#so im painfully aware of my chest. and its making me painfully aware of every other thing about me.

[thatdude-noah]

i have been out as trans for a while and have gotten pretty used to my body and how i live my life. but every now and then my dysphoria hits me so hard out of nowhere and i feel like i'm completely pre transition again. every little thing about me is getting on my nerves and i can't stop overthinking how i look and how my body is.

[wonniev]

< heavy steps , heavy heart your loves lift all of it >

pair : kimgyuvin x reader

angst(?) , suicidal thoughts , not proofread

thats the most long week ever in your life and all you want to do now is literally crying or actually unalive yourself because you dont even think deep sleep will treat the wound right now. hell what the worse thing right now is these whole week you did not reply a single text message from your boyfriend that make you feel like a bitch person to text him right now seeking comfort.

have been staring at the ceiling in dim lights for solid 20 minutes then you decide to put on mask and hat for walk its like almost 1 am and you think getting hurt and be in dangerous situations sounds better than going to work again.

loud music , busy street , night lights , people cheers drinking , all of that is the reasons you are crying while walking down the street and oh my god you swear that night suddenly everyone aware of your existence , of your big wounds. your destination right now is han river all you wanna do is just sit by the river take a nap and cry. the walk is shorts , you looking for quiet place rather than lot of parents watching their kids running around or a couple is taking a selfie together. theres one spot that had couple of wall bricks that block the street light you sit down and lean over the wall and close your eyes trying to sleep, oh how you wish gyuvin is with you right now so you can place your head on his shoulders and he whispering nothing but sweet word. speaking of him , your phones ringing although its on do not disturb mode he has set that only his contact you can receive calls from. you definitely didn’t want to answer it and listen to him asking why are you didn’t reply to him for weeks or why are you crying but the ringing is making you want to just get over it and all of these are already making you sick of it. you pick the calls up after 10 seconds letting it ringing " you did so well love i hope you resting well do you want me to come over " didn’t expect that will came out then you cried loud enough for your boyfriend to aware of your current state. " oh my love where are you right now can you enable your location for me " .

your boyfriend didn’t said anything and hanging up just like that and right now you just wait if he’s actually coming to you because if he is you already planning in your head to bury your whole body in his chest and has him hold your head kissing your face and all. “ love , " you look up and find him smiling instead of the pitiful face that you definitely didn’t need it. the way he smile make you feel like you able to made him smile even in your worse situations. you quickly open your arms sign for him to give you a comforting hug and he wrapped his hand around your waist place your head on his chest and you start sobbing really loud the sounds fortunately block by how close you were to his body. a good hug cure everything the way you stopped crying after 15 minutes but continue hugging him tightly in drowsiness feeling. your boyfriend is patting your head kiss every each of your face even its all soaked with salty tears. " you so beautifully amazing my love " tears are swelling in your eyes again all of these word are touching your heart so much. your boyfriend unwrapped his arm and hold your face in both of his hands " there’s no other person is strong as much as you baby thank you for still holding on "

he moves to sit next to you holding your hands and take out the tissues he keep in his pocket to wipe your face as he caresses your face gently he looks at you like the prettiest person under the moonlight . " i dont want to make you cry anymore but baby i will always with you and words that you need " you nodded your head and said " hurts. painfully eating me alive but thank you for holding me " his lips is touching yours and he cries you stopped him when you about to said something- " oh how i wish im the fall one instead of you , where im standing right now is because of your hold my love " you bring his face closer and touch both of your lips together .

this is it, the worthy of life . once again universe show you gently that giving up is not the right decision but slowing down the path is . you kiss your boyfriend cheeks and wish to every god to always tie both of you together that one of you would not fell down as the other weight is holding the gravity .

writer notes : i had really rough weeks and i hope everyone that reading this cheer up and thank you for reading 💗

[tastyykpop]

jeno extra filthy degradation please 😭

ᴍ��ᴋᴇ ᴍᴇ

Pairings: jeno x reader

Genre: smut

Warnings: dom/sub themes, degradation, brat!reader, brat tamer!jeno, spanking, fingering, eating out, overstimulation

you were annoying

that was as simple as jeno could make it. he found you absolutely insufferable. and the countless of times you've opened your mouth to make a stupid comment was like nails on a chalkboard.

sure you were pretty and kind to others but not very much to him. you were rude, cocky, and persistent, it was your way of getting his attention. and to say it worked was an understatement, you were on jenos mind 24/7. no matter where, when, or who he was with, he could only think about you. of course, you were the same, but that's because you've had a crush on him since trainee days and almost everyone in SM knew.

jeno knew.

since you worked at SM as a stylist, it was easy to get closer to jeno and work your magic everyday. you were blatant with every touch, every shameless sentence that entailed more then it should, he couldn't quite ignore it either or tell you to shut up. seriously, it doesn't work.

you're a brat, he would say to himself, nothing more than a brat that doesn't know her place.

which in this case, he was correct.

but to him, your behavior was easy to change. he's noticed how you've drawn blanks when he interrogates you on your behavior, how you downplay your wrongs to see him try and hold back his longing to make you submit. it was a game to you clearly, but jeno wanted to beat it.

so how did you end up under jeno so soon in the practice room?

well, the group had been preparing for a dance practice video and you and a few other stylists were called in to help get them prepare for the camera. jeno was trying his best to stay low and out of your sight. it didn't work, but it was worth a shot.

"happy to see me?"

jenos eyes rolled, "I'd be happy if I saw death staring at me in the eyes." he began walking away until you grabbed his arm, making him put his hands over his face.

"dont be like that." you push his hands away now seeing jenos annoyed face. "be lucky you're not stuck with someone else. at least I make your life more interesting.

"interesting or frustrating? I think you've got your words mixed up."

you began applying a light foundation on jenos skin, taking in his angelic features before realizing what he said, "impactful I must say. I know you love me, jeno."

jeno makes a face in disgust pushing your hand away from his face, "youre not my type."

"I dont know. chenle told me otherwise...."

"youre a brat."

"and you're close-minded."

"close- you-"

"done. now go dance and make some fangirls or boys scream." you don't bother turning around as you walk towards the back of the dance practice out of the cameras view.

jeno, somewhat red in the face, stood in his starting position for the choreography, you couldnt help but stare at him in awe. hes gorgeous, you can't lie about that. and the way he moved once the music started playing made you feel different. maybe it was your crush on him, but you heated up very quickly while watching him. other staff members weren't paying as close attention on the boys as you were, only their phones caught their mind. you didn't mind, but damn did they not see how hot jeno was when dancing?

sweaty and out of breath, the boys took a break to get a drink of water.

"you did well- you all did actually." handing jeno a bottle of water, he stared between the thing in your hand and you before taking it and chugging the whole bottle. "but I think mark was the one who stood out to me the most."

"what?"

"mhm. mark was very fluid in his footsteps and his movements were clean and precise. a good dancer I must say."

there's something up. you were staring at him the whole time and he knew it, he danced harder just because you were watching. how could you have seen mark when all you did was stare at jeno?

"and hes cute too. surely he's got a bunch of girls and boys ready to throw themselves at him. I would too, he's absolutely perfect."

jeno balled his fist. what game are you trying to play? "you're testing me." he may not like you, or maybe he did, but something about you talking about someone else like that sparked jealousy in him.

"good. maybe you'll do something about it." you put a hand on his chest, jenos heart pounding fast as you came closer and whispered, "I bet you won't. all bark no bite. pathetic if you ask me."

"youre gonna regret your words if you keep speaking."

"oh really," you leaned back, his eyes pierced your curious ones with a sense of fury and annoyance, "and what are you gonna do? spank me?"

just like that jeno pulled you out of the room and into another practice room. he pulled a chair out from the corner and pulled you over his knee.

"jeno, I was just kid-"

he spanked you hard over and over and over again as you wailed and wrapped a tight hand around jenos ankle for support. each spank was painful and to the point unbearable, yet jeno didn't back down. not after he felt he could break you now.

each time his hand made contact with your ass, felt like he was letting loose all the pent up anger you caused him over the past months you've been working here. for him, it was hell. no matter what people would say to you about him did not dictate his feelings about you. right now, he hated you and needed to let that burning passion out by spanking you. jeno wanted you to feel the hell he endured when around you. sure enough, you were feeling it, crying and sobbing on his thigh like an idiot.

you didn't fight back even though you proposed that you hated it. your body seemed to like it more then you thought.

"youre a pest!" he landed another hard hit, "an annoying pest who needs to learn when to shut the fuck up. now apologize."

"no!" you winced at another hit, squirming- no more like trying to grind on his lap because of how painfully wet you've become in just minutes.

"apologize." he repeated.

"you're- you're an idiot if you think I'll give up!"

jeno stripped you of your pants and panties, "its cute listening to little sluts like you thinking they have power over someone much stronger then them. it must be tiring thinking youre charge." he taunted before spanking you again, this time the impact was far greater and almost caused you to scream before jeno clasped a hand over your mouth. with the same hand, he pushed you off his lap and on the floor, leaving your lower half bare for him to see.

you were a pretty sight, a mess to say the least, but jeno loved that. finally seeing you disheveled with tears leaking down your cheeks, he thought of you as his little crybaby. he tried his hardest not to take a picture.

"don't think I didnt notice how your wet cunt leaked all over my thigh" he began, "do you really get off to being put in your place, slut? is that why we're here right now?"

"d-dont be so full of y-yourself."

"oh? but your dripping all over the practice floor, how could i not." jenos lips were close to your heat, teasing you with his eyes and tongue as he glided it just above where you wanted him.

you had nothing to say, yet your eyes told him everything. told him just how you'd defy him any chance youd get only to make him more upset. it wouldn't be fun if your goal wasn't to piss him off.

jeno kept his tongue away from your most needed area, his lips kissing anything but your dripping heat as you bucked your hips into his face. jenos hands would push your hips down and back his face away frowning at your behavior and returning to what he was previously doing. you weren't done though, since he was holding your hips, you grabbed his hair and forced his head where you needed him. his tongue inside you was far from good, it was amazing. and though you realized jeno wasn't pushing your hand away, you pushed and pulled his hair as you kept his head in place so he couldn't stop.

the long strides and the smooth rhythm he had was enough to make you arch against the floor, gasping and calling out his name far to loudly for his liking. but with watchful eyes and a steady tongue, he shamelessly enjoyed it yet he had to be aware of the people in the building. one loud moan and someone would sure walk in to see what's up.

so jeno swatted your hand away from his head and lifted up with a frown. he liked the frightened look on your face as he leaned closer and closer, "if you're this much of a slut for people to hear us, we might as well have just stayed where everyone else was."

"thats hot." you stated blankly, jenos eyebrow raised before realizing how far gone you practically were, with how big and dilated your eyes are. "w-wait no! I'll stay quiet I promise."

"No you wont." jeno got up and grabbed your underwear that layed on the floor, then shoved it in your mouth allowing you to taste yourself. "stay quiet, fucktoy."

"fucktoy?- oh fuck!" you mumbled into your panties as his fingers protruded inside you. at least you were quieter this time.

"tell me when youre about to cum." he said just above a whisper as he watched you slip further and further into bliss. the way your eyes rolled to the back of your head with each skillful thrust from jenos fingers made his cock grow harder each second. you were so hot, so damn beautiful as you moaned into the panties like a little bitch. jeno loved it too much to say he hated you.

"feels good- f-feels so good, j-jeno." you said quietly into the panties. it was getting harder and harder for you to keep silent as he began rubbing your clit like a desperate man, hungry for your cum. but you did your best keeping low.

you grinded against on his hand, inching closer and closer to what you believed to be your orgasm. clentching tightly around jenos fingers you gasped and spat your panties out, "jeno! i-im gonna-

"cum, fucktoy." he insisted, never removing his fingers from your wet hole as a white substance spilled out. he kept going, in and out, in and out as you clamped a hand over your mouth. so much sensitivity and his fingers were still going.

"stop i-i can't take it!" you found his wrist and tightly held it as you attempted to pull him out.

"youre gonna take this like a good bitch until I want to stop." he said right as your second orgasm washed through you.

too much. you could barely think straight and even tried pulling your hips back but his fingers followed.

too sensitive. you could barely breathe because of the overwhelming sensitivity. yet in a twisted way, it felt good in a strange way. maybe it was the pain of cumming over and over or how jeno worked his fingers. either way, you could feel another one building up.

"please, please, please." you cried hoping for the end, but there was no way jeno was stopping.

"apologize and this will be your last one." He stuck his fingers deeper, if that were possible, and watched you squirm trying to find words to say, but all that came out was drool. "disgusting whore." you slapped him in the face for that.

"I-i am not sor-sorry!"

"im not playing these games anymore. say you're sorry."

jeno growled, deeper and deeper he went and faster and faster he goes before your third orgasm of the day came. your legs shook and your grip got tighter but still to no avail did he stop.

you were very persistent on making jeno angry before, but now you seemed to have started rethinking that apology. "im sorry."

"for?"

"for being rude to you!" you legs shook again and that feeling in your stomach was back, "i-im sorry jeno, but p-please I can't take it!"

he did it. he broke you. and with that he finally pulled his fingers away letting all your cum out.

you cried softly, still a shaking mess from the orgasms and jeno, well he didn't care all too much but he knew he probably shouldn't be too harsh with you about now. so he gently took you in his arms, sitting your bare bottom right on his lap as he rocked you slowly.

"im never leaving after this." you say slowly, "and I know you don't hate me either, I can feel your boner against my ass."

jeno pinches your arm and shushes you. god, you were a pest and maybe youre right. maybe he doesn't hate you like he proclaimed he did. maybe he did enjoy this session in the practice room, but he won't ever say it. not because he's afraid to admit it, but because he doesn't want you to rub it in his face.

[jean-does-not-have-a-horseface]

Stiller Than a Statue

Another day, another nsfw fic. I'm spoiling y'all 😭😭 Im not only blushing but I’m also set to leave you hot and bothered. (Pssspspsp if you want to get in the ✨mood✨ I can always link you to the songs I listened while I was writing. All you have to do is ask away.) Anyways, I hope you enjoy babes.<3

Summary: Jean is eager to get on his knees for you, no matter the time and place

Pairing: Jean/ Reader

Tags/ Warnings: Nsfw, 18+

The sound of your back hitting the cold tiles of the bathroom stall was admittedly much louder than the hitched breath that escaped you. You barely had time to take back your yelp though before a pair of hot lips launched onto the soft of your neck, placing a variety of soft pecks where ever they could find an open spot.

A mellow shushing murmur left your lover’s lips while a sole slender finger came to brush upon your lower lip ever so slowly; it sent agonizing shivers down your weakened spine, raising the hair on your nape painfully as if to salute him for his sweet assault on your neck.

“Be a good girl for me and stay still and quiet alright baby?”

Jean’s painfully blunt digits were set on your waist, pressing on different areas of your skin with the slightest of pressure, tapping softly in the most teasing manner into the dips of your back. It was hard for you to answer with anything other than a yelp especially when the longing churning of your stomach had just started to make its presence known.

Still, you contemplated on whether nodding was the right answer. Jean was hovering over your ear, leaving dangerously wet breaths just behind your lobe, while his fingertips were finally starting to tease the millimiters of the hem of your skirt. The mellow, occasional contact his fingertitps made with the peach fuzz on your stomach was bound to send waves of agony in your heart, and the vital organ took every little shock proudly, responding with heaping up its fast supply of blood to your whole body.

A single, smoking hot peck was placed onto your right collarbone, the sound it made barely filled your ears through the sound of the loud thud of your heartbeat. You bit your lips, eager to let out a fresh yelp as Jean places another kiss onthe middle of your chest as he pushed past the hem of yout shirt with this jaw.

His hand lost its focus on the hem of your skirt and was set to travel lower, pushing past the soft pleats of cloth and scrunching the fabric until the loose end of your cloth reached to the flat of his palm. Jean pulled away from your face in an instant, giving you enough time to take a good look of the devilish smirk that was plastered on his face.

Jean's hand took a hold of your thigh, hot skin meeting hot skin as he proceeded to drag his touch upwards, towards the dips of your hips. His fingers were on fire today, their teasing reaching an impicable standard as they ticked over the soft skin that protected your hipbone.

Jean allowed a low grunt to escape him, as he feels just underneath your panties, hooking his finger on the hem before tagging on the right side in vain pressure.

"Jean, please" you whined, eyes shut as if it was that only factor that could lower the sound of your voice.

Jean chuckled in reply and placed a soft kiss on your jawline. "I think I told you to be quiet. Do you want us to be found out?"

Jean's hazel orbs glimmered into you as if demanding an immediate answer. You shook your head as some saliva gathered fiercely in your throat, the slight sound of your coughing though was drowned by your surrender to Jean's piercing gaze.

"You're so smug." You chocked.

"Yeah, but you like it, don't you?"

Looking away was the way to go, you decided, or else your heart was going to burst. You felt Jean hook another finger to the other side of your underwear and this time his tagging became evident and exclusively demanding. Thus by submitting to his wordless plea you lifted your knee, wiggling your hips as he pulled the lacy piece of cloth down and off of you.

"You won't be needing them anymore."

You chocked on your moan as Jean left a peck on the top of your shoulder, missing the way he pocketed your white lady underwear like a trophy as the hair on his chin softly scratched your tender, red skin. And then, his knees bucked, his hands leaving your skirt to fall back down on your thighs, as his face came to bump into and between your clothed legs.

"Jean!"

The trim of your skirt was handed to you next, Jean's significantly bigger hand guiding the motion of clasping around the article of clothing.

Your eyes widened as you came into realisation of what he was setting his mind to. The dwelling of the thought in your brain aroused you and you let out an inaudible whine, your stiff back pushing further into the cold tile behind you.

"Mmmh," Jean purred against the skin of your thigh "that's it, let's see if you can keep your moans in."

"You're telling me to be quiet-" you started, but were quickly interrupted by a slow kiss on your thigh.

"But in reality-" you panted, "you're the one talking way too much."

As soon as the words left your mouth, you wished you had kept them to yourself. For starters, they didn't come as smug and teasing as you had wanted them to; your breath was hitched and crushed between the painful lumb in your throat and your larynx. All this, borderline pathetic, attempt to entice in Jean's teasing had only caused his face to be bathed by his own swelling pride.

"Well yeah but my talking won't be a problem anymore."

The dragging tag of his teeth on your tender skin brought goosebumps to your legs, the soft peach fuzz of your hips slightly rising against the tiny light that entered the bathroom.

"Now hold your skirt up for me."

Your gut growled at the words, melting furiously as it begged to make your knees go weak.

There was this everlasting fixation of yours over that phrase; whenever he chose to give this order to you, you simply lost it -and you were sure he was well aware- feeling the need to blindly comply to him and wait to be sent to cloud nine in which ever way he had decided to.

You watched as he closed his eyes, his nose brushing with your hot skin as it huffed teasingly puffs of cold air. His palms came to cup under your buttocks prompting you to let yourself a little loose in the assurance that he held you.

The feeling of safety warmed you up from within, merging with the excitement the location you were in provided you. You simply mewled, feeling yourself give in to Jean's hands, kneeling slightly towards his face. Quickly enough and only when a leg was thrown over his shoulder, your hand shot to his ashy blond locks, your fingers running through the different lengths of his mane.

The anticipation of his tongue didn't kill you unlike what you had previously believed and even though the muscle ghosted over you, it shiftly launched onto you, earning a half loud moan from the depths of your chest.

The flick of his tongue made your toes curl inside your shoes, your lifter leg had instantly transformed in a motionless log. The need to put all the focus to your core was carnal, and it ignited with each stroke of Jean's tongue.

His full top lip brushed over your bundle of nerves teasingly before he pulled back for an instant, just to allow the cold air to hit you. You hissed in response, tagging harshly onto his hair to push him back into you, but only his hand came to sprawl over your lower stomach, his thumb giving a few sensual flicks on the skin just above the are that you needed to feel such friction at.

By the time he dived back in your mind was hazy enough to ignore the mischievous smile he put on. You only felt his nose rub just on the hollow spot where your thigh met the inside of your hip, the teasing ghosting of his tongue hitting you once again.

