felt like a normal civilian when you did so.

The waiter came, pushing a hot black coffee in front of you, alongside a pistachio croissant. You removed your eyes from your book, furrowing your brows when you saw the pastry. It's been a week now, that you had been receiving food that you had never once ordered. At first you didn't even complain but now, it had happened way too much to be a simple coincidence.

“I didn’t order this.” you called out, before looking up and meeting the almond eyes of the waiter. Ah yes, the waiter. The small etiquette on top of his blouse clearly said “Wooyoung” but you had been mentally calling him brat, for quite some time.

The brat would always pester you with questions about your living, making small talk that you often tried to turn down. you weren't stupid, you could clearly see that he had been trying to hit on you, but you wouldn't allow yourself to enjoy his company. Not now, at least.

“It's on the house,” the boy said, a ravishing smile ripping through his face.

“You said that yesterday,” you mumbled and eyed the pastry with a watering mouth. Wooyoung had been working at this coffee shop for about a month. At first, he would avoid you, as the owner would always be the one taking your orders and serving your black coffee. That until this brat started to serve you. You didn't mind at first, it was their job after all. But it's been a week now, that the insolent has been offering you food like you were a homeless person. 

“I saw you look at it this morning,” Wooyoung explained, pulling the serving plate against his chest, the same smile covering his features. “I thought you might want to try it.”

You licked your lips in an attempt to hide a seemingly smile. “Did I?”

“Yeah.”

“Wooyoung!” The owner called from the countertop, his old wrinkles giving him a perpetual aspect of being upset. “Leave the customer alone and go to work, you rascal!”

“Yes boss!” the boy said before turning to you once more. “I am Wooyoung, by the way.”

“I know.”

Your reply seemed to have left him a little confused, but he did grin widely at you. Before he could ask for yours, the owner called him again, making the young boy rush to give the other customers their orders. You grinned slightly, eyeing the waiter for a few seconds as he kept doing his job. His  black hair was messily tied in a small ponytail, his dimples showing each time he would smile at someone inside the shop. Wooyoung was probably younger than you, for a year or two, you figured.

You pulled yourself out of your thoughts, looking back at your croissant. 

Maybe Itaewon wasn't that bad. 

…

“Maybe I should leave for the countryside.” 

You mumbled to yourself as you walked past the streets, the cold night making you push your hands deep into your jacket’s pockets. As per usual, Itaewon was crowded with people at night, foreigners looking for adventures and some fun, men looking for hookups and girls thirsting for attention that their parents couldn't give them. It was pathetic really, but you couldn't help but enjoy walking in the same streets they did. It somehow made you feel better.

Was it because they were as fucked up as you? Or maybe because you blended so well in this atmosphere, that you felt finally invisible enough not to worry about your safety. 

You truly didn't know. You craved freedom, a normal life without constantly worrying about tomorrow. Yet, you couldn't let go of the thrilling feeling of potentially dying tomorrow gave you.

The air was thick with the scent of smoke and alcohol. It was easy to spot the people that once worked below you. These insects of humans, wearing those green woodies, have pockets full of people’s wildest fantasies. Ecstasy, heroine, coke, cannabis. You name it, they had it. You still couldn't comprehend how one could be so stupid, that they felt the need to consume this shit to feel better within themselves. Life was shit no matter the things you put inside your body.

Hypocrite, you thought. After all, you had consumed the same crap they did, more than once. 

You turned left, walking back to your flat. It was getting late, and you didn't feel like drowning yourself in alcohol anymore. Reaching inside your back pants pocket, you took your cigarette pack, sighing in annoyance when you noticed only one left. You didn't have any money on you either, so it wasn't worth it to go and buy some now. 

Looking forward, you already could see the stairs to your flat, a couple of minutes away, and even the faint light of the Pirate Coffee Shop, which was probably going to close soon. You took the last cigarette and brought it to your lips, stopping your steps in order to light it up. Before you could reach for your lighter, you saw an old man coming to you, lighter bright.

“Please, allow me, doll”

The man said before lighting your cigarette. You gave the man a quick look, as you inhaled smoke to light your poison. He was old, his clothing was not that expensive to be worthy of your attention. A pity, otherwise you might have joined him for some fun. Once your cigarette lit, you took a step back, bowing your head slightly before passing through.

“Hey!” the man called, his voice slightly annoyed. “Hey, those aren't manners! You should say thank you, bitch!”

“Piss off, I am not in the mood,” you neutrally said. Men, they always thought they were entitled to do whatever they wanted, just by doing the bare minimum. You felt a pressure on your arm, before you were turned around with force. The surprise of the movement made you drop the cigarette into the ground. The man grabbed you by the collar, as your eyes were still fixed on your last freaking cigarette, burning away on the dirty ground. 

“Hey bitch, maybe I should teach you some manners”

“Old man..” You murmured, before glaring at him, feeling your patience running thin. “Do you want to die?”