As he felt the grip on his hair loosen though he took a determined delve, muffling the sound of his slurping with trapping the area he was focusing on with his lips.

His lavishing on you was slow, tormenting and too much all at once, it was overstimulating you to the point your eyes had grown teary, yet Jean was restlessly licking away, twirling and kissing sloppily on you.

He wasn't expecting you to help that loud at a certain flick of his tongue, but when it happen he slowly pulled back, tilting his head to your direction so that you could take a good look at his face.

"Please be quiet" he moaned, planting a hungry kiss over your hip bone.

His hazel eyes were bringing holes into your orbs as they were trapping your attention explicitly. His lips locked on your skin next, giving a harsh suck at the spot as you felt his teeth sinking into the sore flesh.

"Jean, if you- if you, please-"

"Huh? Please what?" He traveled down to your thigh, sulking over the creamy textured skin before worrying it too between his teeth.

"I'm not far!"

"Far from what?" He popped off the now burgundy spot, quickly launching onto another. "Use your words."

While your abdomen begged for attention, Jean returned to your heat, dragging his tongue agonisingly slow all over you.

"I'm listening, (y/n)."

"I want to come." You panted in a soft whine as silently as you could muster, not breaking eye contact with the ashy blond.

"And you want it so much don't you?"

You gulped down, sinking your button lip under your front teeth before nodding vigorously. He spared you an empathetic look as he pouted his lips

"Well too bad, I want to take my time with it."

"Please!" You whined with such a trembling voice.

"Okay then," he panted "your wish is my command."

With that his fingers dug into your buttocks once again, prompting you impossibly onto him. You felt yourself break a little, a small cry leaving you as you felt Jean buck into you further, enjoying your reaction far too much.

When your eyes shut, your abdomen coiled vigorously; your back arched dangerously into Jean's face, your knees completely giving, your weight ploppled onto Jean's palms. You were sure your hands gripped painfully into his hair but you couldn't control your antics. Cold sweat run through your whole body as you supressed what should have been a loud moan, your chest tightening beyond dangerously as your breath trapped itself in your lungs.

As you rode your orgasm out, Jean rubbed his nose against you, not afraid to get messy with the slickness he had caused upon you. The smug smile returned to his face for the thousandth time while he worked on helping you on your feet. Your skirt unravelled down your legs in an instant as he took your hands in his, covering you up in the process.

"Oh fuck Jean, what was thaaaat? Ahhh" You purred, not finding it on you to raise your voice further.

"Mmm, well, don't look at me like that. Weren't you beeeeegging for it a couple of minutes ago?"

You watched as he wiped himself with the back of his hand, his fingers rubbing between his thin goatee, leaving the occasional scratch here and there. The smile he sparred you only made your gut twitch in delight.

"Admit it!"

"What?" You asked, patting your hands over yourself to smooth your clothes while simultaneously looking around for your missing pair of panties.

"Looking for these?" Jean cocked an amused eyebrow at you, flexing your panties onto his pointer finger for you. He only flicked them in his palm as you leaned in and tried to take a grab of them, a deep chuckle escaping him once again. "Admit that you love it when we have sex outdoors!?"

"Isn't that a given fact? Now give me my panties!"

"Ah, ah." He shook his head in denial.

"Huh?"

"If you reeeally want them, you'll come and take them!" He mocket next, stuffing the white pair of knickers in his pocket once again.

"Jean!" You whined, though this time you smiled mischievously at him in the exact same way he did to you.

The ashy blond male took a step in your direction, hovering his tall form over you. His hand came to trap you from your right, pressing up against the cold tiles of the stall so much that his body only moved towards yours.

You let a happy sound leave you when his forehead clashes with yours, your eyes instantly shutting to accentuate the serene expression that was masking your face. Jean let out a half giggle at you, closing his eyes as well while he brought his nose to yours, booping his slender tip over yours as he scrunched up his nostrils.

"Your pus-"

"-Sy is the best? Oh Jeanbo you're so predictable." You laughed and bumped your nose to his further.

"A wonderland, I was about to say wonderland." He laughed back.

"You're also very, very cheesy."

"But you love it!"

His eyes squinted beautifully from the angle you were eyeing him; your heart tugged in your chest upon another glance, enjoying how happy he looked in your pleasurable presence. Dammit, you could never get enough of seeing him like this.

"As much as I love you"

You whispered and planted a kiss on his cheek.

Taglist: @melancholicmonologue @ackermans-freedom-inc @nobody-knows-anymore @berrijam @thethyri @levisbrat25

[oneprompt]

ITS ME AGAINN HI LOVE!! I love your writing I cannot resist <3. Maybe, a one night stand with ace ? (Nsfw I’m down bad yes….) and female reader. it’s kind of like the typical one night stand, you meet somewhere and things get heated quickly…. BUT ALSO LIKE you’re literally the best he’s ever had and he’s pretty surprised UMM IDK IF THAT MAKES SENSE 😭😭 IK IM KIND OF AWKWARD HAHA but I hope you’re having a good afternoon 🧡

authors note: hello , dolly <3 im deeply sorry for doing this so late ;; hopefully this makes up for the wait... please indulge yourself to the fullest + i just realized how short this is .. my apologies ;; i’ll make sure to make your next request the best i possibly can ..

NSFW WARNING BELOW , DO NOT READ IF SUCH A TOPIC IS DISCOMFORTING.

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Ace x F! Reader , One Night Stand Oneshot

tags : ( brief mentions of ) alcohol , vaginal sex , rough sex , ( brief + slight ) masochism

All it took was a few cups of vodka to have you two landed upon each other, limbs tangled up, pleasure coursing through your veins. It had all happened so fast, you could hardly remember what had happened.

You merely attended a party full of different crews, a banquet of sorts. Not a fancy one, no. A fun one, one that disregarded the need for cotton shirts and newly shined shoes. you had met Ace, chatting up a storm with the young man. Well, less chatting and more so flirting. Wether it was through seductive purrs or the occasional rub of a palm against his scorching skin. You two didn’t bother to hide your shameless flirting throughout the party. Not that it was a huge deal, most people went there trying to make their way into the pants of others

You had no shame as you and Ace went off to a more private area. I mean, what was there to be ashamed of? Who didn’t want to sleep with Fire Fist Ace?

And now, you laid down upon your stomach, Ace’s hands wandering your body. One spread out your soaking hole, your greedy pussy dripping with excitement. His other hand stayed gripping your hip tightly, preventing you from squirming away.

“You’re so wet, Y/n... what’s that all about?” Ace cooed out in a rather teasing tone, showing zero regards for the blush that perked upon your cheeks after he said that. He knew exactly what it was about, he just wanted to hear you say that.

You buried your face further into the depth of the pillows that laid atop of the bed sheets. “You know exactly what that’s about,” you huffed, which caused a raspy laugh to fall from Ace’s well sculpted frame. You could just tell what face he was making, just from the tone of his voice. An endless plane of smugness splayed across his freckled features. What a dick.

You were about to snap back with a snarky remark but your thought process was cut off as soon as you felt a sudden sense of fullness intrude the depths of your cunt. God, he was big. Was he in all the way? You couldn’t help but wonder. Part of you hoped so, as his dick was already pressed firmly within you but you also couldn’t help but wonder what pained pleasure could come from it being even larger.

A loud moan was swallowed by the pillows your face was pressed into, the cotton absorbing the noise you made as Ace slammed balls deep into your warmth. He was far bigger then you could’ve imagined. But again, what should you have expected from the son of the late Pirate King? You should’ve expected nothing but the best.

You continued producing lewd noises, ones that consistently were swallowed by the pillows. Ace really didn’t hold back, never ending the blunt force of his hips, his hips quaking desperately to fill you with every inch of him. You felt so god damn good, the way your insides clutched upon his shaft made Ace’s body tremble with ecstasy everytime he pulled back to push further in.

You were so good, almost too good. You were merely a one night stand, a woman who could surely extend into a friend after this night. Just a friend and nothing more. Well, that’s what Ace had planned. Ace wasn’t low enough to have sex with a girl and never speak to her again but he had planned to just become your friend, nothing like a boyfriend or anything of the sort. But with the way you writhed and tightened on him, it was giving him second thoughts. You were far too delicious to only feast on once, he knew that.

The view of your ass shaking with the needless pounding of his dick was a view he couldn’t pass up. Everything about you was perfect. The moans you let out were painfully erotic and the way your body was highlighted with sweat was far too sexy for him to ignore.

Perhaps... you’d be happy enough to be his fuck buddy or better, his partner. Ace wasn’t sure about status yet but all he knew was that he couldn’t let you go, he couldn’t let this type of sex slip through his fingers so easily.

And so, he didn’t. Even if it was just for tonight, Ace would use you to the fullest, pumping your pussy full of his musky semen, filling you to the brim. You were too good, certainly the best woman he had ever done such a thing with, upon all of his voyages.

And you were so hot. Everything about you made him go crazy, it seemed. It was that way even as the night was young. The way you fluttered your lashes at him as your hand would playfully collide with his shoulder made him tent in his pants every so slightly. You were too much for him. Ace wanted you more then anything. The thought of you screaming his name through the entire night never ceased to be. When you approached him in your rather skimpy outfit, Ace could only imagine bending you backwards upon the bar, taking you then and there. Now, he could. And there was no way in hell he would pass up the chance to milk this.

Even if he wasn’t aware, the feeling was just as mutual. You had been purposefully rubbing up on him all night, wether accidentally letting your thighs rub against Ace’s as you would get up to talk to your friends or placing your hands on his arms to ‘feel’ his muscles and inspect his tattoos. All of that had made your crotch ace and drip, every inch of him was infatuating to you. You couldn’t believe Ace would even do such a thing with you.

Many women could only imagine being plowed by Portgas D. Ace, son of Gol D. Roger. And you were one of the few women to have him inside of you, that feeling alone was electrifying. You could only imagine the jealous glares you’d receive if anyone found out. Part of you wanted that, yearned to see people jealous over you, over the fact you were drenched with Ace’s cum and repeatedly rocked back and fourth by his girthy dick.

“Ace!” You cried out, throat growing dry and tight from the strong strain of your vocal chords. This was too much for you, it felt so good. The way Ace used his hips with euphoric, he was one of few men who knew what to do with their bodies, surely. It was magical, running from your overstimulated brain to your curled toes. “I think...i’m going to cum!” You whimpered our, voice filling the room, pillows no longer capable of containing the beast.

Beads of sweat dribbled down Ace’s well built chest, grazing the hues of his nipples. He looked down at your body, feeling your walls close upon him, squeezing him as if they were yearning for his seed.

The sensation of Ace’s thick cum shooting into you triggered something deep inside of you, breaking your self control in two pieces. The way it reached your deepest parts made your eyes roll back, long lashes dotted with hot tears.

Your fluid coated his dick, slinking it’s way downward to his balls. Your arousal painted his shaft and the sheets that held you two, becoming damp with both sweat and cum.

Ace hadn’t bothered to pull out, yet didn’t move. The room was merely full of nearly eternal panting and gasping, shaky breaths acting almost endless. It took you quite a bit to muster up the energy to speak, your brain still rendered useless from all the pleasure.

“That was amazing...” You looked back at Ace, giving him a tired smile. Your heart sunk as you noticed Ace smirk widely, snickering ever so slightly. Oh boy....

“Who says we’re done, Y/n?” Ace whispered huskily, pushing his black curls backward, wiping sweat from his brow as he stared down at your nude form.

[1kook]

some way, some how

jeon jungkook x (f) reader

Summary: Maybe you don’t know Jungkook as well as you thought you did. Maybe he doesn’t know you. Warnings: emotional constipation, toxic ex, internalized misogyny, jk has bad experiences w/his ex’s dad, one scene where jk throws up, brief episode of panic, mentions of terminal cancer (minor); smut; fingering, praise kink, face fucking, spitting kink, cunnilingus, unprotected sex on top of a car im sorry Misc: autoshop owner!jk, businesswoman!oc, slice of life, childhood crushes, friends to lovers, ex gfs, pining, country bumpkin pjm w/crush on oblivious oc, ex-bf kth but it’s not real lol Wc: 19.4k (wow!!!)

the spirit of auto shop jk possessed me n next thing i knew i was 11k into a drabble. if ur curious: the 1975 corvette, car at the end, the tweed suitskirt (not actually chanel ☹️sowwyyy) also: this is the longest fic I've written!!!!! clap for me!!!!! i proofread the first few paragraphs n was like thats enough professionalism for the day

inspired by ain’t no mountain high enough one of my fave songs ever🥺 the title is a lyric from the song bc i love it so much enjoy !!

The garage is mostly dark when you enter, the faint hum of a radio quietly filtering through the stagnant room, its source coming from the back wall, where the only light is. It’s a rolling lamp, shining down an ugly yellow glow onto the figure of one man.

Jungkook’s sitting in that same rolling stool he always is, the metal one that’s rusted beyond repair, the cushion so uncomfortably flat. He’s caught up in whatever paint job he’s been tasked with this time around, a classic muscle car from what looks like the 80’s. He’s humming along to the radio, so caught up in stenciling out his design that he doesn’t notice you creep behind him until you’re very purposefully rattling the tool cart beside him, a teasing “boo!” making him jump.

“Fuck, you scared me,” he gasps, rubs over his chest as if to check if his heart is in fact still there. You grin, brandish your bag of takeout out for him before he can lecture you on the dangers of startling people who work around very complex machinery. Instead, all he says is, “you’re an angel.”

Once you’ve got the food carefully scattered across his work bench, your cherry cola tucked next to a canister of gasoline like that’s the safest practice, Jungkook wastes no time diving into all the details of his project, the 1975 Chevy Corvette behind him. The longer you look at it, the more you feel you’ve seen it somewhere. Probably a car show, you presume.

“Purrs like a kitten,” he sighs dreamily, completely ignoring the way half his toppings slide out from the opposite end of his cheeseburger. You don’t, and you swipe a fallen pickle from his tray before he can catch you.

��A kitten?” You ask, glance over at the car. It’s desperately in need of a paint job, and you only realize this now as you stare at it more in depthly. The niggling feeling that you know this car is still there, but you ignore it in favor of indulging your best friend. “Don’t people usually compare cars to bigger, better cats?”

There’s a taped stencil running alongside the car, a thick stripe followed by a thinner one, and you suppose Jungkook’s trying to spice her up, give her back the same youthfulness she probably had in her prime. What better way to do so than by adding some classic stripes alongside it.

Jungkook hums, gulps down his soda noisily. “Not this one. Never heard an engine as soft as hers.”

You roll your eyes. For a minute, the two of you quietly chew through your burgers, the radio filling in the gaps while you analyze the car. You know this car, but you can’t remember where. Jungkook coughs into his palm, probably from trying to inhale his fries too fast like he does every time you go to the diner you’re eating from today.

The diner.

A mouthful of braces. A pretty waitress. A strict dad.

“Holy shit, this is Sojin’s dad’s car,” you inhale, the memories from high school suddenly hitting you full force. Jungkook chokes, out of surprise this time, and furiously goes to deny your claims. “This is totally his car. The one he tried to run you over with when he caught you trying to put her on the back of your bike.”

“He didn’t try to run me over,” Jungkook whines, and the tips of his ears are red from your revelation.

You glare. “Why are you fixing that asshole’s car for him?” You interrogate, the last quarter of your burger forgotten in favor of squeezing the truth out of him. You’d had enough of that treacherous woman and her equally deranged father causing Jungkook trouble, and to catch him still helping her now, almost ten years later, was enough to make a brain vessel pop.

He shrugs, avoids your eyes as he picks through his fries. The radio is still on, some tune you recognize from those old days at the diner when Jungkook had become so unbelievably smitten with the part timer that served you milkshakes every Wednesday afternoon.

He had been in love with her the moment he saw her, and the look in his eyes was only magnified by those dorky glasses he wore pre-lasik. You'd been his friend long enough, recognized the jump of his scrawny thigh beneath the table. Like a bunny, thumping in excitement at the sight of her.

Sojin was... full of surprises.

She was nothing less than a supermodel, long legs carrying her around the diner as if it was her runway. She was nice too, so you hadn’t originally had an excuse to dislike her. She was nice, and so endeared with your best friend that it was inevitable when they began dating. Her presence consumed the end of your high school careers, overtook the time that should have been yours and Jungkook’s last year before being thrown into adulthood. He decided on studying at a technical school nearby—per your encouragement to save money—while you travelled five hours out for your degree in business. That last year, when you had finally come to terms with your feelings, had been so painfully ripped away by Sojin and her never-ending list of teenage drama, and by Sojin’s dad and his overbearing need to police her and Jungkook every chance he got.

Jungkook still hung out—“Sojin was busy, do you wanna do something?”—but more often than not those hang outs consisted of Jungkook telling you about her and her dad, about how hard he tried to get into his good graces.

The bike incident had only been one of many. Times where Jungkook would put his heart—and life—on the line for that girl only for it to be in vain every time she broke up with him over the simplest things. You’d heard stories from Jungkook, all told with a tight smile, of a handshake that would bruise, a man chasing him with a bat, of a car following him to school. All things he put up with for a girl who didn’t care for him. One day, after Jungkook had grudgingly sat through an hour long dinner with her family, the stare of her father piercing through him, she broke up with him because she didn’t like how long his hair had gotten.

(If anyone were to ask you, he was handsome with long hair. Dreamy even.)

He cut it that same day.

As her childishness grew, you quickly came to dislike her. She strung Jungkook around, you thought, and just when you thought she was finally done toying with him and making his life difficult in the sneakiest ways, the damn kid started hitting the gym. His growing frame, toned arms and now straightened teeth had turned him into a heartthrob, and Sojin was just as aware of this as you were. “Don’t we look perfect together?” She’d ask, twirl around him like they were on the cover of a magazine and not standing on his chipped front porch.  

Needless to say, by the time graduation had rolled around you despised the woman. You absolutely disliked how she treated Jungkook, how she let her father treat Jungkook without ever stepping up and defending him. Granted, you didn’t know exactly what went on in her household behind closed doors, you’d seen enough of her uncaring attitude to want to ram her and her dad’s head against the hood of the car.

Which is why seeing the old car, in Jungkook’s shop nonetheless, was rekindling a boiling hatred in your chest. “That man should rot in hell for all he put you through,” you huff, glare at the car like it holds some magical connection to him and he can feel the intensity of your stare.

“___,” Jungkook scolds, swirls his cup around to distract himself. “He was just trying to protect his only daughter,” he defends, quietly, like it’s what he tells himself to justify all those years of mistreatment. Even when he and Sojin had continued through college, it had never stopped. You, being five hours away, couldn’t do a damn thing. “Besides, the guy’s old as hell now.”

You snort, finally breaking your staring match with the car. Glancing at Jungkook, he’s got that same forlorn expression on his face, the one he started wearing when he first came to terms with the fact that her dad would never like him. There was a time it was stuck permanently on his face, the pressure and the discomfort that came from the father of the girl you’ve dated for five years looking at you like you were nothing more than a speck of dirt on the bottom of his shoe.

When you came back from school, educated and confident, you almost didn’t recognize your best friend. Tall and broad, tattoos splattered over his arm. Hair long like you loved it, but eyes still as round and wondrous as they’d been when you were kids. He had his own place now, he told you, and you vaguely remembered all the times he mentioned him and Sojin moving in together, mentally preparing yourself to see that wench for the first time in a while.

Much to your surprise, there was no Sojin in sight. No lingering artifacts of her presence. Nothing that showed she existed in this space besides an ugly orange mug she’d given him for his birthday one year, tucked into the very back of his cabinets. They’d broken up, he explained. Almost immediately after graduation.

After stringing him along for the better part of five years, she had decided this wasn’t what she wanted. No, what she wanted was a man ten years her senior with an abundance of cash to flow. Jungkook hadn’t cried. Hadn’t even looked the tiniest bit upset when you ordered pizza and drank some beer, watched your favorite episodes of The Simpsons like you were seventeen and avoiding your homework again.

You stayed the night, a little too tipsy to drive home. Besides, Jungkook had a spare bedroom. It was a room beside his, just a full bed with a chest of drawers. You liked it, liked the scent of him surrounding you after only seeing each other for a couple weeks in between months of distance. You liked it, because when he shifted in bed you realized the beds were pressed against the same wall, and you liked it until the shared wall spared you no secrets, and you listened to him quietly sob into his pillow.

“Old or not, he’s still the devil,” you murmur, snapping back to the present where Jungkook is wheeling himself closer to the car again. “Where did you find that thing anyway?”

He stays silent, quietly pretending like he still has something to do on the car besides paint it. Then, “I bumped into Sojin at the store.”

You sigh, drop your head between your shoulders. You can only imagine what whirlwind of a sob story she had to throw on him to win this favor.

“Kook,” you start, gauging his reaction only from his backside. His muscles ripple beneath his dark t-shirt, his usual red jumpsuit knitted around his waist. “What happened?”

Again, silence.

You say nothing, let him sort through the hurt on his own while you creep up behind him, sliding your hands over his shoulders and pressing down on the cricks behind his neck. He melts into your touch, head lolling forwards as a quiet sigh escapes him.

“She told me she was low on cash, and she needed the car to get to work,” he confesses, and from his ducked position, his voice trembles. You roll your eyes.

“And the paint job?”

A particularly rough press of your fingers has a whimper escaping him. God, this boy needed to see a chiropractor and a masseuse soon. All that hunching over and under these cars was doing a number on his back.

“I… I figured I might as well fix up the exterior too.” Of course he would, you think, Jungkook’s heart was stupidly big and easy to manipulate. He would get so swept up in it sometimes, trying to do the best he can for everyone’s benefit that he’d ignore himself.

You sit in his confession, fingers digging into his skin for a few minutes as you consider what to say.

The mature adult in you, the logical half of you, wants to hit him upside the head, scold him for letting that wench into his life again so easily. You were going on twenty-six now, all three of you, and you didn’t have time to be fixing him every time that childish woman decided to toy with him. Granted, it’s been four years since you last saw her, since you heard him muffle his cries on the other side of the wall, and you liked to think Jungkook was a respectful adult of society now. He didn’t have time to get dragged around by self-absorbed women with insane fathers.

The other part, the best friend since childhood, wants to run away. Wants to pack Jungkook into a suitcase and take him far away from here and from her. Unlike you, who now lived in the city, Jungkook had stayed in your small hometown, a quiet place just outside the bustling city. It was difficult to ensure his happiness when you were always forty-five minutes out of reach. It would be so much easier to just take him and fly to another province, maybe on the beach, Jungkook loved the beach.

“Listen,” he says, successfully pulling you out from your spiral. “I know what you’re gonna say and I just wanna tell you it’s not like that.”

You blink, hands stilling on his shoulders. Your lack of movement allows him to spin around on his chair, gaze up at you with the same shiny gaze he’s given you ever since you were kids. “I’m just doing her this tiny favor. She looked...” he trails off, face scrunching to find the words.

“Like shit?” You propose, and he smiles. “Like flaming dumpster shit behind a club?”

Jungkook laughs, loud and beautiful. You want to kiss the mole beneath his lip.

“She looked bad, okay?” He settles, reaches forward to take your palm in his. You’re standing between his thighs, and you wonder how he would have acted if you were Sojin. “Don’t think things worked out with that CEO she was dating. I’m just giving her a push.”

You sigh, try to push those crestfallen sobs to the back of your head. “Okay,” you agree, briefly glancing back at the damn car. “You fix her car, and that’s it,” you state. Jungkook nods, makes a little X over his heart. He knows how much you hate that woman. “No funny business.”

“No funny business,” he agrees, then reaches down for a white spray can. “You wanna spray some dicks on it before I paint it?”

“Please,” you laugh, taking the face mask he offers you with a grin.

—

One day your car starts making a weird noise as you pull out of the underground parking garage of your building. It’s somewhere between a pig squealing and metal scraping. You’ve been around Jungkook long enough to know this is probably something to do with your breaks, something about them being loose or old, one of the two. You have a short day at work today. There’s repairs being done to the office you work at, so everyone’s been spending more time working from home.

You leave work a little after two pm, head pounding from the hour long meeting you sat through, the mediocre business proposals your boss had asked you to look through and file. There’s a hefty load of emails waiting in your inbox, mostly the interns requesting you write them a recommendation letter. You’ll have to look through those later, pick out the good ones and write them each a unique piece kissing the ground they walk on.

The scent of freshly fried donuts hits your nose as you pull into your old town; the bakery down the road from Jungkook’s has their windows open. You can already taste the sweetness on the tip of your tongue, the iced coffee cooling your insides as you sit and watch Jungkook work on your car.

Jungkook’s shop is on the corner of the street, takes up a huge chunk with it’s massive garage and driveway; the office area is tiny compared to the sheer size of the actual work floor. There’s music blaring through the overhead speakers, and when you pull in you recognize it as Jimin’s playlist.

“Morning, Miss,” the country bumpkin says, leaning against your car door as you rifle through your purse. “What’re you in for?”

“Hi, Jimin,” you reply sweetly, take his hand as he helps you out the door. You very vaguely explain the noise your car had made that morning, glancing around the shop as Jimin gets to work inspecting it. “Where’s Jungkook?”

Jimin’s waving over some other employees, all greeting you in their matching red jumpsuits. “Kook’s in the office,” he tells you, and it’s almost sensual the way his hand glides over your palm for your keys. God, you needed to get laid. “Has some lady friend in there with him.”

You pause, the bustling of the crew behind you fading into the background. Something inside you snaps, and you whirl around the garage, before catching sight of a 1975 Chevy Corvette, almost unrecognizable from how you’d last seen it. It’s bright red now, a color you only briefly saw before you’d left the other night, with two, lightning bolt racing stripes decorating each side. It looks new, almost in mint condition, and the fact it’s still here has you storming through the garage.

Your heels clack loudly, the crew moving to the side as you torpedo straight into the offices. You barely remember to greet the receptionist before you’re stomping straight into the main office.

There’s no knock, no warning given, before you’re flinging the door open, seeing exactly what you’d expected. 

“___,” Jungkook stutters, jumping onto his feet from his position on the couch. He looks frantic, wide eyes flickering between you and the woman sitting in front of him, her back turned to you. But you’d recognize that silhouette anywhere.

“Did you say ___?” She says, and she’s still as tall and as beautiful as you remember her. Had it not been for the heels you wore, you don’t doubt she’d tower over you. She flashes you a killer smile, lips carefully painted red. It almost looks murderous. “My! ___, you haven’t changed a bit,” Sojin exclaims, rushing around the couch to pull you into a tight hug. You don’t return it.

You let her cling to you for a second, before pushing her away as gently as you can by the shoulders. As much as you’d like to rip her in half, tear her apart for all she did to Jungkook, you won’t. You’re older now, elegant in all the ways you weren’t before. It would be a huge disservice to your maturity if you shoved your heel up her ass right now.

“It’s lovely seeing you, Sojin,” you smile, taking her hand in yours.

Besides, being a woman in business meant you knew better, more creative ways to strike.

“And your boyfriend?” You ask, tilting your head in staged confusion. You even glance around the office, like you’ll find the geezer hiding behind the potted plant or Jungkook’s frozen figure. “The rich one with the huge company? Did he come with you today?”

Her smile tightens, red lips pursed as she gauges you with those cat eyes that haunt your nightmares every now and then. “My ex-boyfriend,” she corrects after a minute, pastes a forlorn expression onto her features. “We’ve separated, and you know how it is for women like us,” she jests. “We need a man to push us along—“

“Do we?” You ask, think back on all those years of school, of studying and working and pushing yourself, all the time you spent investing in yourself for yourself. “I don’t think so,” you contemplate. “It’s really embarrassing if you can’t care for yourself without the help of a man. Almost like you don’t trust in your own abilities, and ride other’s coattails instead.”

A beat of silence. Two completely different worlds, and Jungkook hovering awkwardly beside you.

Two palms grasp your shoulders from behind, and when you turn Jungkook is smiling at you, forced and stressed like he can’t stand to be in this uncomfortable situation any longer. “Well,” he announces, pushing you behind him as he guides Sojin towards the door. “There was an issue with her car, so I’ll just check on it real quick, okay?”

You nod, feel empty as he takes her by the wrist, and not you. He hands her her purse, palm on the small of her back as they exit the office. When the door clicks shut behind them, you throw your own handbag at the ground, barely stop yourself from stomping like a child.

Instead, you breathe in, hold it, and exhale, just like your Tuesday yoga instructor taught you. By the time you’ve collected yourself a few minutes have passed, so you kneel down to gather your fallen lipstick tubes and cellphone from the floor, scooping them back into your purse.

Tugging the door shut behind you, you mindlessly wander down the hall, until you reach the small receptionist area and nearly get jumped by Kim Taehyung. “Holy shit, you won’t believe this,” he gasps, takes you by the shoulders and nearly shakes you until your brain falls out through your ears. You would have slapped him, had this been any other man, but he’s quite possibly the only man besides Jungkook you’d let jostle you like this. “You’ll never guess who just left the office with J—wait,” he pales, suddenly connecting two and two, your exit from said offices definitely a key factor in whatever conclusion he’s drawn. “You were in the office with Hwang Sojin and you didn’t kill her?!”

You huff, let him shake you again until you’re nearly tripping in your heels. “Yes, I know,” you groan, finally slap his hands away when you begin to feel this morning’s breakfast bubbling from all the motion. “I’m surprised too.”

“Wow,” Taehyung marvels, leans back against the receptionist desk even though the poor girl has told him time and time again not to. He ignores her, something he can do as second best friend to the boss. “Remember when she showed up crying outside his mom’s house and you threw a potted plant at her? Oh how the great have fallen.”

Rolling your eyes, you drift over to the plexiglass window in the office that looks out across the entirety of the garage floor. In the corner, Jungkook’s got the hood of the Corvette open as he works away on something, Sojin tapping at her phone beside him. “Why are you here, Tae?”

He steps beside you, tuned into the same scene. “Can’t visit my ex-girlfriend every now and then?” He teases, you groan.

“We dated for three days, dude, let it go,” you whine, and watch with rapt attention as Jungkook motions for her to start the engine. She does, and it purrs to life, soft and silky just like Jungkook said it does. She squeals and claps, launches herself into his arms in thanks. You look away.

“Yuck,” Taehyung gags and you couldn’t agree more. “Can’t believe you ended the best 72 hours of my life for that pinhead and the hussy attached to his hip.”

He shrieks when you pinch his side, and you take great satisfaction in the judgemental stare half the crew sends him through the glass. After all, they weren’t soundproof. “You embarrassed me and my brand,” he huffs, crossing his arms as the two of you return to watching Jungkook and the hussy.

“He’s not a pinhead,” you softly retort, watch him wipe a bead of sweat off his forehead as he waves her off. Sojin sends him a brigade of air kisses, none of which he catches. A sick sense of glee consumes you at the sight, but then he’s turning to stare directly at you and Taehyung through the glass, and the both of you quickly whirl away.

“His ability to find you in less than a second is so weird,” Taehyung shivers, and you ignore it, taking the candy from the bowl on the receptionist desk. She doesn’t care, having heard these conversations more than enough times to get the general gist of what you and Taehyung gossip about. You’re surprised she’s never mentioned it to Jungkook before.

Regardless, you listen to Taehyung complain about his life for a few more minutes, before Jimin’s sweet voice pops into the room. His ash blonde hair is all ruffled, and there’s something dark smeared over his otherwise perfect skin as he tells you your car is fixed. Taehyung bids you goodbye, and Jimin walks you back to your car out on the garage floor.

“All set, miss,” Jimin grins, puts a hand against the car so you don’t hit your head as you go in. You thank him, and don’t miss the way he lingers by your window.

“Is something wrong?” You ask, tilt your head quizzically. Jimin’s cheeks flush, and he looks shyly at the ground.

“Actually, I was wondering if—“

“___,” Jungkook calls, jogging over beside Jimin, who looks almost ashamed to be caught doing...whatever it was he was gonna do. Jungkook glances at him, catches him in some weird staring contest before crouching down to your window. “You needed your car fixed? Why didn’t you tell me?”

You blink, don’t know how to politely tell him he was too busy kissing the ass of his toxic ex-girlfriend to help you out. “Jimin helped me,” you smile, the same practiced expression you’ve mastered since college. You usually get by, usually trick people with that look, but not with him. Jungkook knows you too well, knows that look, and knows you’re holding yourself back. “You were busy.”

His lips part in surprise, tugged downwards with the hint of a frown. “I,” he stutters, looks at Jimin, who doesn’t seem that impressed with him either. “I… I would’ve came if you called.”

You tug your sunglasses out from their little case, slide them over the bridge of your nose as you strap your seatbelt over yourself. “Would you though?” You ask, flash him another polite smile before shifting your car’s gears. Jimin walks off, clears the path for you to exit, and with just Jungkook standing there, you speak freely. “I would hate to distract you from something important.”

—

Some of the proposals end up being better than expected, and after carefully sifting through them, your boss asks you to sit through presentations for the next few days. Your time gets consumed in graphs and budgets. There’s a multitude of businesses you have to look into, some big and well-known, and others small and local. You drive around the city one day, visiting business after business, until your ankles hurt in your heels and your cheeks hurt from all the smiling. Your only comfort is the nice Chanel skirt suit you’re wearing that makes you feel like the most important person in the room wherever you go.

By the time the week’s over, there’s a thin cut forming on the back of your ankles from all the walking you’ve done in your heels. You slump against your front door, tossing your heels in the vague direction of the closet before padding through your house.

You nearly scream yourself sore at the figure in your kitchen, hunched over what looks to be a hastily made cake with a number three candle. “Oh my god,” you seethe, turning the overhead light on to illuminate Jungkook’s grinning figure, dirty and sweaty from work. You glance at the clock on the stove; it’s only been about an hour since his garage closed.

“Surprise!” He exclaims, and you’re not the slightest bit amused when he begins humming the happy birthday song on a day that is definitely not your birthday.

When he’s done, you don’t clap and his beaming smile doesn’t waver. “It is not my birthday,” you calmly state, placing your leather padfolio on the counter.

Jungkook blows the candle out for you. “It’s the birthday of when we first met,” he explains, and gets to cutting the cake. How he remembers such a day, you don’t know. You do know that this is his mom’s birthday cake recipe, and you love that. “Can you believe it? Friends for almost three decades.”

“Almost,” you repeat, dutifully sitting across from him and taking the plate he offers. He nods at you like a bobblehead. 

His eyes are sparkly and big, like he’s drunk, and it’s only then you notice the red wine on the table, bottle open and halfway done. You set your fork down, grasp the neck of the bottle in your hand. “Have you been drinking?” You ask, even though the answer stares you right in the face. You frown. “You hate drinking.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, shovels more cake into his mouth to delay his response. “Needed it,” he offhandedly explains, nearly eats the candle but you jump forward to snatch it off his fork before he can.

“What do you mean?” You inquire. You’re not hungry anymore, too interested in whatever’s going on in his head to make him think he needs to be drunk around you.

Jungkook gulps, reaches forward for more wine but you cradle the bottle to your chest. You nearly gasp when he levels you with a real, stony glare, the expression out of place on his face. “Cuz you’re mad,” he huffs. “At me.”

There was a time you would coddle Jungkook’s every mistake, never let him think he was at fault for anything. You’d grown out of it shortly before high school, recognizing boys were stupid no matter how much you tried to prove otherwise. Since then, you’ve watched him get into trouble time and time again—Sojin being the prime example—and only intervened when absolutely necessary. Some part of you, the half that hates seeing him upset, wants to tell him you’re not. The mature part in you, however, doesn’t let that happen.

“I am,” you agree, watch his eyes widen almost comically at your admission. You set the wine bottle back on the table, leaning your chin on your palm as you level him with the most unimpressed gaze you can. “I’m furious, actually.”

He whimpers, actually whimpers like a kicked puppy, and you can almost see the metaphorical ears pressed against his head and the tail tucked between his legs. His lips are big and pouty, stained from the wine. You’d love to know what they feel like.

Jungkook’s vulnerability lasts all of three seconds, before he’s shaking himself out of whatever emotional pit his foggy brain has him in. “Well, it’s dumb,” he spits, and it’s your turn to sit in shock. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“Excuse me?” You ask, incredulously, because this has never happened before. Are you overprotective and sometimes overbearing? Sure. Has Jungkook ever voiced discomfort with that before? Never. “I’m not telling you what to do,” you sneer, crossing your arms over your chest.

He rolls his eyes, pushes away from the table like a moody teen. You know it’s because he’s drunk, because he’s not himself, but you have to remind yourself that he obviously felt this way somewhere in his heart to voice it to you now. “You’re not my mom.”

You choke. “I’m not!” You angrily agree, pushing away from the table as well.

Jungkook snarls, “well you sure do love acting like her.” He picks up his plate, glances over at you with a look in his eyes that can only be likened to that of a sneaky cat, and then purposefully shoves the bread and frosting down the garbage disposal in the sink. You shriek, fly around the table and shove him away.

“What is wrong with you?” You seethe, push him away rudely with a hand on his face. Jungkook stumbles back, slips on the floor and nearly cracks his head on the corner of the counter. “Oh my god,” you exclaim, abandoning the sink in favor of watching the way his face twists up at the sudden motion, stomach contracting beneath his black t-shirt, cheeks puffing. “Oh god, oh god,” you stammer, tugging him to his feet with the strength only a panicked individual about to see an entire cake regurgitated onto their kitchen tile can have.

You’ve barely kicked the door to the bathroom open when Jungkook begins throwing up, gooey vomit spewing from his mouth and onto the floor. It touches your arm, and you shriek before shoving him in the general direction of the toilet.

“Ew, ew,” you freak, shoving your hand under the sink faucet to get that gross feeling away. You wanna vomit yourself, but you tell yourself there can only be one sick person at a time, and right now it’s Jungkook.

He’s got his head in the toilet, disgusting sounds echoing off the ceramic of it. By the time you’ve calmed down and washed your arm thrice, you move over to pull his bangs away from his face, letting him hurl in peace.

“I’m sorry,” he mopes, spews another round of birthday cake into the toilet.

You look away, blindly reach out to turn the bathroom fan on. “Mhm,” you nod, rubbing a hand over his back. Jungkook nods sadly against the toilet seat.

“‘M sorry,” he repeats, gags around nothing but the gross feeling left in his throat. “I-I know you just want…” a pause as he considers throwing up some more, “...want what’s best for me.”

“I do,” you agree, wipe a hand down the side of his face that he leans into. “Not trying to be your mom,” you assure him, and he snorts.

“Be a good mom,” he murmurs, so soft you don’t hear him. You hum, leaning closer and he repeats it. “You’d be… a good mom.”

Not knowing what to do with that information, you just pat his back until he falls asleep, cheek against the toilet seat.

—

“Woah, the sexual tension in this garage is off the charts,” Taehyung blurts from behind you, and you smack your clipboard against his chest. “Oof,” he grunts, rubbing his chest like it actually hurt. “You doing finances for him again?” He asks and you nod.

In an ideal world, Taehyung would leave upon finding out you’re busy. In this world, he simply leans into your personal space, nearly knocking you into an empty tool cart. “Oooh, an extensive list of all the money Jungkook’s stupidly blown this month. How much did he spend on neon signs this time?”

You relent, showing him the shop’s finances. Anywhere else, revealing a business’s finances without the consent of the owner would be a federal crime. Here, it’s the equivalent of showing Taehyung Jungkook’s browser history. “He spent how much on window tint?!”

“A lot,” you say.

There’s a whistle from across the garage, the shop’s resident country bumpkin Park Jimin standing at the huge garage doors with his hand on his hip. “No fraternizing, please.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes. “Boooo,” he shouts, peels himself away from you to flick an impolite finger Jimin’s way. “He’s just jealous,” he tells you, and you frown.

“Of what?” You ask, and Taehyung nearly loses his shit.

“My precious ___,” he sighs, leans his forehead on your shoulder. “So beautiful and smart, yet so slow.” You flick the side of his forehead just as Jungkook strolls by and, seeing your attack, slaps the back of Taehyung’s neck. “Why do you guys hate me!” Taehyung exclaims, jumping at least five feet away from you and Jungkook’s giggling forms.