“Huh?”

You felt your hands turn into fists, your body shifting slightly to accommodate his grip. He reeked of alcohol, pupils blown wide and his breath made you nauseous. Taking care of vermin like him was easy. A right blow under his shin and this guy would be knocked off until tomorrow morning. He probably had his wallet with him, so that would be a big win for you. You just needed to hit, now. 

“Hey!!! What do you think you are doing!”

Your eyes widen at the voice reaching behind you, making you instantly release the muscles of your hand. The old man raised his eyebrows before letting go of your collar, his confused eyes glued to the men that stood behind you. You looked back, seeing Wooyoung approaching. He wasn't dressed in his waiter clothing anymore, his dark jeans suiting him like a glove and his long jacket covering half of his body. The brat stopped by your side, wrapping a hand around your shoulders which made you freeze in place. The nerve this damn rascal had-

“Back off, or I will call the cops,” Wooyoung said in a serious voice, making the other man tsked in annoyance.

“I wasn't doing anything wrong, you got it all wrong.”

“You were gripping my girlfriend, am I wrong?” Girlfriend? this bastard must be out of his fucking mind-. Your thoughts stopped when you felt Wooyoung pulling you closer to his side. The old man mumbled something under his breath, before waving in an apologizing manner, turning around. You hated men. You truly did. Once the old man was out of sight, you pushed away from Wooyoung's grip, who smiled down at you. 

“Gosh, good thing I was here-”

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” you asked angrily, making the boy in front of you look down at you in surprise.

“Sorry?”

“We don't know each other, why the hell did you did that for?” Wooyoung kept looking at you, dumbfounded by your statement before shrugging lightly. 

“You don't need to know someone to help them, you know.”

You stayed silent, eyeing him once more before he turned his gaze to the side, his dimples disappearing under what seemed to be a small pout. Fuck, was this guy this childish? You cleared your throat, embarrassment starting to crawl up your spine. 

“Sorry,” You ended up saying, rubbing the back of your neck “I didn't mean to sound ungrateful.” 

The brat looked at you again, giving you a small smile. You tried to ignore it, turning your gaze forward before walking down to reach your flat. This was quite a night, and honestly you just wanted to crash on your bed and sleep it out. You frowned as you noticed the damn bastard following you, his long legs reaching your side. 

“What are you doing?” you asked

“I am accompanying you until you reach home safely, of course.”

“I don't need that.”

“You could encounter another drunk guy you know. It's dangerous around here.” 

You sneered. “I can handle that much.”

Wooyoung chuckled which made you look at him in confusion. There wasn't any malice in his eyes, they were soft and genuinely relaxed. This guy… truly was an irrational brat but you couldn't blame him. After all, he didn't know anything about you. He was too kind, too nice and you knew fairly well that guys like him did not last one day in your world. Wooyoung wasn't very tall, he wasn't very buffy either but he did smell nice. He definitely wasn't your type, but you could use him for your needs. You have always heard that good guys were a nice surprise in bed. Your last one night stands sucked ass, none of the guys you set up with were able to give you any type of satisfaction, and you were tired of having to think about him, to get off. You needed a change. 

When you reached the stairs of your flat, Wooyoung stopped. You took a few steps up but upon noticing that he wasn't following you, you turned around. 

“Good night, then.” He said, a tender smile covering his tired face.

“Do you wanna get a drink at my place?” You asked, unbothered by his surprised reaction. Wooyoung’s face turned a very pale pink but his answer did not match his body language. 

“I won't go drinking in someone’s house, to which I don't even know the name of.” 

That sneaky bastard.. you smiled this time, turning around as you kept walking up the stairs. “Your loss then, brat.”

“I will see you tomorrow morning,” He said back, an amused timber tingling in his voice, from the name you had called him. You bit your bottom lip before replying without looking at him

“yn.. it 's yn.”

You left Wooyoung there as you reached the door of your flat. Taking the keys out of your pocket, you insert it on the lock, your eyes narrowing as you notice that the door was unlocked. Fuck.. fuck.. someone was inside. You gulped down, taking a deep breath before twisting the knob of your door. Once you reached inside, the lights were out and the faint scent of spice and musk cologne hit your nostrils. You felt your body coil in a strange sensation as you reached your living room. 

There was he. Sat on your couch, cigarette on his lips. Even in total darkness you could see the patterns of his tattoos designing themselves up from the few unbutton bottoms of his white shirt to his neck. The oni mask tattoo that covered his left hand as he took the cigarette out of his mouth to look at you, made you shiver. 

Your Past.

Your Present.

Your Future. 

The Red Dragon. 

“Yn” he called your name, a deep voice making your knees weak and your mind foggy. 

“San.”