“How’s it going?” Jungkook asks you, completely ignoring Taehyung’s soulful cries as he glances over your shoulder at the clipboard. You tilt it his way, but he stands close anyway, until you can feel his breath huffing against the back of your neck.

“Okay, but you’re spending a lot of money stockpiling on things that haven’t shown signs of running out yet,” you explain, pointing at the window tint that had astonished Taehyung only a moment ago.

Jungkook grimaces, pink tongue swiping across his lip as he looks at the total amount he’s spent the last three months. “Well, it’s a good thing I have my accountant,” he grins, throwing an arm over your shoulder.

“Not your accountant,” you correct, “just a friend who doesn’t wanna see you run your business to the ground from overspending.”

Jungkook waves you off, and Taehyung tries to sneak into the receptionist office behind you, but Jungkook catches him with his free hand. “This is the life,” he sighs, wistfully gazing over the garage floor. It reeks of motor oil and car paint.

“Count me out,” Taehyung snorts, voicing your disinterest toward such greasy and smelly work. He tries to wiggle out of Jungkook’s hold, but the muscle bunny only straps an arm around his neck, until Taehyung’s squirming and clawing for air against the red sleeve of his jumpsuit.

“My own successful business, a shitload of sexy cars, and of course,” he pauses, squeezes the two of you tighter until you’re both groaning. “My two best friends.” The sap has the gall to peck the top of your heads, and that seems to be the final straw for Taehyung who rips himself away.

“Have this lovefest somewhere else, man,” Taehyung says, flattening his rumpled clothing down. “You’re really putting a nail in my reputation around here.”

Jungkook cackles, mindlessly goes to wrap himself around you from behind. “Your reputation has been trash since that scream you let out the other day,” he informs him, swaying the two of you back and forth. Your heart thunders in your chest, and you just barely manage to avoid Taehyung’s pointed stare.

“Whatever, I’m outta here.” With Taehyung peaced out, you’re left in Jungkook’s arms, gazing over his business like two old lovers. It makes your chest tight, so you quickly go to shake him off.

“We’re okay?” Jungkook murmurs, so soft you almost don’t hear. He’s got his hand wrapped around your wrist, thumb massaging over the bone there like he’s afraid you’ll bolt the second he lets you go.

You nod, tuck the clipboard to your side. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

Those sad puppy eyes, pouty lips turned southward. You want to wipe that look off his face. He sighs, glances at where your skin meets and gives it a squeeze. “I’ve been an ass lately,” he settles on saying. “Said some mean things and ruined your bathroom rug—I’m sorry.”

You don’t know what to say.

Jungkook takes your silence as understanding, reaching down to hold both your hands in his slightly dirty ones. “It won’t happen again. I’d rather lose a million friends than lose you,” he confesses, and something about it feels too real, too raw. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You nod, the constricting feeling in your throat only tightening when he smiles at you, those gentle eyes and plush lips for only you to see. You want to kiss him, swallow him whole. Right here on the garage floor so everyone knows he’s yours.

But you can’t because he’s not.

You settle on swinging your arms between you. “Just don’t do anything stupid,” you warn him, narrowing your eyes playfully. There’s a heavy feeling in your heart, something akin to anguish, but you could never voice it out loud.

“I won’t,” Jungkook promises.

—

Jungkook visits again on a weekday, and you nearly send him straight home when he brandishes another bottle of wine in your face. “It’s nonalcoholic!” He exclaims before you can shut the door on him, foot lodged against the frame. You give in.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” You ask, curling up on the couch in just your shorts and huge t-shirt. Jungkook pops the bottle open, pouring the wine into two limited edition Shrek 2 cups you pulled out from the depths of your cabinet.

“Can’t hang with my bestie?” He throws back at you, snatching the remote from your hands before you can click on another episode of that dumb housewives show. You end up watching National Geographic, some documentary about the role of bioluminescent shrimp in the sea.

“Aw look, they’re kissing,” he cooes at a pair of seahorses that wander across the screen halfway through a shot of some school of shrimp. “How romantic.”

“Wonder what that’s like,” you comment, not thinking too much on the meaning behind your words until you can feel Jungkook’s stare pierce your cranium. “What?”

“You’ve never been kissed?” He blurts, and you choke on your wine.

“You were my first kiss,” you remind him, flush at the memory of the two of you sitting criss-cross applesauce on his bed, knees knocking in what was probably the worst first kiss in the history of first kisses.

Jungkook blinks. “Oh yeah,” he laughs. “With the Tony Hawk poster behind my bed, right?”

“The one and only.”

Jungkook hums, and the two of you melt back into the silence. Nice aquatic sounds fill the room, the camera panning over more colorful fish that Jungkook oohs at appreciatively. You don’t really pay attention, more interested in the way the wine swirls in your cup and the way you can feel Jungkook’s thigh pressed against your knee, like when you were thirteen and trying something new.

You know it doesn’t mean a lot to him. Just another silly childhood memory of you. Not like you have hundreds, thousands of them with each other. By the way he’d blurted the question, you doubt he even remembered it most days. But you did.

It plagued your mind all the time, the soft feel of his mouth and the trembling hand that had held yours. You wonder if he kisses the same still, lips gently puckered. He’s had years to learn, half a decade to get creative with Sojin, and the past four years of being a bachelor to explore more.

You’ve kissed too, plenty of guys who had no meaning and ones you thought would replace him. But it’d been a long time since you’ve let anyone into your bed, more content to please yourself without the overbearing weight of feelings and emotions to wrap around your throat.

Jungkook coughs, and you shake yourself from your thoughts.

He’s looking at you inquisitively, like he can’t get his usual read on you and would rather just ask what’s wrong. “You don’t,” a pause, “hang out with guys?”

It’s devastatingly cute, the way he asks if you’re fucking, and you want to pinch his cheeks. Instead you shake your head, try to hide the grin on your face from his inquisitive expression. “Just you and Taehyung,” you admit.

Jungkook nods. “Do you and Tae…?”

You shake your head furiously. “No! God no, we don’t do anything like that,” you clarify, the thought of Taehyung in your bed enough to make you want to gag.

Jungkook says nothing, just turns back to the documentary to watch more Nemos and Dorys flit across the screen. You polish off your cup of wine, leaning forward to settle it back on the coffee table. As you settle back into the couch cushions, Jungkook speaks again. “So you take care of yourself?”

You freeze.

“Yeah,” you admit after one complete meltdown in your head. Where was this coming from? Why did he want to know? You and Jungkook were close, but you never did this. You never divulged the details of your sex life, never bragged about who you slept with or how many there were. What was going on?

Jungkook doesn’t say anything after that, just turns his attention back to the tv screen, where you’re almost certain the sea horses from before are fucking. Not that you know what it looks like, but you hope at least someone in this room was enjoying themselves and not drowning in the mortification of having their life long crush ask them if they masturbate.

“So, do you use your hands or a toy?”

You choke, slap your chest to ease the pounding of your heart at Jungkook asking such a question. “E-Excuse me?” You ask, scandalized that Jungkook, your sweet and caring childhood friend turned Fabio, could ask you such a bold question about your personal affairs.

“What?” Jungkook says, like he truly doesn’t see the inappropriateness of the situation. He even raises his eyebrows at you, as if urging you to answer the question.

You sigh, fight the flush of your cheeks and stare idly at the cups on the table. “A toy. Hands don’t feel good,” you curtly reply, crossing your arms over your chest and straightening your legs off the couch, hoping that’s the end of his curiosity. This was enough to fuel your 3am anxiety meltdowns for the next five years.

Jungkook nods, and you can feel his penetrating gaze on the side of your face again. A great white shark swims across the screen. Jungkook strikes. “My hands feel good.”

“Jungkook!” You exclaim in horror (and excitement, but you’ll pretend it wasn’t there). “What has gotten into you?”

“What!” Jungkook defends, Bambi eyes looking at you like you’re the unreasonable one here. “We’re having a civil conversation in which I’m trying to open up your worldview.”

You’re flabbergasted. “This is not a civil conversation, what are you even talking about?” You scold, tug your arms around yourself like it’ll actually protect you from the words that don’t seem to be filtering out of his mouth properly. “Why are you so concerned about that?” You interrogate, hope your forceful tone will scare him away.

It doesn’t. Jungkook shrugs, some noncommittal i dont know sound. “I can’t be interested in what you get up to? What my best friend gets up to?” It’s the obvious emphasis on best friend that makes you step down.

“No,” you sigh, rub a hand down your face. “You can be interested,” you tell him gingerly. “We just never really… talked about... those kinds of things,” you rush out, turn away from him as the narrator on screen dives into the intricacies of bioluminescent shrimp in the animal food chain.

As if sensing your discomfort, Jungkook softens, scooting closer to you. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, too close and too warm. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he says, places a palm on your knee.

“I’m not!” You rush to assure him, facing him head on again. His eyes are big and implorative still, and you wonder why he became stuck on that of all things today. “It just surprised me.”

His lips quirk to the side, an unsure grin that has you leaning into his shoulder. You sit in silence, the rise and fall of his body with every breath lulling you into a sense of comfort.

A false one that Jungkook zeroes in on.

The documentary’s wrapping up, soothing ocean sounds and wind instruments playing as the credits roll across the screen, when the hand that had been laying so comfortably on your thigh inches up. At first, you don’t notice it, writing it off as Jungkook just shifting around. You tell yourself it’s just that, until his pinky makes contact with the end of your shorts.

Slowly, you turn towards him, catch his mocha irises lustfully lidded as he toys with the hem. “Kook?” You murmur, so soft, barely there.

“Hm?” He replies, continuing to play with the edge of your shorts, until he gets brave and his fingers slip beneath, index finger just barely grazing the panties underneath. You gasp. “This okay?”

Stuck between your arousal and your common sense, you flounder for a response. He’s so close, and smells so good, curls brushing against your temple the closer he gets. You want him so bad, want him to find his place between your thighs and put those pouty lips to use. But you know it’ll make things different, change whatever it is you’ve had for the past almost thirty years, and you’ll never bounce back. Another brush against your panties, pointer finger wiggling it’s way beneath the fabric, and you’re choking out a “yes.”

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and something in your core tingles at the name, thighs clenching together. “Uh uh,” he chides, nudges them open. “Stay still for me,” he commands, and you do, for all of ten seconds, but then he’s pressing his finger on your clit, panties and shorts muting the sensation. Still, it makes you squirm, fingers clutching the couch cushion beneath you as you struggle to keep them open. “Too much?” He asks, and you shake your head no.

“I-It’s fine,” you whisper, and Jungkook smiles.

He pets you, almost wondrously, for a few beats, watches the way the muscles in your thighs twitch with every press against your mound. Eventually, he decides it’s enough. “Hands don’t feel good for you?” He inquires, your words from earlier obviously having left their mark on him. Slowly, you shake your head. He glances down at the fist you have on the couch, composed features sliding up your face. “Well, yours are so small, princess. Of course they don’t feel good.”

He manhandles you around, tugs you onto the couch until you’re laying down, legs sprawled on either side of him. Pleased with the arrangement, Jungkook glances back down to your bottoms. “These have to go,” he tells you, hooks his fingers in the waistband and abruptly yanks down, leaving you just in your t-shirt.

You go to shy away, but Jungkook stops you, palms resting on the insides of your thighs, thumbs pressing into the skin soothingly. “My fingers are long, see?” He says, raising a hand to wiggle his fingers at you. You nod, heartbeat thundering in your ears. “They’ll feel nice inside.”

You know they will.

You can tell he knows his way around a woman’s body just from the way his hands glide over yours, carefully like he’s mapping you out. Ever so slowly, one hand grows closer, until his thumb is gently circling your clit, and you inhale sharply.

“So wet,” Jungkook hums, his other hand traveling further down, until he’s spreading your pussy lips with two fingers, trailing them through the arousal that gathers there.

You’ve never been so attentively cared for, never had a man zero in on your cunt like it was his first meal in ages. Jungkook’s eyes are clouded with lust, tongue peeking out from between his lips as he watches your pussy lips flutter at his touch.

He swirls his hand over your clit, pressing down. The first sound escapes you, a soft whimper that has you clamping your hand over your mouth in embarrassment. Jungkook grins down at you, shifts closer to press a kiss to the knuckles over your mouth.“Don’t hide from me,” he purrs, pulling away and pressing a kiss to your neck.

You cry out when he gets back to it, massaging your pussy with gentle hands and a thumb against your clit to placate you. “Jungkook,” you choke out, and he beams at his name, takes it as a sign to finally slip two fingers inside. “A-ah,” you whine, arching beneath him.

He basks in your noises, leans close again to press a kiss beneath your ear, against your jaw. “This okay?” He murmurs, curling the fingers inside of you. You mewl, throwing your arms around him as he begins working you open. “How does it feel, baby?”

“G-good,” you pant, turn your head until you can bury your nose in his hair, drown even more in his all-consuming aura.

Another kiss to your neck, before he’s suctioning his lips right below your ear, nipping and sucking at the skin to brand you his. “You like my hands?” He husks, and the patch of saliva he leaves on your neck feels cold without his mouth there. You nod, and Jungkook rewards you with a soft smooch over the hickey he’s left.

His fingers inside you curl and scissor, brush against every inch of your walls until you’re quivering beneath him, gasping his name out. You could melt if his fingers weren’t holding you together. “So tight,” he groans, curling his fingers. The movement touches upon something sensitive within you, and you moan his name loudly.

“O-Oh,” you pant, wiggling beneath him as you try to feel that again. Jungkook lets you, watches you desperately rut into his hands. He drifts away, lets his tongue mouth over your breasts, licking until there’s a damp spot on your t-shirt, the flimsy house bra you’d worn and the t-shirt combined not enough to hide your pebbled nipples.

The drag of his hands against your pussy isn’t enough, the motions not quick enough. Jungkook glances at your twisted features, your quivering pussy, and then, ever so gently, ducks over you, puckered lips letting one, long glob of saliva touch down on your pussy, trickling around his knuckles.

“Fuck,” you choke, watch his tongue swipe over his lip to break the thin bridge that connects you too. Suddenly, everything is smoother, the combined lubrication of your arousal and his spit making the glide of his fingers sinfully slick.

Frantic for release, you lose yourself in him, ready to free fall into your pleasure so long as Jungkook is there to catch you. “That’s it,” he encourages, picks up the pace of his fingers inside you. “Come on, beautiful, let me see that gorgeous face of yours when you come.”

“K-Kook,” you sob, and he smiles against your neck. His fingers work fast, until your muscles are all pulled tight, waiting for that final push to unravel. You make the mistake of glancing down, only to be caught by that pearly smile and adoring gaze. You’re in heaven, you know you are.

There’s no other explanation for this—the way Jungkook holds you like you’re his, hands so gently caressing your most intimate parts. You’re almost convinced you’re having a fever dream, a sick, too realistic dream, but then Jungkook’s biting down on your shoulder through your t-shirt, subtly rutting against your thigh.

“Cum for me,” he purrs against your neck, and you do, sobbing as your orgasm rolls over you, the heavy weight of his cock against your thigh. “Jungkook,” you cry, so pitifully, it has him lunging forward, a kiss pressed to the corner of your mouth.

You feel sweaty and gross, unbelievably tired from the gentle way he opened you up. Blindly, you reach down, feel the hardness of his cock beneath his sweatpants, but Jungkook nudges you away. You huff. “Let me,” you whimper, reach for him again even though you can see the slowness in your movement. “Need your cock in my mouth,” you drawl, almost sleepily. 

“Shh,” he soothes, lips pressed against your neck, where he’s still licking and sucking over every inch of you. You whine. “You don’t have to do a thing, gorgeous,” he assures you, “just wanted to make you feel good.”

—

Work gets stressful shortly after. There’s a new batch of interns coming in this season, new faces who will mess up your coffee orders and jam the printers for a good few weeks. There’s normally a team of employees who train them, a mix of relatively older people from different departments who show them around; a girl in the finance department, the one who usually trains them, is on maternity leave. With no one else to fall back on, the head of the department pushes the duties off on you, claiming your flexibility and work ethic make you the perfect candidate for such a role.

Normally you’d thrive at the praise, eat up every single word like it sustained you. In a way, it did. It was nice to be appreciated and recognized for your hard work, to be thought of so highly, especially in a male-dominated company. However, this time, you know it’s out of convenience that the head kisses up to you, and you end up begrudgingly taking the role.

The gaps in your schedule you’d normally spend relaxing or catching up on other projects are filled with bumbling interns, calling for help every chance they get. It’s like they’ve never done anything on their own, this group, always asking you the correct way to do this, the right way to do that. You haven’t mentored interns in a while, so you spend the first day breezing over old powerpoints and print outs you made years ago. You remember why you’re not fit for mentoring when one of them asks you how to navigate Excel. You nearly rip their head off.

There’s so much going on, you barely get time to see Jungkook, let alone text him. You saw him once the morning after, stack of pancakes on your kitchen table as he rushed you off to work. The shop didn’t open for another hour. He was sweet, kissed your forehead as you left, but he’s always done that. You didn’t have time to talk about whatever the night before was, or what that made the two of you now.

On Friday night, one week into your nightmarish role, you pull into the shop. You'd like to convince yourself it was routine, visiting the shop, but that’s a lie. You desperately miss Jungkook. 

 Most of the garage doors that are usually pulled open during the day are shut, save for one. The last of Jungkook’s employees are leaving, bidding you adieu as you step out of your car. Park Jimin is there, repairing some rickety car in the back corner.

“Boo,” you call playfully, and Jimin doesn’t flinch, merely pulls his head from out of the hood to flash you an easygoing smile.

He whistles at the sight of you. “You look like you’ve been through one of helluva week,” he says, and you, despite your strong personality, feel yourself blush at his comment. Jeez, did you look that bad? Jimin doesn’t elaborate, just pulls out a stool for you to sit on beside where he’s working. “Penny for your thoughts?”

You glance at the plexiglass, the offices hiding down the hall. Jungkook could wait, you presume, settling down beside him. Your skirt tugs up as you settle onto the pleather seat, so you cover your legs meekly with your purse. “Work’s been crazy,” you explain, and Jimin laughs at the obvious.

“You’re telling me,” He hums, and you roll your eyes playfully. “What’s going on at work?”

What hasn’t been going on, you think to yourself, before launching into a full retelling of your new horrendous position, of all the interns with their clueless eyes and useless notebooks. Jimin chuckles, indulges you in a few comments here and there that only fuel you on. He’s just about done with whatever he’s doing to the car at the same time your story wraps up, explaining how you found yourself here, desperate for Jungkook to whisk you off to that arcade you loved as kids. “Jungkook?” He asks, and you nod. “He left a while ago.”

You freeze. “Huh?” You say, dumbly. You almost want to laugh at your own impulsiveness, for showing up without sending him a text or a warning to let him know you were coming. You almost do laugh, but then you remember you and Jungkook never did that anyway. Hell, he showed up at your house a few weeks ago unannounced and drunk. The two of you were hardly the type to plan ahead, so it was weird for him to not be here. He’s been at the shop almost every night since it’s opened, the days he’s not usually a holiday.

“Jimin…” you begin, glancing at the receptionist window once more. “Where’s Jungkook?”

Jimin shuts his tool box, kicking a cart off to the side. “He left with that lady,” he tells you, doesn’t hear the way your heart rips straight out of your chest. No way. “Tall, pretty. Had that nice Corvette he fixed up a while ago.”

“Sojin,” you mumble, and Jimin nods.

“Think that was her name.” As if sensing your tumultuous thoughts, he steps closer, one hand reaching out to steady you. “You alright?”

“God,” you exhale, pushing yourself away from Jimin and the garage and the window. The stool rolls away, almost hits the side of another car but Jimin catches it. He rushes over towards you, watching you wobble in your heels.

“Honey,” Jimin says, steady and warm beside you. “Sit down for me, yeah?” He guides you to a row of seats against the wall, nailed into the floor so you can’t push them away and make even more of a mess. Not that that’s your concern, your mind and heart too preoccupied with thoughts of Jungkook lying to you, going out with that woman again, despite your obvious hatred for her and his promise to you.

Jimin disappears, rushes over to the other side of the garage before returning with a water bottle for you. He cracks it open, presses it into your hands, and then against your lips when you don’t move. “Drink,” he encourages, watching you with worried eyes that only grow more and more concerned the deeper you fall into your thoughts.

You want to cry and beat Jungkook up at the same time. You want to scream at him for lying to you after treating you so nicely, holding you so warmly. Instead, you gasp for breath, clutching your face in your hands like it’s the only thing that grounds you.

There’s a beep outside, chirpy and cute in the way only older models are, and you whip your head up, the headlights of the Corvette painting you in shades of yellow as it rolls to a stop, the tears you hadn’t felt glistening under the light.

Jungkook flings himself out of the driver’s seat, and a sob catches in your throat when Sojin steps out of the passenger seat. Jungkook shoves everything in his path to the side, carts flying into the few automobiles on the floor, tools clanging loudly onto the cement, and just as those arms you love so much are reaching out for you, there’s a hand on his chest stopping him.

“What did you do to her?” Jungkook snarls, pushing Jimin roughly to the side. Jimin, smaller but not weaker, holds his ground, clutching Jungkook by the material of his jumpsuit a second time. “Let— go!” Jungkook shouts, finally worming away from his employee.

He nearly trips before you, stumbling to his knees as he takes your quivering hands in his. “What’s wrong,” he asks, throwing a nasty glare back at Jimin who watches silently from the side. Sojin is still by her car, leaning across the driver’s side now. “What did he do, what did he say?”

You shake your head, dropping your head to tuck your chin against your chest. You hate this. Hate letting him or Jimin or Sojin see you cry. It’s not the person you are, not the self-made woman you claim to be as you cry over the same man who is unknowingly defending you from himself.

“Let go,” you whisper, hoarse and choked. You shake your arms, but he doesn’t let up.

“Tell me what's wrong,” Jungkook pleads, inching closer to you. His breath is warm and he smells like oil, just like he always does. He also smells sweet and floral in a way only a woman could. He smells like Sojin.

You sob, rip your hands away from and scurry blindly towards Jimin, who catches you in his arms despite the shock that paints his face.

Jungkook watches with an expression of hurt, watches you snuggle into the arms of another man over an issue you won’t tell him about. Jimin says nothing, just rubs his palm over your back. He gestures towards the red corvette, the woman standing by it and Jungkook takes the hint.

You hear the kitten-like purr as it pulls off, the silence that follows afterwards. You don’t know where Jungkook is, if he’s here or if he left with her, and you don’t want to. “Tell me he’s gone,” you beg Jimin, quiet gasps against his neck.

He nods, slowly lets you untangle yourself from his arms as the two of you stare over the empty garage. The Corvette is gone, and so is Jungkook. Before Jimin can tell you where he is, you’re wiping a hand over your face, embarrassed at the moisture it comes back with. 

“I take it he’s not supposed to be with her?” Jimin tries to joke. 

Neither of you laugh. 

You sniffle, process what just happened, how you acted. You’ve never felt that way before, never experienced such brutal heartbreak. 

You don’t know what you expected from Jungkook. In your heart, you convinced yourself what happened in your apartment was the start of something new between the two of you, a natural result of your long friendship. Realistically, you know you should’ve waited until the two of you spoke, discussed whatever happens next. But you’d spent the past week comforted by the fact you’d finally gotten to experience something like that with him, daydreaming about him every chance you got. 

Somewhere in your mind, you had convinced yourself your involvement with him would finally be what broke his connection with Sojin, the final nail that would make him forget about her. It’s painfully funny how such wasn’t the case. 

Jimin breaks you out of your thoughts. “You okay to drive home?” He gently inquires, and you turn your gaze over toward your car. 

Did you trust yourself to make it home without shedding a single tear? Absolutely not. But between Sojin and Jimin, you had let enough strangers see you fall apart over a man tonight. 

“Perfectly okay,” you tell him. 

—

The interns pick up on your sour attitude the week that follows. They don’t ask dumb questions, and don’t mess up your order. You talk them through a presentation, show them how to properly organize finance charts. There’s a slide that has clip art, a goofy dollar sign with a smile and shoes. Jungkook put it there when you first made the PowerPoint. After the little lesson, you go to the bathroom and try not to cry.

A week later, and the interns don’t need you anymore. They do well, and your boss praises you for being such a good mentor. You thank him and he lets you go home early.

Home is empty. Jungkook doesn’t show up unannounced, mostly because you’ve changed the number lock on the door. You want to eat salad today, for some reason, but don’t have any of the ingredients for it, so you walk to the supermarket a few blocks away.

The supermarket feels the same as it always does at night. That ghostly feeling of being watched in an empty aisle, the scratchy tune of whatever Top 50 radio station they settled on today. You get there and decide you don’t want salad anymore, so you buy ingredients for a stew instead, all of which you probably had at home.

When you step outside, the air around your bare thighs is cold. Summer was ending, which meant Jungkook’s birthday was coming up. You ball the receipt in your hand and fling it at the trash. You miss, so you hobble over to pick it up.

The trash is beside a red Corvette with two racing stripes.

“Hey,” Sojin says, arms crossed over her chest as she walks up behind you, sizing up your crouched form beside her car. “What’re you doing to my car?”

You breathe in, shake the crumpled up receipt at her, before stuffing it in the garbage. She says nothing as you stalk by her, and you’re back on the main road when she pulls up next to you, window rolled down to speak to you. “Get in,” she gestures, “it’s gonna rain.”

“No,” you say, and a fat raindrop falls right on your nose.

The door unlocks and you climb in, plastic bags crowded by your feet.

The drive is silent. You only live a few minutes from the store, and you point out an empty spot by the sidewalk for her to pull up to. A dry thanks is on the tip of your tongue, but you never get to say it.

“My dad has cancer,” Sojin says.

“That sucks,” you respond, feel bad right away and say, “I’m sorry.”

Sojin doesn’t seem bothered by it, shifting the Corvette out of drive and cutting the engine. “He’s probably not gonna see Christmas,” she adds, and you don’t know what to say. You don’t care about her or her crazy father.  “I wanted to do something nice for him before he, y’know.”

“Died,” you fill, and at that she glares.

“Yeah,” she huffs. “Before he died. So I fixed up his car. But the place I took it to didn’t know how to fix an engine so old, and ended up fucking it up even more.” You nod, she continues. “Then I bumped into Jungkook and—“

“Took advantage of his kindness,” you finish, remembering the twinkle in his eyes when he’d told you about their encounter, that day in the empty garage that seemed lightyears away. “Well congrats. Hope your dad liked it,” you sigh, push open the door and get soaked to the bone immediately.

“Wait!” Sojin calls, hopping out after you. She’s still as beautiful as she was when you were seventeen, even with rain soaking her entire being. “I didn’t ask him to repaint it, but that’s what my dad loved the most.”

You want to go inside, make your stew, and cry in it.

Sojin doesn’t seem bothered by the bangs that stick to her forehead or the water that washes down her spine. “When I told him Jungkook did it… he wanted to see him. Apologize and stuff.”

You snort. “Apologize,” you repeat, tightening your grip on your shoppings bags. “For what, Sojin? For almost killing him with this car or for treating him like shit for five years?” She says nothing, stares at the hood of the car like she doesn’t know what you’re talking about. “He was crazy for you, you know that? He would have done anything for you and not once did you stand up to your dad for him. You let that man call him worthless, stupid, a waste of space. And for what? For you to break up with him for some rich asshole who would never treat you half as good as Jungkook did?” You sneer.

The rain feels cold and your groceries feel heavier, so you whirl on your heel and make for your building entrance.

“He never liked me,” Sojin calls out, and you wonder if she even heard the second half of your emotional outburst. You turn to face her with fire in your eyes, and are only a little surprised at the sadness that paints hers. “He never liked me the way he said he did.” You could knock her teeth out.

“You’re stupid,” you spit, and she rounds the car at an insane speed until she’s glaring down at you over her perfectly sculpted nose.

“He never liked me,” Sojin repeats angrily. “He was always busy looking at you—for approval, for attention, I don’t fucking know. He would hold me and touch me but it never felt real. It always felt like practice for him…” she sniffles and your breath hitches in your throat. “We dated all through college,” she says like you don’t know, like you didn’t stress about it for years. “Everyday closer to graduation felt like a ticking bomb. Like he was just waiting for you to come back. To come home.”

You remember it.

The excited texts he’d send you everyday, the plans he made for you. Jungkook was more excited than your parents about you coming home. The five hours had done a number on him, and after four years all he wanted was to have you close again. You remember the hug in his driveway, the way his mom had told you he’d waited all day for you. It’s weird hearing it from Sojin.

Too overwhelmed, you decide to deflect. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” you murmur, and you’re surprised she hears it over the pouring rain.

A loud scoff. “You’re stupid,” she repeats back, jabbing a finger at your chest. You glare, and so does she. Like two animals in a cage you size each other up. “You’re stupid and ugly and I hate you,” she spits, and you drop your shopping bags to lunge at her.

You don’t swing, just grab her by the shirt and move to slam her against the wall, but she’s tall and a little strong, bony fingers wrapping around your wrists like spiders. “Why can’t you see how much he likes you?” She screams, like it hurts to admit it. “He’s been in love with you since forever, and all you’ve ever done is run away!”

“I never—“ you gasp, pushing her away from you. Sojin stumbles, but she doesn’t fall. “I’ve never run away,” you defend, heart beating in your chest too fast to be normal. “Some of us have careers and lives we want to live—I don’t want to depend on a man for the rest of my life!”

She growls, tugs at her wet hair like you’re giving her a headache. Stomping up to you once more, she pushes you hard with both hands, and you barely catch yourself in time. “He would have followed you to that fucking fancy school, but you told him it was better to save money here! Told him to not waste his time and just settle there! You did this to us—to all of us!”

You choke. Lightning flashes behind her, and for a moment all you can see is your gentle prodding, sitting behind him as he filled out applications, big wannabe business brain telling him the easiest way to save money for his auto shop was by going straight into technical school. The small frown on his face that day you’d packed for college, and the way he’d stood in your parent’s driveway until you couldn’t see him anymore, a little spec in your rearview mirror.

Sojin, sensing she’s made her point, says nothing. She scoops up your fallen grocery bags and shoves them into your trembling hands, stomping back to her car and pulling off with a roar, loud and ferocious, and nothing like a kitten.

The groceries in your bag end up in the trash.

—

Taehyung invites you to lunch one day, and you go. You’re starving and desperate to get away from work, where you’re paranoid everyone knows there’s something wrong with you. You meet up at a cute little bistro, and he smiles and hugs you when you arrive. You sit in comfort for all of two seconds before he jumps into his interrogation.

“What’s going on with you and Kook?” He asks, casually flipping through the menu. Your hand stills around your glass of water, and you eventually set it down without ever taking a drink. Your mind instinctively maps out a lie, but Taehyung has known you a while now, knows the quirk of your lips when you’re about to lie your ass off. “Don’t lie to me. I haven’t seen you at the shop in almost a month. And he doesn’t go out,” he mentions. “I think he spent four nights at the shop before I made him go home.”

You deflate.

Too embarrassed to explain, you flip through your own menu, and when the waitress comes you order the first words your eyes focus on. Taehyung doesn’t push you, just patiently gazes out over the bustling street.

Finally, you break. “We… did a thing.”

“Uh huh,” he nods, reading some ad on the side of a bus that passes by. “Need you to elaborate, babe.”

You squirm. “We… fooled around,” you say for lack of more appropriate wording. There’s a family sitting beside you, and you’d rather die than let some nooby pre-teen listen to the details of yours and Jungkook’s night.

“You fucked?” You choke, make a loud sputtering noise like it’ll drown out Taehyung’s voice to the other patrons. “What’s wrong with that? We all knew it’d happen sooner or later,” he shrugs.

“No,” you seethe. “We didn—I didn’t.” Taehyung rolls his eyes, the same way Sojin did that day on the sidewalk. You almost throw your glass of water at him. “We…” you sigh. “We did a thing, and then the week after he went out with Sojin.”

Taehyung scowls at the mere mention of her, so the glass of water is returned to its coaster. “Really? He went out with her right away? He’s cancelled.”

You nod, rubbing your hands over your face. “He… her dad has cancer and is literally on his deathbed so she wanted to fix up his car for memories sake, which he loved, so he wanted to apologize to Kook and thank him for fixing up his car,” you rush out, and now Taehyung chokes, water spewing out of his nose. You shriek, drawing everyone’s attention as you pat down your soaked blouse. “Tae!”

“I’m sorry,” he cries, wiping at the sting in his nose. “He-she, what?!” You ignore him, focus on battling the damp spot on your blazer. “God, that’s crazy,” Taehyung snorts, winces at the feeling in his nose.

After the two of you have settled, the manager kicks you out for your inappropriate conversations and childish behavior. You leave with your tails tucked between your legs. Taehyung holds your hand as he walks you back to your workplace, you quietly fill him in on all the other details surrounding yours and Jungkook’s fallout, from your breakdown in the garage to your weirdly dramatic confrontation with Sojin. “Well,” he claps, slamming a hand down on the traffic light button, even though both of you know it doesn’t work. “That explains a lot of things.”

“Yeah,” you agree, pushing down the crosswalk when the light finally changes of its own accord. “Do you,” you pause, feet glued to the sidewalk. “Do you think she was right?”

Taehyung glances back at you, so small and unsure in the midst of a bustling crowd. He smiles, sweet and soft. Rare coming from him. His free hand ruffles the top of your head, and he brings you into his chest. “Babe, the hottest guy in your grade was intimidated by scrawny, pre-muscle bunny Jungkook. I’m pretty sure he feels some type of way towards you.”

Your lip wobbles dangerously, and you bite down on it to stop. Taehyung pats your head, barks at some old guy when he yells at the two of you for standing in the middle of the sidewalk.

When you’re outside your office, you speak again. “You were not the hottest guy in our grade, by the way.”

Taehyung snorts. “I totally was.”

—

You hideout for the rest of the week.

On Friday night, you finally have the balls to show yourself again, and you hop on the highway leading out of the city before you can overthink it. The buildings slowly melt away, replaced with cozier homes, tinier shops, and by the time you’re pulling up the street, you’re deep in doubt again.

It’s not that late yet, only a little past sunset, but the garage doors, usually open to the street, are all shut. You frown, pull around the block, reverse into a spot across the street. Locking your car, a gust of wind nearly trips you as you cross the street. The front office is dark, metal shutters pulled over the entrance.

Eventually, you stumble around until you find the tiny backdoor squeezed beside some dumpsters, grateful for the key Jungkook had given you so long ago.

Just as Taehyung predicted, a pair of red jumpsuit clad feet stick out from beneath a car. A nice car, an even older Corvette than Sojin’s dad’s, still shiny despite the model it is. It looks like a show car with the way it glints at you, black paint almost glossy. The only light in the entire garage is a lamp, positioned over the area where the legs are working, and a flashlight that occasionally beams at you when the holder loses his grip. No music today, just the hum of a rotating fan. You creep over.

Jungkook’s humming a song when you get to him, foot tapping idly on the ground. You suck in a deep breath and nudge his foot with the tip of your heel. You have exactly two seconds to jump away when he abruptly rolls out from beneath the car, concentrated features scanning quickly around until they land on you.

The garage is still, until Jungkook jumps into action. “___,” he stammers, stumbling to his feet. The rolling board drifts away, bumping into the corner of the metal table beside you. “Hi, um,” he flounders, brushing his fingers through his hair, palms wiping over the front of his pants. Finally, “hi.”

The bad bitch Chanel skirt-suit you’d worn today fails you for the first time in a long time. Your hands feel sweaty, so you clutch them behind your back. “Hi, Jungkook,” you exhale, and all the emotions you’d swallowed for so long, the feelings that tightened around your chest and throat like boa constrictors, come oozing out, until all you can see is his puckered mouth and twinkling gaze.

He coughs, tries to casually lean against the car, but greatly miscalculates the distance. “What, um, what brings you here?” He asks, foot tapping nervously against the ground.

There’s a box of takeout on the floor he tries to subtly kick beneath the car, and a plastic bottle of soda that makes a loud noise when he tries that too. You twist your lips, watching the anxious shuffling of his feet. You breeze over his question, plaster a tight smile into your face, and ask your own question; “how long have you been here?” Tentatively, you lower yourself onto a rolling stool. “It’s late,” you state the obvious.

Jungkook’s leg bounces, and he pats his hand over it nervously. “Um, an hour? Just working on something,” he answers, cheeks warm as his eyes flicker everywhere but you. “What brings you here?” He repeats, and you know you can’t deflect it this time.

Shrugging half heartedly, you wait for him to finally look at you. When he does, he almost looks away but the glint in your eye stops him from doing so. “We need to talk,” you finally say. Jungkook visibly deflates, lips pulling into a thin line. You contemplate letting him relieve his thoughts first, but you came here with a point to make, for questions that needed answering, and you’re scared one word from him will wash them all away.

“Listen,” you start, smoothing your hand over the edge of your skirt. “I know something weird happened between us, and then I kinda freaked out on you, but… I need you to tell me the truth.”

Jungkook doesn’t hesitate. “Always.”

You swallow, try to push back the frustration that builds in his throat. “Did you ever even like Sojin?”

Jungkook blinks. “Huh?” A snort. “You’re joking,” he snickers, wipes at faux tears in the corner of his eyes, before your unsmiling face registers and he’s schooling his features. “___, I did like her. I dated her for five years. How could I not like her?”He says seriously, like he can’t believe you would ever question such a thing. 

You exhale, pick at your fingernails. “I met her,” you admit, and Jungkook’s face twists in confusion. “At the supermarket last week. She said you never liked her.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “Of course she’ll think that—we’re exes. I doubt she remembers all our best memories,” he sighs, turning back to organize his tool cart like he’s done with this conversation.

Raising to your feet you call his name again, and he hums absentmindedly. “Sojin said you never liked her because you were always chasing after me,” you accuse, laying all your cards out on the table. Your claim startles him, and you watch as he jostles half the tool cart with his surprise.

“She, what?” He huffs, cheeks as red as his jumpsuit. He forces out a laugh, airy and tight like you’re starring in your elementary school play again and the nerves are eating him up. “I-I don’t know why she’d say that.”

He’s flustered, obviously so, as he scoops the metal tools back onto the cart, bumping into three other things before settling back down on the floor to roll under the car. He pushes himself under, and you sternly call out, “Jungkook.” He freezes.

You strut over, brush your hands behind your skirt as you crouch beside him. “Always,” you quietly remind him. Jungkook says nothing. For a moment, you wonder if you’ve grossly misread the situation, if this was just another one of her schemes to drive the two of you apart.

Slowly, Jungkook appears from under the car. There’s a new stain on his cheekbone, brown and slick. He sits up, wide eyes tracing over your features likes he’s trying to seal them in his memory. “Yeah,” he admits, lips twisting as he watches the surprise take your features, before he’s lolling his head back to stare at the ceiling, leaving you to stare at the column of his neck.

“I do,” Jungkook admits, pushing through his emotions. It’s hard for him to confess, you realize, watching the way his Adam’s apples contracts and his jaw twitches from having to say so. “I like you so much it hurts.”

His confession leaves you feeling weird. On one hand, you want nothing more than to spring yourself on him and kiss his face until the stray oil marks are gone and replaced with the outline of your lipstick prints. You want to smother him and hold him, let him know he’s yours, always has been.

On the other hand… it’s sad. Going on thirty years and never did the two of you guess your feelings for each other. You doubt either of you are good at hiding them, with the way everyone seems to have known except you two. Maybe you don’t know Jungkook as well as you thought you did. Maybe he doesn’t know you.

A hand touches your knee, and you return your attention to his downtrodden appearance, chin tucked against his chest. “Please,” he murmurs. “Say something.”

You say nothing.