[kaepop-trash]

OH MY GOD I WANT TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS WHEN JOHNNY COMES BACK FROM HIS TRIP AND DID Y/N CALL JAEHYUN BACK THE NEXT DAY????? YOUR STORIES KEEP ME ALIVE SRSLY

The Cost of Hindsight

The drabble before this answered your other question. I hope you like this, I would love to know what you think! Honestly, I think my rigour as a writer comes back in such full force when you guys just talk to me, I think it makes me feel like I am actually writing for someone and not just sending these out into space. So thanks for the awesome compliment you put in there too!

Feedback is always appreciated!

_

Summary: (Y/N) surprises Johnny at the airport, Mark senses something between them. Later, Johnny reminisces on the past, making a surprising confession. (I re-wrote this 8 times and it still ended up sounding like a tv guide synopsis for a cable episode)

Warnings: Smut, Riding, dirty talking, humiliation kink, hair pulling (Johnny has a thing for hair in this one).

WC: 3.8k

Mini Masterlist

(Y/N) had been waiting with Mark for Johnny to arrive for upwards of two hours by now. His flight was delayed, causing the wait to be turned out to be longer than expected. With nothing else to do, the two most unlikely companions turned to small talk.

Mark talked about his job, how he was on the fence about investing in Jaemin’s company, and about his desire to get a pet dog. They were so deep in conversation that she didn’t notice how fast time had passed. Only when Mark’s phone rang did it occur that Johnny had probably landed.

“He just picked up his bags. On his way.” Mark spoke as he put his phone back in his pocket.

It was at that moment when (Y/N) started feeling a hint of nerves. 

When Mark asked her to come along to pick Johnny up, she thought it could be a cute surprise. Now she wondered if she had maybe overstepped, walking into a situation she wasn’t invited to. Johnny had asked Mark to come pick him up, not her.

She didn’t even get the time to linger on the thought, much less rationalise it. Mark raised his arm, waving at the entrance.

She turned, lifting herself on her toes to search for him in the crowd, then immediately deciding to cower. Would he really find it weird, or would it just be a fun surprise like Mark had told her? She pushed her thoughts aside when she finally spotted him.

Johnny spotted Mark first, his lost eyes crinkling into a smile as he pulled his hand out of his jacket to wave. When Mark’s gaze moved over his own shoulder, Johnny’s followed. He did a double take, squinting like he was making sure he was seeing correctly.

When he was certain, his first response was surprise. A disgruntled person knocked into Johnny’s knees with a trolley. She winced the same time Johnny jumped.

That must have hurt. 

He mumbled a quick apology despite being the innocent victim in the exchange, turning to look at her again and once again squinting like he still wasn't sure. Then he smiled in a way that radiated from the distance, through the large crowd and considerable distance that stood between them. It made her forget everything in that moment.

There were, seemingly, two distinct sides of Johnny that she'd witnessed. Like a switch that could be flipped when the occasion calls for it. 

He could go from being a fun, teasing friend of almost juvenile proportions, to the most indecent yet attentive lover. 

Johnny was the kind of man who put his hand behind her head when she reached for things in cupboards before joking about how clumsy she could be. Yet he was also the one shoving her against the first wall he could find when the switch flipped.

They were easy to tell apart as well, so different were these two sides. Somehow both him and not, the same Johnny who had the most gentle disposition was also the one who had the most debaucherous words and a deliciously rough touch. They were opposing sides that somehow only made sense with him. She was equally fascinated by both. 

What baffled her was that it was hard to tell when he chose to flip the switch. And it made it hard to figure out when she was meant to be a friend to him and when something else.

There were moments when Johnny would do the most endearing thing while he was being a friend. Like when he breaks off a piece of anything new he’s eating and hands it over without her asking, the time he tried to make fluffy pancakes for breakfast and overheated his stand mixer. Or all the times he quietly paid for her half of dinner when her budget was tight at the end of a month. Such moments would be so dear that she'd want nothing more than to kiss him then and there, especially because he seemingly did it without a thought. But it was difficult to tell if that crossed one of the many steep boundaries they regularly traversed.

It was easier around people. Outside the confines of their private spaces, amongst others, they maintained their dynamic easily. As Johnny always reiterated, they were friends first. Good friends who didn't need to try too hard at all to act like it.

But when alone, (Y/N) found herself looking for a sign from him before she could shift into the other side of their relationship. The one where she could tilt over and kiss him because Johnny remembered to stock her favourite cookies before she came over for the weekend.

But there were some confusing moments when this shift sometimes happened in a crowd. Those were the moments that edged on madness. Where the two distinct sides of their friendship melted into one brief look, so ready to risk being discovered just for reassurance. To remind themselves of their little secret, confirm its existence. Like on the night Irene and Taeil announced their engadement, or the time Johnny was a little too drunk and Hyuk’s simple question about where he learned to cook turned into a long ode to (Y/N)’s patience and perserverence.

It was also exactly how she felt right now.