Tentatively, you reach a hand out, run it along the side of his head, through his mane, chocolate waves touching his cheekbones. He almost looks like when you guys were kids, round eyes watching your every move. Your hand continues down the back of his head, cupping the nape of his neck comfortingly. Jungkook leans into the touch, even though his shoulders are tense. You soothe your fingers over the tight muscles in his neck.

“Since when?” You inquire.

Jungkook blinks, lets your palm trace along his jawline and cup his cheek. “Since you dated Taehyung when we were sixteen.”

Mentally, you curse every deity in existence for putting Kim Taehyung in your life. “God,” you groan, burrowing your hands in your palms. Jungkook, surprised by your reaction, rolls closer, moves around until you’re crouched between his long legs. “Since me and that pinhead dated for twenty minutes?” You repeat.

Jungkook shifts closer, rubs your back. “It was 65 hours, actually,” he corrects, and the exact duration of your relationship makes you cringe. “I… counted.”

Small and shy, almost embarrassed. You glance back up at him. “Why?” You prod, and Jungkook’s cheek flush, palm stilling.

“Uh,” he starts. “I was nervous? That you two were in it for the long run. And I, I don’t know. It was easier to just count,” he lamely finishes, and his dangly earring whips around with him when he avidly avoids your gaze.

You sigh, catch his hand in yours. “Tae and I would have never lasted,” you tell him, remembering all the times the guy made you pick him up from one night stands in the last few years. “He wasn’t who I wanted.”

His foot jumps, toe tapping against the wheel of the car next to you. He wants to ask, you know he does, but Jungkook was quite possibly the only other person on this planet who could overthink something more than you.

Deciding to ease his worries, you give his hand a squeeze. “It was you,” you confess, feel like an elephant lands straight on your chest. “It is you,” you correct.

His forehead knocks against yours, hard, and you hiss at the bump that probably forms. “What the fu—“

“Tell me it’s not temporary,” Jungkook pleads, eyes crinkled in worry. You’re going cross eyed from trying to look at him like this, so you flit your eyes off somewhere to the side. His hand is heavy in yours. “Tell me you’re not just doing this for closure, or because you want to see what it would have been like, please,” he begs, “that would be so fucked up, because I’m so in love with you I actually think I might die.”

The dramatic confession makes you painfully warm. You nod, your lower lip trembling at the way he looks at you, like you single-handedly controlled this entire world with a flick of your wrist. “I-I love you too,” you parrot back, the first time you’ve ever said it, the millionth time you’ve ever thought it.

Jungkook visibly relaxes, pulls away from you to drop his head on your shoulder instead. Your legs are starting to cramp from the tight crouching position, ankles wobbly in your heels. His hair smells good still, despite the hours he’s probably spent beneath a car, and you gingerly pat the back of his head.

“I love you,” he murmurs, and you repeat it. “I love you,” he says again, and you repeat it. “I lov—“

“Me, yes, I’ve heard,” you cut him off, smile at the snort he releases, and when he turns his head, his lips brush against your neck. You’re instantly thrown back a few weeks, to that night on the couch with the limited edition Shrek 2 cups and the wine; the gentle touches that left you trembling for weeks. You inhale quickly, grabbing him by the shoulders and pushing him away.

His eyes are too soft, face too relaxed as he stares at you. “My legs hurt,” you tell him, quickly getting up. You whirl around, facing the car and digging through your purse like you suddenly have something to do.

“Oh,” you gasp, watch two arms wind around your waist, the dirty red jumpsuit contrasting against the tweed material of your high-end Chanel jacket. Jungkook sighs lovingly by your ear, snuggles his face into your neck. “W-we should go out,” you blurt, nerves jumping when he squeezes tighter, burrows closer. “To celebrate!”

Jungkook hums. “Yeah?” His voice is too low. You’re in trouble. “Celebrate what?”

You squirm, breath catching in your throat when he presses you closer against the hood of the car. “Um,” you shakily exhale, hands splaying out over the sleek surface of the black hood to steady yourself. It’s so shiny you can almost see your reflection. “U-Us!” You finally manage to exclaim.

A kiss against the side of your neck, and your spirit just about exits your body. Your knees feel weak, and you're just about ready to throw another mediocre excuse his way, when something warm and wet traces up the column of your neck. “Kook!” You gasp.

“Shh,” he murmurs, deep voice instantly soothing over your nerves. His hips nudge against your behind, and you jump at the bulge that presses against your lower back. One hand unwraps from around you, gliding down your arm sensually until he’s trapping your fingers on the hood of the car with his own. A swift kiss against your ear. “You owe me, remember?”

You flush, remember the filthy promises your list-addled brain has spewed that night at your house, the almost erratic development of your thoughts as you became consumed in the thought of him. Reminisce on the prod of his fingers against your cunt, his hot breath against your ear.

Suddenly, Jungkook whirls you around, traps you with his gaze as two hands flutter to rest on the small of your back. He’s looking down at you with those lovesick eyes, hooded with lust as they trace over the dip of your Cupid’s bow. “You’ll do that for me, won’t you?” A soft brush of his mouth against yours, pouty lips guiding you through a kiss, until you’re sighing against him, and he’s pulling away.

Numbly, you nod, almost hypnotized by the soft smirk that overtakes his features as he pushes you down, watches you sink to your knees before him. The concrete feels cold and hard beneath your knees. His jumpsuit is knotted around his waist, and you shakily unravel it, the elastic waistband staring you in the face afterwards.

“Take your time,” Jungkook croons, hand coming to rest on the side of your face, knuckles brushing over your skin delicately.

You tug it down, and one flash of that underwear band has your nerves flying out the window. You shove his t-shirt out of the way, let your hands trail over the ridges of his abdomen in your haste. He helps you by tugging it over his head. With that gone, his black boxers stare you in the face, and you yank those down with no hesitation.

“Jesus, baby,” Jungkook chuckles, though it’s choked off when you grasp his engorged cock in his hand. You should be surprised, marveling at the sight, considering it’s the first time you’ve ever seen him like this. But you brain is working overtime, too immersed in the vein that runs alongside it and the tip that throbs back at you. Later you can worship it, you think. Right now, you needed it down your throat.

The tip is flaming and swollen, his cock still growing plump in your hold, your hands slowly dragging up and down the length. You lean forward, press a gentle kiss below the mushroom head, trail kisses down the length until you're meeting your knuckles, and trail them back again. Jungkook sucks in a tight breath, leans to rest his palms on the car behind you, as he watches you on him.

A head of precum escapes, and you lunge for it, swirl your tongue in and around the slit on his cock, until his entire body tenses up. “Fuck,” he grunts, watches you ease his cock into your mouth. You groan at the stretch, the drag against the corners of your lips making your eyes roll backwards. “___, baby, a little more?” He asks, voice hoarse as he watches you sink down further on his cock.

You comply, close your eyes and focus on relaxing your throat. There’s a hand on the back of your head, impatiently pushing you down his length. “Shit,” he cries, unconsciously ruts against you. You gag, and he shushes you with a caress against your cheek. “Sorry,” he huffs, “just a little more for me, okay?”

Eyes squeezed shut tightly, you let him push you down until his cock hits the back of your throat and you can’t take anymore. The prod against your throat has tears springing to your eyes. “Gonna move now,” Jungkook announces, thumb brushing away the tears that collect in the corners. “Be good.”

He drags himself out, your saliva coating every inch of him, and when just the tip is resting on your tongue, he shoves back in. You whimper, palms digging into his thighs. Jungkook brushes a hand down your hair, soothes you for all of two seconds before he’s pulling out and doing it all over again. He picks up the pace, loses himself in the feeling of your hot mouth around him, tongue dragging over his cock.

The feeling in your throat burns, each thrust of his hips against your mouth making your jaw more and more sore. But god, it feels good to have him so close, his scent swarming your sense, groans like music to your ears. You want to please him, want him to feel as good as you did at your place. You want it even more now that you know how he feels, know he’s probably thought about this before.

A brutal thrust has you gagging, throat contracting around his length. “Shh,” Jungkook sighs, the fingers buried in your hair flattening out to run over your head. “Doing so good for me, beautiful.”

You bask in the praise, let a hand flutter down to the apex of your thighs, pressing down to relieve some of the pressure. Jungkook groans, rolls his hips against you and keeps you there for a second. Your throat spasms, his dick pressed hotly against it, and you feel your panties grow embarrassingly sticky. Eventually, he draws back out.

“You like this?” He hums, rutting against you faster now, nose brushing against the sparse hairs on his pelvis with every slam of his hips. You nod around a gag, eyes clouding with tears, lips slippery with saliva and precum. One particular thrust is so hard, it nearly sends you knocking back into the car, Jungkook’s hand on the back of your head barely saving you. “Fucking hell,” he spits, “look so pretty with my cock shoved down your throat, princess.”

You moan around him, feel a subtle twitch against your tongue before he’s pulling himself out. “Shit,” he cursed, pushing you away as he goes to grab his own dick in his hand, tugging at it like a madman. “Wh-Where?” He asks, and you stare dumbly at the sight of him playing with himself, almost don’t realize he’s asking you a question.

You take too long, scramble for words too long, and even if you did have one your throat is far too sensitive yo answer. Jungkook grows impatient. Pulling you closer by the collar of your Chanel suit jacket, tugging it open until the flimsy buttons snap, and the tank top you wore beneath comes into view. He aims the tip of his cock towards your sternum, and a few jacks later, he’s coming, cum spurting against your chest. You watch the cum trail down between the valley of your breasts, until the feeling comes to rest against the inside wire of your bra, sticky and gross, sliding along the underside of your boobs. “Shit,” Jungkook repeats, eyes furrowed over you.

Your knees ache, and you nearly trip when you stand up, steadying yourself against the side of the car. Jungkook seems to regain his sense by then, hand trailing around your waist. You meet his eye, and almost immediately turn away, the blood in your face rapidly rising.

Jungkook laughs. “Don’t get shy on me now,” he teases, gets too close and your noses bump. “Sorry,” he smiles, too shiny and bright for the sinful acts you just committed in an auto shop.

“Put your dick away,” you huff, let him nuzzle closer to you, and when he doesn’t move to tuck himself into his pants, you go do it for him.

Jungkook frowns, swats your hand away. “This dick has places to be,” he informs you, and you scoff.

“Refractory period,” you remind him, and he rolls his eyes.

“Well I’m not exactly gonna stick it in you this instant,” he drawls. “Gotta stretch you out first.”

You go to complain, tell him he doesn’t have to over exert himself. Truthfully, with Jungkook you feel like one good session was enough to sustain you for weeks. After last time, your skin had flowed for an entire week. But then his hand is slithering up your backside, sneaking under your skirt to grab a handful of your ass.

There’s quickly drying drool collecting at the corners of your mouth, saliva from when he’d fucked your throat just a few moments prior, that he kisses away. His mouth slots over yours, and your heart and pussy both flutter at the kiss.

It’s gentle and sweet for all of ten seconds, his mouth moving against yours until you feel the wet press of his tongue against your bottom lip, tracing along until you open your mouth. He wastes no time shoving his tongue past your lips, letting it dance with yours as he pulls you closer, hands gripping the globes of your ass. You let him lick his way into your mouth, more and more saliva catching in the corners of your mouth until he’s pulling away with a wet pop.

He pulls away, doesn’t stray too far, proud smirk crossing his features at the sight of your slicked lips. “You liked that, didn’t you?”

“Huh?” You ask dumbly, tongue mindlessly swiping over your lips.

Jungkook’s eyes track the movement. “The saliva,” he clarifies. “The spit. You liked it at your place too,” he reminisces, moving in on you again. “Liked watching me slobber and spit all over your body. Isn’t that right, baby?”

You blush, discreetly rub your thighs together. “I-I do,” you admit, willing the warmth of your face away because at this distance he must certainly feel it.

Jungkook nods, doesn’t say anything else as he captures your lips a second time. He doesn’t bother with the gentle prodding anymore, jumping straight into tongue right away. He’s messier, letting his saliva coat your lips and drip down your mouth, and as messy as it is, you love it. You whimper when he pulls away, but gasp when his hand tugs at the hair by the nape of your neck, pulling you back until you’re looking up at him.

“Open,” he murmurs, and you do, tongue pressing against your bottom lip.

It should be disgusting, the rev of his throat, the sound of his saliva collecting, and the way his jaw shifts when he’s got enough. It should be filthy, the way he shoots it down your open lips, the way it splatters against the back of your throat. It should be gross, but god do you love it. “Swallow,” Jungkook commands, and you do, feel his spit drip down your throat like it’s your own, whimpering at the feeling. A quirk of his lips. “Good girl.”

You have to bite down the pride that grows in your chest.

Jungkook’s hands continue their mapping out of your behind, eventually ending with a hard squeeze that has you squealing. Automatically, your back arches in surprise, breasts pressing against Jungkook’s chest. He smirks down at you.

“Bet you taste good,” he says, pressing a kiss against your cheek. “Let me taste?”

“Please,” you beg, nearly losing your shit when he lifts you up onto the car, the cool metal making you jump, heel on your foot nearly kicking the side view mirror clean off. “Wait, Jungkook,” you sputter, glancing down at the sleek metal. “This is someone’s car.”

Jungkook ignores you, pushes your legs apart to slot himself between them. His palms run up your legs, over your thighs, until they’re toying with the hem of your skirt. Mocha eyes glance up at you, as if daring you to question him again, so you promptly zip your lips shut. The skirt goes, ever so slowly, over your thighs, bunches up at your waist until he’s staring at your lace panties.

He presses a kiss against the inside of your thigh, nose faintly brushing against your skin. The kisses trail over your skin, until he’s hovering over your panties, and he’s staring like a man starved. He gives no warning, suddenly leaning down to press his mouth over your party-clad folds, nose flush against your clit. “Kook!” You squeak, hands flying to clutch at his hair.

Jungkook mouths at you, drags his tongue against your panties until they’re soaked in both your essence and his saliva, just how you like. A hand slithers around your leg, wrapping around until he’s got a firm grip on it that he uses to hold it open.

“J-Just take them off,” you gasp, squirm when his mouth moves towards your clit, lapping against you. “Please,” you cry.

He doesn’t.

Jungkook tortures you with those kitten licks, muted through your panties, until you’re begging him to stop, to take them off and do it right. He loves it, you can tell, dazzling smile peeking up at you every time you tug against his hair, until finally, he’s had enough.

The underwear comes off, dangling uselessly by your ankle, and then the show really begins.

“Wait,” you choke, head falling back against the hood of the car when he finally gets his mouth on you, suctioning his lips around your swollen clit. The niggling reminder that this is some stranger’s car he’s eating you out on rings in your brain, and perhaps that’s what makes it more exciting.

His mouth is warm, tongue flicking over your sensitive bud like it’s candy and he needs the sugar. The sounds are so loud and wet, the squelching of your pussy every time he pulls off a pop that resounds throughout the garage. He pampers your clit for what seems like hours, switching the movements of his tongue every time he gets the chance until you’re quivering.

When you think he’s done, he’s not.

Fingers slide up your thigh, featherlight, as they reach your drenched cunt. They drag over your lips, and you mewl, feeling the muscles jump and tighten at his touches. “Jungkook, please,” you moan, rolling your hips against him, but it’s hard and everytime you move, you feel the sweat on your skin weigh you down, glued to the metal beneath you.

The first finger breaches you, just the tip of his index slowly wiggling inside. You muffle a moan in your palm, and Jungkook pulls away with a huff. “No hiding,” he warns, slowly lowering back to your cunt with a stern glare. You nod, but can’t help it when his second finger pushes its way in and you bite down on your knuckles.

“Oh,” You sob, body quivering as he begins scissoring his two fingers inside you. With your attention focused on the digits sheathed inside you, he pulls away from your clit, bestowing one final kiss against it that has your foot kicking out wildly. “Th-there.” His other hand catches your palm in his, presses it against the metal by your head.

Jungkook smiles, curls his fingers around until he finds the soft spot inside you that turns you to jelly. “There we go, beautiful,” he purrs, pushing himself to his full height, leaning over your trembling form. “So sweet for me,” he sighs, licks his lips like he’s remembering your taste.

“I'm gonna,” you choke, become hypnotized by the dark cloud in his gaze, the arrogant smirk on his lips. He curls his fingers, palm brushing against your abandoned clit. The touch makes you jump, nerves tingling.

“Cum for me,” he encourages, silky tone swarming your head as your pleasure slowly washes over you. It’s probably the most relaxed orgasm you’ve had in your entire life, his low voice and delighted eyes guiding you through it, until your entire body clenches, dissolving in a puddle of contentment. Your arousal surges around his fingers, trickling down onto the metal.

“Oh, Jungkook,” you pant, overwhelmed from the touches and the kisses. Jungkook’s smile gets swallowed by your greedy mouth, desperate for more kisses now that he’s made you feel like this.

The kisses only placate him for so long, and when he presses his body against yours, there’s an awfully hard cock that slides against your dripping cunt. “Think you can go again, gorgeous?” He murmurs against your jaw, nipping at the skin on the way down. You nod, eyes falling shut at the warmth you feel in your bones.

Jungkook kisses your neck one last time, before leaning back once more to line himself up.

This was a scene straight from your teenage fantasies, a dripping, shirtless Jungkook at full mast between your thighs, looking at you so lovingly. It makes your heart thunder, imagining how long you could have been doing this if you weren’t both so stupid. As if reading your thoughts, Jungkook rubs a palm over your thigh, eyebrow quirked. You nod his concern away, squirm closer until the tip of his cock nudges against your hole.

“Fuck,” Jungkook sighs, moving his hands to your hips as he slowly pushes in. His fingers, bless their intentions, could have never prepared you for the size of Jungkook’s cock, thick and veiny as it pushes inside. You whimper, clawing at the hands on your waist that stop you from impaling yourself on it fully. “Waited so long for this.”

“Then fucking do it,” you beg, nearly pass out when he shoves in harshly at your tone. “J-Jung—“

“I got you, baby,” he assures you, jostles you until you’re flush against his cock, clit brushing against his pelvis. Your back arches, and Jungkook slips his arm around you, the other lingering on your waist.

Every subtle shift has him brushing along your swollen clit, and you sob at the sensation, begging him to move. He complies, changes his stance to make it easier, and finally begins thrusting into your throbbing pussy.

“So good,” he huffs, eyes zeroed in on where the two of you meet. You would have looked too, if your body hadn’t felt so completely boneless beneath him, the grinding of his cock sending shocks of pleasure up your spine. “So pretty and mine.”

“Yours,” you choke, heart swelling in your chest at his words. It’s almost animalistic, the way he ducks down to bite at your neck, like some animal staking its claim, and you like it. You like it because it’s all you ever dreamed of for so long. “Faster, Kook,” you urge, wrapping your arms around him.

He does as you say, slow and careful thrusts transitioning into a fast piston that would have had you bouncing out of his reach if he wasn’t holding you so tightly. “Fuck,” he chokes, lost in the way you clench around him, lips dragging against his cock with each thrust. “Baby,” he grunts, sweat trailing down his temple, eyes furrowed shut. Eventually, his head falls into the crook of your neck, his weight pressing down on you uncomfortably, subtle ridges on the hood making you ache. At this point, you’re too far gone to care. “All I ever wanted,” he gasps.

You could cry, right now and he’d pull out right away, big heart fretting over your emotional well-being. Which is exactly why you hold your emotions in, let yourself get fully immersed in the feeling of Jungkook pounding you against some stranger’s car and not the inevitable emotional crash you’ll have later.

He fucks like he’s waited all his life for this, and you guess he sort of has if what he’s saying is true. You have no doubt it is, and when his lips suck a mark against your neck, you feel like you’re in heaven. “Almost,” you pant, legs wrapping around his waist tightly. Jungkook nods, his hair tickling your jaw and neck, as he picks up the pace. Your cunt swallows him up every single time, suctions him in until he’s shaking, and so are you.

It can only last for so long, your heart and body eventually reaching their peak, and you unravel. His arms are there to catch you, to pick up the pieces and hold you together. You want to cry, you really do, and when the coil in your stomach snaps, you finally do. “I love you,” you sob, and Jungkook shudders, glances at your tear-struck face to push himself off.