The moment their eyes met across the airport exit, the world around them disappeared. The loud chaos of the terminal dissolved away and what mattered was the look in his eyes, the curve of his lips. 

He was happy to see her, beaming while his gaze remained unwavering on her face. As he walked closer, she could see the colours shift in his gaze. Something softer blurred the edges of his gaze and she could tell what he was trying to say. 

He missed her. 

She hoped that her eyes told him the same. But she doubted one look could ever word the intensity of her sentiment. She wasn’t sure if words could either. Her chest seemingly tugged, urging to drift towards him. Perhaps no words, look or gesture she had the capacity for could ever express how Johnny made her feel. 

Or the way she felt about him.

“Hi.” He came and stood in front of her, lips pursed like he was failing to hide his grin, “What a pleasant surprise.”

“I couldn’t wait to see you.” The words slipped out, forgetting the place, the circumstances, and the company. She bit down on her bottom lip. Johnny’s cheeks turned a dark red, biting the corner of his mouth.

“I’m still here.” Mark laughed awkwardly.

The words reminded her of where they were. She had made a mistake, confusing the two sides. 

“You didn’t tell me you were bringing (Y/N).” Johnny turned away, looking unfazed. She wished she was as good as him at this.

“Yeah, I thought it would be a nice surprise.” Mark looked between them, eyes full of contemplation.

“It is.” Johnny smiled, walking up to give Mark a hug. “Thanks for bringing my car. I’ll drop you home.” He patted his back, “Both of you.” He turned back to her, both of them laughing awkwardly. Sometimes Johnny slipped too, forgetting the two sides.

Those were perhaps the moments when she lost her mind the most.

_

She squeezed her arms tighter around Johnny’s neck, breath shallow.

"How does it feel?" Johnny questioned, tone patronising. He reached up, pushing the hair back that was sticking to her face, gripping down at the hair at the base of her neck.

“Do you like controlling the pace?” He cooed at her, tone mocking.

Her lips parted, only a gasp leaving them when he bucked his hips up to meet her halfway. An attempt to make her words harder to conjure.

"Hmm?" He questioned, pulling her head back with his secure hold. "Do you like it?" He hummed with a softer tone, opening his palm for her to nuzzle into. “You were riding your pillow so well just yesterday, what happened? Can you only be a slut on camera?” He cooed.

She squeezed her eyes, the words making a wash of humiliation trickle down till it settled between her legs.

“You were supposed to get it for me weren’t you? The pillow? What happened?” He asked, patting her cheek to get her attention. “Did you keep the cover for me like I asked?”

She whined, cheeks flushing at his filthy words. Her hand left his neck to push him, silently begging him to stop. 

Johnny laughed, “You were being so bold on our call? What happened? Why are you suddenly pretending like you weren't the one begging to hear these words last night?” 

Her hips moved faster, spurred on by his taunts.

“Will you do it for me again? Ride your pillow in front of me this time?” He asked. She shook her head vehemently, forehead knitting in distress. “Why not?” He laughed, dragging his nails through her scalp before fixing his hands on her waist, assisting her glide.

“It’s embarrassing.” She managed to get the words out with a struggle. The next moment she bit down on her bottom lip, Johnny’s arms finally making her move in the right way. “Why do you enjoy embarrassing me?” She whined again.

“Considering the way you’ve been clenching around me, Peanut. I should ask you why you enjoy being embarrassed.” She hid her head in his neck, Johnny chuckling at the act.

“I do not.” She huffed.

“Do too.” He responded, thrusting his pelvis up to meet her halfway.

“Shit, I’m going to come.” She clawed at his back, “Johnny.” She urged, digging her face deeper into his neck.

He shushed her, “I’ve got you.” His reassuring voice matched his rhythm, fingers tightening on her waist.

"I know." She panted, her insides clenching down tight. Johnny groaned, moving his hips up in search of his own high.

Johnny came first, his grip on her waist tightening as he rammed into her as hard as he could from below. The erratic thrusts send her off too, biting down on his shoulder as she came crashing down.

They sat there in silence, pants turned to shallow breaths. "Did you miss me?" Johnny asked, hands sliding up her back.

"Uh huh," She nodded, too exhausted to speak coherently.

"I didn't think you would." There was an edge in his voice that made her stir. She sat back, looking him in the eyes.

"Why wouldn't I?" She asked, brows furrowing. He looked her face over, smiling and giving her a chaste kiss on the cheek.

"This was a boring trip." He said instead of answering her, "You should have come." 

"Probably because the weather forced you to stay in the hotel most of the days." She scoffed, Johnny didn't respond.

They got ready for bed in relative silence, fixing the crumpled sheets and putting on the first thing they could find.

“How was your day?” Johnny asked once they were under the covers, so tired that the question occurred to him much later.

“Same old.” (Y/N) sighed, “Don’t ask about work.” She groaned, hating the topic.