“Love you too,” he mumbles, grinds his cock against your spasming folds one last time, and comes mid-thrust, cum spurting inside you. He holds you, just like you knew he would, as you come down from your highs, hot breath fanning across your skin.

You feel warm, loved, and in love, body trembling in sensitivity afterwards. He’s pulled out since, soothingly rubbing a hand against your side. You’d like to say you wouldn’t be anywhere else, but one shift reminds you of where you are.

“Shit,” you groan, taking in your surroundings before letting your head fall back against the hood. Jungkook hums, round eyes looking your way. “We really just confessed and had sex on some stranger’s car.”

Jungkook snorts, leans away just the slightest to look you in the eye. He’s lost in thought, chocolate irises swirling as they drink you in. “Say thanks to Taehyung,” he finally says.

You roll your eyes, and when you shift beneath him, your sweaty skin sticks uncomfortably against the metal hood. “Yeah, let me thank Taehyung for dating me for three days and awakening your crush,” you huff sarcastically, resigning yourself to your new life stuck against the hood of some classic automobile from the 50s. Jungkook laughs, tucks himself back into his underwear. “Thanks Taehyung, for your noble sacrifice ten years ago that allowed me to fuck Jungkook on some stranger’s car—“

Jungkook hums, snuggles closer to you. “Tae’s car.”

“—after confessing our—Taehyung’s car?” You shriek, sitting up with the strength of three football players, Jungkook toppling off you. “Oh my god. No.” Jungkook rubs his elbow where he knocked it against the hood, looks at you with solemn eyes. Slowly, a smirk crawls over his features. “No,” you gasp, mortification crawling up your spine. “We didn’t.”

He tugs you off the car, tugs your skirt down when you wobble on unsteady heels. “Yup,” he says, pops the end of the word like a child. “Say hello to Taehyung’s new car!” He exclaims, patting the hood you just defiled. “Straight from the car auction he went to this morning,” he beams.

“Oh my god,” you groan, covering your face with your hands when you finally spot the puddles of... something on the black hood. “This is terrible.”

Jungkook ignores you, wipes up the mess with some napkins from his takeout bag, but there’s already some that's dried, only fueling your mortification. “Not like he’ll find out,” he shrugs, then narrows his eyes at you. “Or will he?”

“No!” You stutter, carefully rounding the car as if inspecting it for any more signs of the treacherous things you and Jungkook did on or around it. “I-I won’t tell him.”

“Uh huh,” Jungkook teases, settles on that rolling stool and pushes himself towards you. There’s a hand easing itself around your waist, tugging you between open legs. Still in shock, your hands flutter around his neck, muscle memory causing you to immediately begin massaging the skin there.

Jungkook sighs into the touch, eyes falling shut. “Too bad Jimin’s not here,” he sighs, and you visibly see his nose grow in arrogance. 

“What? Why should Jimin be here?” You ask, pushing your fingers against the knots in his neck. 

Jungkook levels you with an unimpressed, one-eyed glare. He scoffs, “maybe you are as dumb ad Taehyung says.” And then, “hey!” when you tug his ear. He isn’t upset, just tugs you closer until his face is buried against your stomach. “You know country folk like him marry on the spot right?”

“What are you even saying,” you huff, burying your hands in the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging his head back to properly look at him. “Why do you care who Jimin marries?” He doesn’t bother answering. 

Instead, Jungkook sighs into the touch, an easygoing smile thrown your way, and for a moment you forget about the trauma Taehyung will have when he inevitably learns about this. “This is the life.”

[write-haikyuu]

Soft, sweet, and light (ft. Aone Takanobu) | scenario

I finally broke out of my writer’s block! I think. But really took forever with this one because I wanted the plot to flow. tbqh im not sure if it does ;-;. But please enjoy!

word count: 1400 summary(?): Aone Takanobu loves dessert. But he loves you more. 

Aone Takanobu hated pain. Not because he was weak or because he had low-pain tolerance. It was simply because he was capable of enduring so much pain that when he did feel pain, it hurt. A lot. That’s why, after an excruciating visit from the dentist, this gentle giant trickled into your shared apartment with cotton balls stuffed against his left cheek. His lifeless form plopped onto the couch. Though he didn’t say much, the scowl on his face today indicated that the painkillers had finally worn off. As he attempted to cup his face, you immediately slapped his hands away. You both glared at each other. Before leaving the office, the dentist had warned you multiple times to make sure he wouldn’t touch his face after the wisdom tooth extraction. Crossing his arms, he huffed with his bloated face. Aone simply felt defeated. 

You walked over and sat on the edge of the couch. Reaching over to smooth out his hair and you softly spoke up, “I’ll go prepare you some food for dinner ’kay?” Placing a gentle kiss on his forehead, you made your way towards the door and headed out to the supermarket. Having dated Aone for this long, you were already aware of the unspoken, telepathic communication that the two of you shared. Though you did have to admit, when you first transferred to Date Tech you definitely thought that locked stare he exchanged with you meant that he was going to devour you or something like that. To think about it now is only a laughing matter considering how much of a softie he truly is.

Making your way to the supermarket, you already listed out the things to make for dinner. Feeling a little more spontaneous than usual, you figured it would be nice to make a soft dessert for Aone tonight as well. Still, you just couldn’t place a finger on what he would want. Though most people would think he would prefer spice, protein, or something that would immaculate his athletic build, Aone actually preferred soft, sweet, and light foods. 

Trailing off those own thoughts, you passed by notable landmarks shared between you and Aone. A wave of nostalgia rushes over you as you walk past your high school Date Tech, followed by the crepe shop next to it, and a shaved iced cafe down the street. Each pertaining its own milestone to your relationship with Aone. Thinking back towards your high school days was already cheesy enough, you couldn’t help but come to a smile as you thought about all those times Aone truly had been there for you. 

On the week Date Tech’s annual cultural festival, you and Aone were assigned to make mochi together to sell for a booth. With all the ingredients gathered, you were dead set on taking the lead on this one. “Don’t worry Aone! My grandma taught me how to do this!” You puffed your chest proudly and began to search up Youtube tutorials anyways. Eventually, after multiple failed attempts, you stooped to the floor of the classroom and sighed in defeat. The sticky rice paste has essentially become a liquid to drink, and you ironically happened to be drenched in sweat as well. Aone chuckled as he grabbed the pestle in your hands and began pounding the mochi on his own. Before you knew it, Aone handed a piece of the rice cake over to you. Your eyes gleamed as you took a bite, impressed at how tender and sweet the mochi was. When it was his turn to take a bite, he couldn’t help but notice that you had a piece of powder stuck to your cheeks. Without a warning, Aone reached over to you and gently grazed his fingers across your cheeks to remove the powder off of you, his touch feeling your soft and squishy cheeks. 

When you completely bombed your midterms the constant sulk and pout of disappointment it was a recipe called for crepes. Though you were adamant about just going home to study even harder that day, Aone persisted with his efforts to treat you out to make you feel better. Refusing to turn towards the direction of your house, his robust posture made its way in the opposite direction. Aone walked towards the crepe shop quietly anticipating that you’d crave in and follow him too (to which you always did). When the two of you stepped into the shop, it wasn’t the aroma of freshly made crepes and diverse palette of toppings that overwhelmed Aone, rather it was the sweet and light scent of your shampoo that he whiffed at as you ran past him to look at the menu. While you spent eating away the feelings of disappointment and despair, Aone was silently disciplining himself as he tried to resist from taking another sniff every time you complained and pulled your hair. It was like the room was perfumed with your sweet scent as you impatiently waited for the crepes to come out. The look on your face once you finished your plate was pure satisfaction and absolute contentment. Aone then realized that he wanted to be the one who could always help you make that face. But with his painfully shy personality and your utmost oblivious ignorance, he just didn’t have it in him to confess that to you at the time. At least not yet. 

At last, on the night of the first date, you and Aone had gone out for the movies and had dinner together. Since he was still mostly shy, it was quite apparent that you did most of the talking (not that you minded). Though it did take you by surprise to realize how much he had been listening to you when the two of you came across a shaved ice cafe. Aone tugged you back as you continued walking. He pointed out the plastic display of flavored shaved ice. He could have sworn drool was escaping from your lips as your eyes widened with excitement. “Aone, that’s a great idea! Let’s grab dessert before we go home!” In the spur of that moment, you gleefully held his hands and dragged him into the cafe. As he sat there waiting for you to take the first bite, his cheeks flushed colors of the red bean toppings. Before he could even take his bite into the dessert, your hand abruptly knocked over the entire bowl. As if it was in a slow-motion, the ice splattered onto his pants as the red beans toppled over his head. The syrup dripped along his hairline. Complete utter shock and silence on your end, and nothing but disbelief and astonishment on his. 

“AONE I AM SO SO SO SORRY!” You patted his shirt down and apologized for the millionth time that night. But Aone wasn’t angry. In fact, the whole incident only proved to him how much more he had fallen for you. Because no matter how clumsy, wild, and silly you could be, Aone would always be there with you. He grabbed your hands to halt you from trying to make up for the mess and without missing a beat he softly pressed his lips against yours to tell you that all was forgiven. And indeed, all was forgiven that night. 

Now back to the present moment, you and Aone were sitting across the dinner table together. Your dinner plates were scraped empty and the meal came to end as you placed your spoon down, calling it quits. Aone huffed in contentment. He slouched back happily and patted his tummy as he watched you finish off your meal. As he stood up to begin cleaning up the dishes, you stopped him and stood up almost instantly. “Wait! I have a surprise for you!” You ran to the fridge and told him to sit back and close his eyes. Though you knew his wisdom tooth extraction prevented him from going out for dessert like your usual dinner routine together, you also wanted to do something to help relieve his pain and make him feel better too.

“Tada!~” You handed him a small plate of Kuri Kinton, a traditional Japanese dish made up of mashed sweet potatoes and candied chestnuts. Aone excitedly sat back down on the dinner table, anticipating to take his first bite. But before he could even, you swiftly grabbed the only chestnut on the plate and scarfed it down, nearly choking yourself to death. “No. Hard. Foods!” you laughed as you chewed it all up, a piece of syrup stuck to your cheek. Aone stared at you in disbelief before breaking out with you in laughter. His cheeks were puffy as ever as he watched you stuff your face up as well. Aone loved soft, sweet, and light foods. But he loved you more.

[5-falsehoods-phonated]

March Ado About Nothing

Series Summary - A series of one-shots and  drabbles written based off of prompts posted in the TSS Fanworks Collective server. The goal is to take traditional whump prompts and fill them in the least-angsty way possible every day through March.

A note that though some of these fills are written bait and switch style (written in a way you think is going in one direction but reveals it to be the opposite towards the end) they are all written in a fluffy or silly style with very little, if any at all, actual angst.

Day 2: Stuff Your Secrets

Summary: Stuffed animals are good and normal to have no matter what age you are- except for Remus. Logan quickly fixes that line of thinking.

Prompts: "Please, no more!, Extreme Weather, *Dirty Secret*      

Ships: platonic intrulogical (Logan & Remus)

Warnings: mild angst, guilt for having stuffed animals. Let me know if there are!

General taglist (ask to be added or removed): @/janus-is-an-adorable-snek-boi  @/im-an-anxious-wreck  (in an effort to not flood your inboxes I’m only tagging in the first part ^-^)

WC: 1235

Stuffed animals, with all their innocence and connection to childlike wonder and imagination, weren’t usually something that was defined as a dirty secret someone would desperately try to hide away at all costs. Having stuffed animals was normal and useful to mental health: they were soft and plushy and you could cuddle them for comfort, they were amazing to grip onto when one was sick or in pain and, if you didn’t want to feel odd talking to yourself to work out one idea or other, you could always prop them up as a makeshift audience to listen to you infodump for hours and they would never get annoyed!

So no, stuffed animals themselves weren’t the problem, nor was having them as a fully grown and “mature” adult. The problem came because the owner was Remus, and Remus had come to learn that if he had something it was automatically thought to be something gross or dangerous or disturbing- especially if that’s not what it looked lille from the outside. He was the one that would play stupid pranks of showing someone something rather cute but have it open its mouth to reveal several jaws and a tentacle, or give someone a teddy bear the melted into foul smelling ooze when they held it. Do this enough times and be repressed for a decade or two to boot and you have a reputation that- while fair in its own right if he really thought about it- make having things that were actually innocent in nature a bit problematic if he didn’t want to be scrutinized within an inch of his life.

And so, his dirty secret remained hidden even from Janus, who Remus knew would never make fun of him or judge him for something so trivial but years of hiding made him skittish anyway. The irony of intrusive thoughts hiding something definitely wasn’t lost on him but he only shook the thought away as he continued shoving his well worn friends into a drawer in the closet while shooting a look at the clock. Logan would be coming in any minute now to help him organize a few of his projects that still needed fine tuning if he was going to show his brother any time soon; even though their relationship was still a little rocky...especially after knocking him out for an entire episode and some hateful words were said by the lighter side, they had both scraped up enough indignant reluctance to apologize and begin working together- however tentatively- on a couple different things to test the waters. And Remus wasn’t worried about it all! A second opinion from someone as observant and down to earth as Logan was never hurt was all.

He had just finished shoving everything closed and willing the closet to stay shut when there was a knock at the door. Grinning wide he sank in directly behind the logical side and opened the door from behind, making the other stiffen and then roll his eyes at Remus before walking into the room, immediately going for the desk and paying no attention to the slightly disappointed pout Remus was sporting over not getting a bigger reaction. He knew Logan was just as dramatic as any other side, he just had to find a sweet spot- maybe he’d steal his jam at some point. Appearing on top of the desk he gestured to a few notebooks strewn around.

“It’s a lot so buckle in! I haven’t had an outlet for my ideas in years!”

Logan peered at him from over his glasses. “So long as nothing is explicitly pornographic or sadistic in nature I’m willing to bet most of these will be harmless enough to include somewhere in future projects.” Screwing his mouth to the side Remus simply bounced in place, never having been able to sit still for very long especially when things were quiet. Thankfully Logan didn’t seem to mind, simply skimming through various sketchbooks and notebooks and placing flashcards to mark certain spots for whatever it was he was looking for. He jolted in surprise as something cold and gooey was pressed into his hands, looking up as Logan took his hand away and resumed his task.

“To fidget with if you like, I know sitting quietly can’t be easy but I appreciate your patience.”

Blinking in surprise Remus began idly stretching the goop around, the bright green slime enveloping his hand and sticking in a way that was oddly very pleasing as a tactile stim. He’d have to make more of this at some point and see if he could bathe in it; surely Roman wouldn’t mind one of their lakes turned into slime as long as it was for creativity's sake. He was so engrossed in the wonderful new thing he held in his hands that he didn’t hear the closet food creaking until it was too late, the overstuffed doors bursting open and spilling various items out onto the floor, multiple phallic shapes and odd body pillows were the least of his worries as he watched all of the stuffed animals he had shoved away spill out into the open in all their cute, fluffy glory. His chest constricted painfully as he shot a panicked look to Logan who was regarding the plushies waily as if they would come to life and maul him at any moment- which, while as in character as that might be- for some reason he couldn’t bear the thought of them being perceived that way.

“They’re safe I swear! Just stuffed animals I uh- there’s nothing- I just like-” His throat refused to cooperate and he was left gaping stupidly as Logan set the notebook down and stood up. “No, please!”

Remus reached out for Logan, knowing what he was pleading with him for but suddenly very aware of his racing thoughts telling him to make sure he wouldn’t get into trouble- what if he told Patton, or took them away because he wasn’t meant to have them? Or-

“I’ll be right back Remus. I promise, I’m just going to get mine.”

His? He was gone before Remus could question it as he ripped and pulled and mashed the goop in his hands nervously, wishing the other had left him with more of an explanation. He didn’t have long to wait however as Logan came back in with an armload of...something that was prompt laid on his bed. As he came closer he realized they were stuffed animals- Logan’s he guessed from the teddy bear adorned with a tie and a snail with a lab coat. But there was also a well worn fluffy purple dog, a calico cat with galaxy print for spots and a stegosaurus with a rainbow scale print on it. He looked back to Logan who smiled warmly.

“You don’t have to keep them a secret, Remus, at least not for me. I’d be a hypocrite to judge you and I’m very willing to bet the other’s would be as well.”

“Bet you my bug collection!” Remus shouted before he could think. Logan pulled a face. “I’m not trading you again- last time you didn’t say they spit acid and my desk was ruined.”

Cackling he twitched a finger and the toys were back on his bed where they belonged, though he did sneak a small squid plush in with Logan’s- as thanks.

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[flobro]

Omovember 2020

Day Two - At a Desk

Nishinoya x Reader

Nishinoya’s PoV 

I sat at my desk in History class, glancing at the wall every few seconds, my throat dry and my palms sweating slightly as i tried my best to focus on my work.

It was a really hot day so i had been drinking a lot of water to stay hydrated as any normal person would. Annoyingly, this had taken its toll on my bladder which was now quite full up.

It was third period with only twenty minuets until lunch time which meant i had already been holding for an hour and forty minuets.

I quickly stuck my hand up and the teacher looked over at me asking, ‘Yes, Nishinoya?’

‘P-please my i g-go to the b-bathroom?’ I asked shakily, putting my quivering arm back down.

The teacher glanced at the clock before shaking her head, ‘You only have twenty minuets until lunch. You can hold it.’

I nodded my head and quickly picked up my pen again even though i was thinking *No, actually. I really cant hold it.*

Suddenly, my phone buzzed in my pocket, sending a jolt through my body, painfully jabbing through my bladder. I had to squeeze my thighs together really tightly to stop anything from leaking out.

I secretly grabbed my phone from out of my pocket, keeping it hidden under my desk so that my teacher couldnt see.

Y/n Bestieeee

hey you good ?

you look really desperate :(

I blushed at the message, not only because Y/n was aware of how much i had to pee, but also because i had a raging crush on her.

My bladder twinged once again and one of my hands flew to my crotch, pressing tightly as i felt a bit more pee come out of me.

I managed to cut off the leak but as soon as i went to take my hand away a bit more came out so i had to keep my hand there as i replied to Y/n with only one hand.

Nishi-CoolDude

yeah ngl i gotta pee real bad

just gonna have to wait till lunch >:(

I put my phone back into my pocket and looked towards Y/n who was sitting two seats away from me.

She was already looking at me with pity writen on her face. She did the sign of the cross at me and pretended like she was praying that i would be okay.

I chuckled slightly which applied pressure onto my bladder making quite a lot of pee come out of me.

I gasped loudly making a few heads turn to me for a split second before going back to their work. Luckily the teacher didnt look at me otherwise that wouldve been awkward.

My boxers were completely soaked and i knew there was a puddle on my chair as it soaked into my trousers as i shuffled around slightly, trying to be as descrete with my need as possible.

I looked at the clock quickly to see that fifteen minutes had passed and i now only had to hold for another five minutes.

I sighed in relief...

But then i realised that i wasnt only sighing in relief of the time...

But also the feeling of my blader emptying itself without my permission.

My face turned red and my heart hammered against my chest in utter panic as my lap and legs began to slowly get covered in my urine.

‘Class is dissmissed.’ I heard my tracher say and students began to pack up.

Y/n quickly grabbed her stuff and stood in front of my desk, shielding me from view. She gave me a look which told me she knew exactly what i had done.

‘Dont worry,’ She whispered so only i could hear, ‘Ill hide you until everyones gone.’

Luckily she always came to my desk at the end of lessons so no one thought twice about it as they left the room.

Once the room was empty appart from me, Y/n and our teacher i stood up from my seat, a deep blush coating my whole face.

‘Erm... s-sorry but... can i go home e-early today?’ I asked my teacher who looked at me with wide eyes.

‘Yes, you’ll have to. Y/n im guessing you want to go with him?’ The teacher asked us.

Y/n nodded, ‘Yeah of course... come on Yuu. Lets sneak outta this place... spy mode.’