“Have you decided if you’re ready to look for a new job?” He asked, making her look away from his concerned gaze to the ceiling.

“How will it matter? I’ll hate that too probably, at least at this one I know what I’m dealing with.”

“You just need to find something you like.” Johnny encouraged, nudging her with a gentle shove.

“It’s not that simple. Some of us aren’t gifted with passion. I wasn’t born with a single defining talent like you or Jaemin. Neither was I born with Jaehyun and Mark’s insatiable drive.” She groaned, feeling her eyes well a little at the corners. 

“I’m just me.” She sighed. “Unremarkable.”

“No one is unremarkable. Least of all you.” Johnny chastised her. “One of these days, you will find something you actually like. Dare I say, something you love. Even if you don’t, even if it’s a dumb office job you do to pay the bills, your life has more value than a stupid job, (Y/N).” His fingers closed around the edge of the tshirt she was wearing. “You’re gifted with so many other things.”

She didn’t say anything, not wanting to sound like she was complaining but not believing him either. Johnny sighed, sensing it. To her relief, he didn’t say anything, probably sensing her mood as well. She didn’t want to talk about this now.

In the silence that followed, her eyes got heavier and sleep began to fill the distressed crevices of her mind with a promise of temporary relief.

Just before her eyes could close, she heard Johnny's clumsy shifting. An arm closed around her, dragging her close enough for him to dig his nose into her cheek.

So close, she could hear the small sigh that came from somewhere deep in his throat.

"I think I almost missed you." He mumbled, words muffled from being half asleep. His words, as usual, were carefully formed to not sound instigating— a joke as he called it. The tip of his nose traced a dizzying journey all over her neck. Johnny grunted from approval when she lifted her head to accommodate him, squeezing her firmly.

His journey stopped in her hair, where he buried his nose and took a large inhale. They stayed like that for a long time, till the otherwise cold night became balmy under the blanket.

“I’m hot.” Her voice was muffled in his shoulder, a silent request for him to move.

“Yeah you are.” He chuckled, patting her ass.

He pulled back, laughing louder when his words made her huff. Then there was another bout of silence as Johnny stared at the ceiling. She could tell that he had something on his mind. She fell into deep contemplation herself, wondering whether she should ask what was bothering him.

He sighed, taking in another deep breath that made his chest visibly deflate.

"You know," Johnny spoke to the ceiling, her heavy eyes fluttering open at the words. "I've been thinking about our university days a lot recently." He looped his finger into the chain he wore around his neck a few times. Fidgeting, she realised.

(Y/N) propped her head on her arm, turning on her side to face him.

"Yeah? Like what?" She asked, smiling at the thought.

"Well, a lot of things I suppose. I was just reminiscing. I can't believe it's been so long."

She hissed at the mention and Johnny smiled, eyes fixed above like he was picturing the past.

"But there's this one thing I keep coming back to." He said after a pause, unfurling the chain from his finger before wrapping it again.

"What is it?" She asked after he didn't speak for another pause.

Johnny turned, eyes dancing over her entire face. "Do you remember the first time we met?" He looked hopeful.

"At that house party?" She questioned, her memory fuzzy.

"No," Johnny turned back to the ceiling with a sigh, a fraction of the light disappearing from his eyes. "In that political philosophy class."

"Oh that's right. You came and sat beside me. You were in that red hoodie." She tried to recall, raising a brow when he scoffed.

"Yeah." His lips lifting before a brief laugh filled the room, "I can't believe you remember that."

"I remember thinking 'man that guy looks nice in red'." She teased, hoping he wouldn't realise it was the truth.

His face seemed to fall at the words, smile no longer reaching his eyes. She couldn’t understand what she said wrong.

"You had more to say than the professor." Johnny recalled, turning to look at her again. "I'm pretty sure you would have taught the class better too."

"I'm pretty sure a vacuum cleaner could teach that class better than him." She frowned, remembering the way the man wasted the syllabus.

Johnny laughed again, turning over on his side, "You said something similar that day too." His forehead gathered as he tried to remember what it exactly was, giving up after a moment. "You corrected him each time under your breath." Johnny grinned.

“I had never seen a single person have such strikingly wrong opinions.” She huffed, the memory still frustrated her.

“You wrote down everything he mentioned and when I asked you why, you said it was so you could verify it yourself later. It was the first week of university and I could not believe that someone could care that much about an extra credit/” Johnny laughed under his breath again. "All I wanted to do was ask for your number."

Her heart stopped, the words said so casually that for a moment she wasn't sure she heard him right.

"But then I thought that could be weird. What if I put you in a weird position?" He clicked his tongue, eyes lost in his memories again. "So I decided to write my number down on a piece of paper. This small chit I tore from the back of that political philosophy book because it was the first week and I didn't carry a notebook."

His eyes came back into focus, turning to look at her and giving a sad smile. Her heart picked up at the look, an unknown dread seeping into her.

"I was ready to give it to you right after class. I thought of something smooth to say to seal the deal too." He licked his lips, looking nervous for some unfathomable reason.

She wanted to ask why he didn't, realising once the thought formed in her mind that her inner voice was too ardent, filled with palpable regret.

"But then I asked you your major and you asked me the same." His voice faded.

This time she knew what he meant, remembering the words she said to him. The moment he told her, she responded with a single statement. It wasn't supposed to mean anything, but in hindsight the weight of the words pressed against her chest like sleep paralysis.

"Oh, you're in Jaehyun's class."

She bit down on her lip, like she was trying to reel in those words from the past. Her words must have had the spark of hope she had back then, having only just met Jaehyun a day before the time they were recalling. Still, she wondered why it would stop Johnny.

"I keep thinking about that." He confessed, giving her a look laced with regret. "How I should have given you that piece of paper anyway. The one I never forgot to throw out of that ratty pencil case I had. "I keep asking myself if all of this would have been different if I had. What would be different and what not." He continued, the jingle of the chain around his neck returning as he fidgeted. "Maybe I'm getting it all wrong and it would be a disaster. Would we be like we are now? Or would it be like the relationship I did have in university? All I know is that I should have given you that piece of paper."

She watched him in silence, sorrow seeping into her heart at those words. It left her with a gaping hole in her chest— the size of possibilities. Like most of her existence, this also became a what if that crippled her with its unrealised prospects; rendering her incapable of words.

"It doesn't matter now." She conjured words she didn't herself believe, "What good will thinking of these things do?"

Johnny's lips twitched like he didn't believe her. "That's funny coming from you." Both of them snorted. "I guess you're right. It was just a thought I couldn't shake, I was hoping that letting it out would make it quieter."

She shifted closer to him, "I think," Hesitating, she brushed her knuckled on his cheek. "I think that we wouldn't be who we are without the things we've seen, what we’ve lived. Who we are now matters more than who we could have been, no? Maybe we wouldn't be who we are to each other without everything that came in between."

Johnny looked her over slowly, like he was studying one of his photographs. "About that, you're right." He reached out to comb his fingers through her hair, sighing when she dissolved into his touch.

He took in a breath like he was going to say something. Her eyes became so heavy with sleep in his touch that she didn't notice time passed, opening her eyes to see if he would say what was on his mind.

“There’s the other thing too.” He said softly, his eyes glittering from the distant lights out his large windows. This time, she knew exactly what he meant.

“The kiss.” She sighed. He nodded, the weight of the words making him sink further into the mattress, his weight taking her along.

Johnny turned to her, his eyes deeply thoughtful. “That is the one I should regret. But in all these years–” His voice trailed off.  

She wanted nothing more than to reach out to him at that moment. Yet, for some reason, Johnny never felt more distant than he did now. The same weight between them rendered her immobile.

She yearned for him then, something she realised she had never done before. Johnny was the one who always showed up, the one always by her side. She had needed his presence and she had craved his touch. But this was new and it weighed down heavier than everything that came before.

He turned to face her and she wondered if he could sense it. If the strings in her hurt tugged so hard because they were pulling him to her. He shifted closer, his nose brushing against hers.

She pressed her lips against his and Johnny’s breath caught in his throat. His hand came to her back, not moving her closer but just keeping her in place. Like he should have done all those years ago. When she pushed him away, realising her mistake.

But there was no pushing away tonight. Instead, she pressed closer to his chest, taking a shallow breath to keep kissing him without stopping. Johnny wanted to freeze this moment forever, to remember every little gasp and every twitch of his fingers.

When they finally pulled away, she put her forehead against his cheek.

 “I’m so glad I walked up to you at the grocery store that day.” Johnny sighed, his entire chest twisting and caving as the burden of those words seemed to reveal itself only once he said it out loud.

She smiled, seemingly unaware of the true weight behind the confession.

“At least you gave me your number that time.” Her words made him chuckle.

[chemicallady]

I LOVE YOU TO DEATH BUT I'M DROWING

Part 1; Part 2

Couple: noah sebastian x fem!reader

Content Warning: sex, bondage/shibari content, oral sex (fem receiver), male masturbation.

Taglist: @lilhobgobbler ; @aprosiacperson

Summary:  you will find out that maybe you don't want to face the consequences of your decisions.

A/N: as always, I want to remark that I don't know Noah Sebastian and this is a 100% work of fiction! I'm not really good in writing smut, but i hope this is at least decent. I'm not into bondage or shibari so I took some time to read about. According to the math I did, this series should be 6 chapter long! Enjoy this chapter and be aware that my chat is always open to talk with you!

Enjoy

《 In Japan, the act of binding is part of the daily routine. Traditional clothes dont have zippers or buttons; the sacred areas of temples is outlined with ropes. The katana's handle is made with a ribbon tied and woven.》

It's surprising how talkative Noan can be when the topic is something he's into. Usually he'd rather spend his spare time during tour working on the next gig. Apparently, today he is more confortable in spending time with you.

He sits on the edge of the bed of the room he should share with Nicholas, but the bass player is nowhere to be found. And that's a good thing because you're undressing. Slowly, as he has asked you a couple of minutes early.

You have no idea of what is going on precisely, but Noah swore that it's not gonna be painful in any way.

《 Have you learnt how to do the knots by yourself?》 You ask, unbutton your jeans and taking them off, along with the tshirt you were wearing. He doesnt bother to answer and this is an habit of him that you can bearly tollerate. Without complaing - it'd useless with Noah- you sit next to him on the bed, only in your panties and bra. You obliged his request and chose something red and now you're noticing that is also the color of the ropes he is sliding in his hands. You can only bite your bottom lip and wait for something. Anything. But Noah seems to be hesitant, looking far from you. Immidiatly, you feel that something is off and the only way out is to open your mounth and say something stupid.

《 Do I have to sign a conctact now, Mr Grey, or we can be good with a word of mouth?》

He chuckles softly, like it's hard for him to keep the mask on and be that serious. 《 This is between us》 , he remarks, grabbing your hand on your left thigh. You squeeze it a bit, before inhale deeply. 《 No need to be so tense. We're going to start with something 'easy', today. If you are going to like it, we can continue.... another day with something rougher.》

《 So you're not gonna hang me to the ceiling like a chandeleer?》 , you pretend to be disappointed while you smile almost shyly to him. 《 Do you want me to fully undress ?》

《 No, it's not necessary.》

Someway, somehow, you feel a little relieved. Not the you feel ashamed in being naked in front of him after what you guys have already done. But the room is quiet, the light is on and bright and he can see you for real, now. Without a mirror in a dark room. He can actually see all of you and he seems pleased. You can feel his eyes caressing every exposed inch of your skin. All you want now is to put your hands on him and take away his clothes as well, but your guts are telling you it's not a good idea. He have never said something about what you're allowed to do and what you're not, but since you have no idea of what to do at all, he can take the full lead. Something is telling you that he likes it that way. Even during your rendezvous he was always in control, moving you like a doll while he was fucking you.

Honestly, you also like it this way.

《 Do I have to pick up a safe word?》

Noah rise up, asking you silently to do the same, taking his hand. 《 Do you believe you will need one?》 , he asks just a bit amused, while he's guiding you in the middle of the room. 《 All of this is based on trust, (y/n). If you don't feel okay with the game, we should stop before you get hurt.》

《 You told me it's safe, are you a liar in your own game??》. You don't want to stop. Not now that he is close to you. Not now that his eyes are hypnotizing you. You almost feel the hurge of being touch by these hands, by his lips....

There is nothing you've ever desired more.

《 I'm, sometimes. A liar.》 , he answers. 《 But I'm really serious now. You don't need a safe word because you can just ask me to stop anytime. It's not gonna be chaotic and I'm gonna turn into an animal. We can go slow or fast, as you feel confortable. 》 You nod, but he immediatly scrolls you. 《 I need you to tell me you got it.》

《 I got it, Noah 》 , you speak up. It's really weird the way he's taking the situatuon serious.

《 Turn around, then 》.

You oblige the first command and a rope fall on your chest, passing under your arm, around you till the tailbone. Another one follows and Noah is quick in braiding them around your collarbone. Your neck is free from any bond and it gives you a nice feeling. Noah works around you keeping the focus on your body for minutes and minutes while you try to stay still, switch the weight from one foot to the other with slow moves. Noah warned you: you must he patient. It takes time. The mirror of the closet gives you a peak of what is going on: the red ropes are now on your chest and back, down to your hips. Noah kneels to close the knots on your thighs and you can feel your arousal increase. The room is eletric now, but also quiet. It's the strangest mix of feeling you have ever experimented: the fascination of the unknow, the constriction of the ropes, the quiet atmosphere, the attention to details. The desire to be fucked to tears. You get what Noah was saying about the pleasure of waiting. It's running under your skin, the desire to be hold in his arms, the feeling of his dick thrusting in you.

But instead you get soft kisses on your lower belly, were the ropes meet the edge of your panties. You can't hold a moan, realising that your hands are still free. You thought, when you agree to all of this, that those will be the first to be tied up. Instead, you can run your fingers on his face softly. You fight the urgency of having more and gently, caress his face, while he looks up to you.

Since he's not complaining, you put your thumb on his lower lip, feeling the tip of his toungue touching your skin lightly.

《 you're so beautiful 》. It's just a whisper, but you cant keep this for yourself. Noah is perfect; every move he makes, every gazes, every touch. Everything is in harmony.

《 this is the first time you're having sex like this, right?》 He askes, bringing his lips on your inner thigh to caress it as well while you're shivering.

《 It's doesnt seem like we are having sex, now.》

《 ... No?》 You feel like you have said the wrong thing. 《 Move your bra to the side, then.》

You frown your forehaed for a second before doing as it asked. You try to pull your bra as much as possible to the side to free your nipples. Just a soft shade of pink colors your cheeks, but youre too pridefull to take a step back. Noah moves his hand on a couple of ropes, the ones who are drawing nice lines on your stomac and in a blink those are touching your nipples. The feeling of your sensible spot teased by red raw ropes makes you jolt.

Noah lowers his head again, placing a kiss on your core, still covered by your -now - soaked panties. You're waiting for a sassy comment from him about how wet You're already, but it didn't come. Noah guides a finger along the line of your fold, making you sight.

《 You cant keep your cool anymore, (y/n)?》 Here we go. You were waiting for him to say something. In an unfair move, he takes away from you any chance of a smart reply. Your panties slides to the side and his mounth is there now, where you have dreamt it to be everynight you were touching yourself thinking about Noah. In the second your back arched, you feel the ropes get tigher on your nipples, creating an addictive friction that makes you moan louder. Your hand run to cover your mouth while Noah is too concentrate in give you pleasure to ask you to be quiet. His eyes are pointed on your face, when his long fingers start to enter in you, searching for the right spot to give you as much pleasure as possible.

He was right, someway, this is a way to make sex. You can feel him all over your body, every inch that is touched by a rope is an extention of Noah's hands, lips, mind. Every knot is meticulously done to recreate a net that helps you to stay in place while he is working on you with that malicious tounge he has. In the moment he reaches you clit you can already feel the warmness of the orgasm agitate your guts. Your hands find their own place; one on his solid shoulder and the other in his hair, that you try so hard to not pull, but when it happens,just pays you back with a moan at the center of your core.

The room is filled with the scent of your sex overstimulated, the sound of your moans and his dancing togheter in the air and the wet of his mouth on you. It doesn't take so much for you to cum, the first time.

Noah decides that he won't let you go before you have reach the peak of pleasure other three times. Collapsed on the bed, you feel like all the strength was eradicated from your shaking body. Noah, on the top of you, is just touching himself. Your eyes never met since he started, but if you were able to put the shame aside, he has too. Your shaking arm lifts and with a caress on his cheek, you ask him to look you in the eyes while his hand gives himself pleasure.

And surprisingly, he oblige this request.

His dark, sharp eyes are glued to yours. Every moan and slight he realises make your legs to shake a bit harder and you feel like your body just turned in a bundle of uncovered nevers.

Your hand traces a rail on his jaw and neck, falling on his chest covered in sweat, under his tank top. Even if he is still fully dressed, with just is erection exposed, you find him perfect.

《 ( y/n) ....》

Your name sounds like music on his lips. He's close, you can tell by the way his body tenses. 《 Come on me, Noah.... 》 you whisper in return, lifting his tank top so you can touch his stomach and sides. Instinctively, you open your legs under him, feeling the ropes tighter on your thighs. And is probably this motion along with your skin red because of the friction that lead Noah to his orgasm. Warm withe stripes of pleasure fall on your belly before Noah decides to kneel between your legs, cleaning his hand on the sheets.

You cant take your eyes off his figure, while he reach his phone on the bed table. 《 can I...?》

His breath is still short while he asks you to be part of his collection. You don't reply immediately. 《 You're not going to show it to the others later, right?》

《 No. This is mine.》

《 Jesus Christ Noah》 you try to hide your face with your hand. 《 Don't say that unless you're going to fuck me, please.》

You surprise him and your cheeks are not the only one to flush. 《 Maybe next time...?》

It's realiving, the fact that in his mind there is a next time. 《Then take the picture.》

After he is done with the phone, he bends on you and for a second, a small second, you hope is for a kiss. But is not. He simply starts to free you from the ropes, caressing the bruises in case any has formed. Then he hands you a tissue to clean yourself.

The placid quiet now turned into an awkward silence.

You start to recollect your clothes, a bit annoyed by the sticky in your panties. You can now leave like nothing happen and face Noah every day with this awkward feeling among the two of you or you can try to do something to solve the problem in the beginning.

《 Noah, I was thinking...》 you say while sitting next to him, putting your shoes on. 《 its past dinner time and I'm hungry... do you wanna go somewhere and grab a bite?》

Two scenarios born in your mind: sassy!Noah telling you that he already eaten enough of you or shy!Noah not speaking at all.

That's the reason why you feel so surprised when Noah nods, replying you that Matt told him about a place 24/7 open nearby the hotel.

Like a perfect normal person.

So this lead to scenarios number 3: no attitude at all.

You're not preparare for this.

You're not prepared to face no consequences for your actions.

You're not prepared for him to be cold.