I smiled at her, glad about how chill she was being regarding the situation and happy that we could always count on each other.

~~~~~~~~~~

hey guys !

hope you liked day two !!

~ flobro

[mrsbhandari]

Shutter - pt 4

a/n: bonjour!! im here officially with pt 4 to this fic so i hope you like it!! <3

warnings: some language and its kinda suggestive in parts but nothing explicit teehee

words: 3.8k (damn)

tags: @lxdy-starfury, @huntress1024, @anotherbeingsworld, @brightpinkpeppercorn, @chaotic-ramsay-queen, @brycemaloliver

#

Tyril stood alone in his large apartment, eyeing each piece of clothing in his perfectly organized closet with varying levels of hatred. He didn’t want to go too formal and wear a suit, because this was most likely not a fancy date at a fancy restaurant. 

Wait.

Is this really a date?

She hadn’t responded to his final text, making him sweat more than he ever had in his life. He stepped over to the other side of his closet and landed a slender finger on a gray turtleneck sweater. 

“...Acceptable,” he murmured, breaking the silence of the air in his apartment. Quietly opening a drawer, he picked a pair of simple black slacks, crisp and pristine. 

In her own apartment, Naexi called the local pizza joint and placed her order before grabbing a baggy college sweatshirt that slipped off her shoulder and some jeans, keeping her shoes off but her cozy socks on. She definitely considered this a date, but she didn’t want him to know that. After putting on music, she danced a little in her kitchen while checking her phone, eager for any updates from Tyril.

Radio silence. 

A knock sounded, barely audible over the music, so she turned it down and walked to open the door. 

Tyril could barely handle it. She was standing there, collarbone slightly exposed under her sweatshirt, dark hair in a messy braid that draped over her shoulder, and slivers of her thighs were revealed from the rips in her skinny jeans. She was as alluring as she was in the first moment he saw her. 

“C’mon in. I have a coat rack on your left.” There was something interesting about the information, but he couldn’t place his finger on it until he securely hooked his jacket and scarf on the small hooks protruding from the wooden structure. For years, he had been waited on hand and foot in other people’s homes because of his wealth and status, but the simple act of being allowed to take his own shoes off and hang his own coat up was...refreshing. “Do you...like my rack?” 

“I beg your pardon?” He whirled on her with wide eyes, well aware of the double entendre.

“You’re like...smiling at it. It was my brother’s, but he broke it and gave it to me.” 

“Why would he not throw it out?” Tyril’s elegant features twisted into confusion, and he frowned when she seemed to laugh at the memory, believing the sound to be directed at him. 

“He’s awful at fixing things, so he knew that if he gave it to me, I would find a way to fix it.” Still smiling, she ran her eyes down his outfit before stopping on his feet. “Of course you have those fancy socks.” 

His eyes found her mismatched socks, her left foot covered with stripes and the right with polka dots. Face returning to its neutral, he raised a single eyebrow and allowed the left corner of his mouth to turn up into a half smile. “I think yours are much better than mine.” 

She stuck her tongue out and waved her hand, beckoning him to fully enter her cozy apartment. It was vibrant, with dozens of pictures hung on the wall with no real pattern. The walls were an odd crimson, but a combination of the decor and the numerous candles spread throughout the living room and kitchen made the space feel like home. Small piles of books and knick knacks were scattered on every surface he could find, a distinct contrast to his own museum-like home where everything had a place and stayed in it. Smiling to himself, he noticed the three vases of flowers he sent to her positioned on varying tables and bookshelves spread throughout her home. Upon closer inspection of the pictures, he spotted a few of her and Nia; during a party, in front of a castle in what looked like Germany, in graduation caps and gowns as they held up their degrees for the camera. 

She silently watched him from her spot on one of the barstools around the kitchen island, slightly amused at how out of place he looked in the light of her apartment. Everything around her was warm and inviting, but he stood tall and aloof, clothes dreary against the bright backdrop of her prized possessions. He was poised like a man who had never been denied a thing in his life; for some reason, she found herself both wanting to give in to that and to challenge him as much as possible. 

“Are all these pictures ones you’ve taken?” 

“Yup! There’s a few that aren’t mine, but most I’ve chosen from my own portfolio.” 

“They’re beautiful.” Once she didn’t respond for a few moments, he looked up to find her gazing at him, a slight blush on her cheeks and her head cocked. She wore a look similar to the one she had on when they first met, studying and searching for something he had yet to offer. Or maybe he had been offering it the entire time he was here without knowing she had found it. It was both unsettling and pleasant, to be the main focus of her intense and calculating stare. She finally seemed to realize that she hadn’t answered, so she broke her eyes from him and nodded. 

“Thanks.” 

“I like your apartment, as well.”

“I’m sure it’s not what you’re used to.”

“What does that have to do with it?”

There. Something flashed in her eyes as they met his, ten feet away with something connecting them. He had given her a challenge, but unlike in the bookshop, this wasn’t one born from anger; it was something entirely new. Time seemed to slow around them, making the candles flicker almost supernaturally and their heartbeats decelerate. His mouth was dry and although he held her eye contact, he couldn’t help but notice the rest of her body in front of him, enticingly revealed with taunting slits and stretches of the fabric. 

He didn’t know it, but her observant photographer’s eye was watching him as well, taking in the impossibly long stretch of his neck under his turtleneck and how, even in socks, he still carried with him an aura of being the most important person in the room. Here, standing in her apartment, admiring her photos, and staring at her like he wanted to pin her against a wall, Naexi finally realized just how pretty he was. The more she took in the dark hair framing a pale unblemished complexion, complemented by the high arch of his eyebrows and his perfectly positioned nose, the more it hit her that from the moment they met, she had been suppressing the urge to kiss him until she forgot her own name.  Full lips parted as if to speak, but he was cut off by a swift knocking on the door. As if broken from a trance, they both seemed to tense and look towards the sound at the same time, but Tyril beat her to answering. 

“Wait--!” she called, but the door was already open and Tyril was once again proving just how much space he took up as he bent to avoid hitting his head on the frame. 

“Who are you?!” The delivery guy, a short and stout man with a tendency to eat everything in sight as well as be painfully loud about any and everything having to do with everybody else’s business but his own, was staring up at the billionaire with a mix of curiosity and hostility. Tyril seemed taken aback by the shouted question and took a step back, allowing Naexi to push his large form out of the way and offer the man the cash as well as an explanation.

“He’s my date, Threep.” Tyril looked down at her with a smug smile. So this is a date. “Meet Tyril.”

Threep offered the pizza to her before giving him a small wave and a tip of his hat. “Sorry about that. She rarely has dates over, so I wanted to make--”

“Keep the change, bye!” She slammed the door and deadbolted it. “That’s enough of that.” 

“So this is a date, then?” An already high eyebrow raised as he crossed his arms, tight sweater showing off the sculpt of his arms as they flexed. If Naexi tried hard enough, she could pretend that she was only drooling over the pizza that was beginning to burn the skin of her palms. She also pretended that the reason she was gripping the pizza box hard enough to whiten her knuckles and bend the cardboard was because she didn’t want to drop it. It had nothing to do with the fact that she had accidentally shoved him to the area next to the door closest to the wall with very little space in an effort to pay, which was the reason she was standing with her shoulder pressed to his chest as his back rested against the wall, slightly jostling one of her pictures. She also had to pretend that the smell of his cologne wasn't so overpowering in the best way that she felt like passing out was the best way to succumb to it. 

She was doing a whole lot of pretending, but one glance towards the icy blue eyes boring into her soul told her that she wasn’t very convincing. Straightening up and ignoring the wave of heat that washed over her, she scoffed.

“Don’t give me that look, pretty boy. You knew.” It was his turn to blush as he took in the nickname, but his recovery was much quicker. 

“You think I’m pretty?” 

“Do you prefer Boy Billionaire?”

“That wasn’t my question.” He offered an infuriating smile, showing perfectly white teeth. His left incisor was sharper than his right, giving him the boyish look of a mischievous fairy tale creature, ready to swindle a boy with some fake beans for a cow. Judging by the sliver of vulnerability seeping through the flecks of dark blue in his eyes, he rarely showed this side of himself in public. She coughed, breaking the spell he had over her and finally noticing the rapidly cooling pizza box in her hands. 

“I hope you don’t mind pizza. I considered cooking but my landlord likes his buildings not burned to the ground.” She gave a small self-conscious laugh.

“I don’t mind.” His voice was soft and he seemed to be leaning down, face getting closer and closer to hers, lips barely parted and fresh breath brushing against her cheek. His eyes stayed on hers, drawing her in like a shimmering pool with secrets beneath the surface. A million thoughts ran through her head at once, fighting to be heard.

Oh my god, are we gonna kiss right now? Is that what I’m feeling? He’s leaning down, should I try and meet him in the middle? Which way should my head turn? What if it’s not good?! He’s probably kissed hundreds of girls, why the fuck should I be special? He’s so warm. Or is that me? Am I warm? He’s so close, and he’s so beautiful, I can just--

He stopped, his eyes half-lidded and meandering lazily between her lips and her own gaze, wide and worried. The thought of the famous Tyril Starfury doing anything lazily was foreign and suspicious, but she could smell the strawberry of his chapstick on his lips mixing with the smell of his cologne mixing with the smell of his deodorant and it was so mesmerizing that all she could think was kiss me. Then, she realized that he was straightening back up, stealing his head away from her personal space and taking the pizza box in his hands. It was a ruse. A taunt. A tease. 

“Excuse me!” Naexi said, hand on her hip as she followed him into the kitchen, fuming at the innocent look he sent over his shoulder before he opened the pizza box. 

“Yes?” Grabbing a plate from the counter, he paid her no attention while he helped himself to the drawers and cabinets. Despite his faux obliviousness, it was clear that there was a heavy, palpable tension in the air that could be cut with the knife Tyril seemed to be looking for. 

“What are you--” 

“Hm, found it.” He held up a blade and pulled out a fork, marveling at her mismatched cutlery. 

“Have you never had pizza before?” She grabbed her own two slices with her hands before placing two more on another plate for him. He scoffed, a haughty sound that surprisingly sent a shiver down her spine. 

“Of course I have. I just prefer not to make a mess.” He punctuated his statement by tapping the utensils together once before setting to work, cutting up his pizza and placing the cheesy pieces in his mouth. She watched him while she ate her own pizza, grease dripping onto her hands and onto the plate. After finishing her first piece, she looked down at his plate to see that he was only half done with his own. 

“I figured that you would have two people on either side of you while you ate, each with napkins to wipe your face if you ever got dirty.” She assumed a butler’s stance and held up her own napkin, delightfully out of season with “Fun in the Sun!” printed on it. She dropped her voice an octave and swiped her napkin over the empty space next to her as she spoke. “Yes, sir, Mr. Starfury. We can’t have you getting applesauce on your Versace!” Despite himself, Tyril let out a loud laugh, one that was nothing like how he sounded in the interview. This one felt whole and full of genuine emotion. It was an infectious sound, and Naexi found herself smiling like a buffoon at drawing it out of him with her stupid joke. 

“Why applesauce?” he asked, hand covering his mouth as he continued to chuckle. She reached across the island and pulled his wrist down, laying his hand palm up on the cold granite. Her nails slightly bit into his skin, making him flush.

“It's the first baby food I thought of.”

“Well that’s just rude,” he jabbed, a small smile still dancing on his lips to show no real malice toward her. They continued eating, Naexi replaying his laugh in her head as many times as she could. They polished off most of the pizza, leaving just a few slices that she began to wrap in aluminum foil. He rolled up his sleeves and started the water in the sink. A small black hair tie was pulled off his wrist as he positioned his hair into a messy bun with a few pieces falling out to frame his sharp bone structure. Naexi’s brain nearly short-circuited.

“You don’t--”

“I want to.” He nudged her with his elbow, now revealed along with a long forearm. She nearly had to wipe her mouth at the sight. “Contrary to your obvious belief, I do know how to do work.” 

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” With a firm nod, he focused on the steaming water flowing and scrubbed the plates with a strength showcased in the flexing of his arms. He moved with a natural grace that seemed to seep into every move he made, whether he was simply walking down the street or working hard to clean her plates. She went back to her seat at the island and watched his back while he cleaned. The sound of the music was barely audible over the roar of the water, and the combination of sounds lulled her as her eyes roved from the top of his shoulders down to the perfect curve of his ass, delectably sculpted in his slacks. The gravity of just who he was seemed to finally be hitting her. 

She had one of the richest men in America in her kitchen cleaning her dishes. And damn, if he didn’t look good doing it. 

Tyril was acutely aware of her eyes on him, and he was extremely happy that the water was hiding the shaking of his hands from his nerves. He tensed up when he felt her walk behind him, her arm brushing over her backside in a barely innocent gesture as she walked to the fridge, grabbing a soda from the door. 

“You want anything?” Not trusting his voice, he shut the water off and shook his head, giving her a small smile. She took out a bottle of water for him anyway. Eager to continue any sort of conversation with her and extend the date, Tyril racked his brain for something to say. 

“Your brother,” he began, freezing up when her eyes fell on him. “What does he do?” 

“He’s a musician. Last I heard...I think he was on tour in France.” 

“Wow.” She smiled and grabbed a frame off a nearby table, the picture inside featuring a man with brown hair that fell over his forehead as his fingers strummed a black guitar on a stage backed with green lights. 

“His name’s Kade.” Their fingers brushed as she passed him the frame. 

“Is your entire family full of artists? Photographer, musician…”

“Oh, I was adopted.” Looking closer at the picture, Tyril admitted to himself that there were no similarities in how the siblings appeared. “Kade’s always been the wilder one, though.” His eyebrows raised.

“I find that hard to believe.”

“You’d be surprised at some of the antics Kade has gotten up to throughout the years. You got any siblings?” She took a sip of her soda and Tyril was briefly distracted by the way her lips wrapped around the lip of the can. 

“Yes, just one. Adrina.”

“Fancy name.”

“Speak for yourself, Naexi.”

“Touche.” She took another sip and Tyril decided to look away lest the night end far differently than he originally thought it would. Her own heart fluttered at the way his tongue molded her name. “You can sit, if you’d like. Or do you feel the need to tower over everyone else in the room?” Gesturing to the open stool next to her, she laughed at his frown. 

“I don’t tower,” he said, but he sat next to her anyway. His long legs bumped against hers, sending shocks to his spine at every contact. Is this how it’s supposed to feel? He studied the way her eyelashes fluttered, the way her lips naturally curved into a smirk, the way her eyes easily communicated an entire array of emotions that she seemed to pick and choose to display from like a catalogue. A strand of black hair fell against her cheekbone and he moved it behind her ear without thinking. They were close, getting closer, both gazes dropping to the lips nearly physically connected, already linked by the soft breaths shared. Time was moving slow, too slow, and Tyril ached for the clock to keep ticking, to keep bringing him closer and closer to feeling Naexi’s lips on his, to feeling the perpetual heat surrounding her to engulf him with it. After what seemed like an eternity, their lips were just a centimeter away from each other. His breath tickled her cheek as he whispered.

“May I kiss you?”

[taexual]

HOLIC - 29 | jb x reader

pairing: Im Jaebum x Reader

genre: enemies to lovers au | roommate au

warnings: angsty fluff

words: 6.6k

disclaimer: i do not own the gif, please let me know if it belongs to you, so i can give proper credit

     prev / next

You were right to think that no matter how many times you’d hear Jaebum play his song, you would always feel the most intense emotions that no human was supposed to feel all at once. You were aware now that it was your feelings for him that strengthened the effect his songs had on you and you still couldn’t help yourself but watch him in awe.

Jaebum hummed to himself when he toyed around with the song – and once accidentally raised the pitch so high, both of you have nearly gone deaf (which, of course, prompted you suggest he changed his psuedonym to deafsoul but Jaebum merely snorted, not appreciating the joke) – and just the sight of him with his eyes squeezed shut as he lost himself in the lyrics he’d written was enough for your chest to clench in pain. He was so devastatingly beautiful and so extraordinarily talented, it was simply unfair for you to sit so far away from him and simply watch as he reached over the equipment, lowering the bass on the sound speakers.

You found yourself wishing it was you he was reaching over to touch but, when Jaebum’s eyes landed on yours – he must have asked you something but you were too busy dying to have him close to you to hear what it was – you shook it all off and went back to the play-pretend the two of you offered each other, where you dismissed your previous kiss and completely ignored whatever feelings you may have had, carrying on with your lives instead.

“Huh?” you asked, confused.

“I asked for your opinion,” Jaebum replied, a good-natured – albeit a little teasing – smile on his face. “But you look bored.”

“I’m not bored,” you disagreed. Truly, you were the furthest thing from bored. “I was just a little distracted. By the song, I mean. It’s good! I told you, no matter what you do with it, it’s still going to be good.”

“Yeah, but which version of “good” is the best one?” he asked, bringing his hand through his hair and thus, tousling it to the point where he looked like he’d just rolled out of bed and you weren’t sure if your lungs hadn’t suddenly collapsed at the sight.

“The first one,” you said, not having to think about this too much – which surprised Jaebum. “The very first one that Jackson played me.”

“Really? Why?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe because that was the first time I heard your music. It was just special in that way, you know? I think I like that version the most.”

He wanted to say something but, all of a sudden, he was afraid that if he opened his mouth, you’d hear how fast his heart had started to beat at your words. He settled on nodding instead and then tried to conceal his softening gaze by looking away from you and then, surprising you by playing the original version of the song out loud.

Jaebum didn’t speak and instead allowed the music to fill the empty, throbbing space between the two of you. You both listened in silence, each lost in your own minds.

You didn’t know what Jaebum was thinking – you just hoped he wasn’t still nitpicking everything about the song – but your mind was occupied by the source of heaviness inside of your chest; coincidentally, the person, guilty of your simultaneously relieving as well as painfully difficult breathing, was sitting right in front of you.

It had been obvious to you – and to him, too, probably – that you were in love with him but it was suddenly terrifying to know that falling in love was not the end. It wasn’t the last stop in your bus of feelings-I-should-have-never-caught. Admitting to yourself that you’d fallen for him was merely one of the few stops along the way – as you’d come to realize with a terrified pang in your chest – because you knew that the more you were going to watch Jaebum, completely lost in his element, the harder you were going to fall for him.

You cleared your throat as an attempt to get rid of the prodding urge to open your mouth and finally let the words you’ve kept bottled up spill out in a stream of endless confessions until, finally, your chest wasn’t so full and heavy of this quiet, torturous love.

“How does it sound?” you asked weakly.

Jaebum sighed, leaning against his office chair and throwing his head back. “I don’t know anymore. I don’t know what to do.”

“So, how about you don’t do anything, then?”

He shook his head – or tried to without breaking his neck – and you were the one sighing this time.

“You’re changing all of these little things about the song,” you said, focusing all of your mind on the task at hand, “when the most important thing is the message. And you’re sending a powerful message here. A message about independence and complete control of your own life. And, unless you change the lyrics and record it all over again, the message won’t change.”

Jaebum lifted his head to look at you. “You think I should record it again?”

You groaned, wanting nothing more than to stand up, grab his shoulders and shake some knowledge into him.

“No. You’re missing my point,” you replied as patiently as you could manage. “The song is great. What you’re doing right now won’t make it any less or – frankly – any more great. You’ve done all you could do. You’ve achieved peak greatness.”

He snorted, sounding like a little child as he spoke, “you sound annoyed.”

“You sound sensitive,” you shot back.

“I—” he paused, intrigued by your sudden change of demeanor. “I am. You know I am.”

“Yeah, well, I told you, it’s tough love time,” you took a deep breath, “the song is great, Jaebum. I promise.”

An unexpected smile suddenly stretched across his features as he momentarily considered your words.

“I like the sound of that,” he muttered quietly then.

You raised your eyebrows. “The sound of me making promises about things I actually have no control of, and therefore, promises that don’t mean much?”

“No, your promises do mean much,” he shook his head and then looked right at you as he continued, “but I meant my name. You don’t say it enough.”

You didn’t know how or when that happened but Jaebum had somehow become the sole cause for every extra beat of your heart and every time he said something that made your heart race, you could almost see the effect it had on him. He was just responding to your flustered state but the sight of his grin widening was almost like a subtle way for him to let you know that he knew what his words did to you. And he loved it.

“Enough?” you repeated. The surprise of having heard this mixed with the already boiling feelings for him inside of your stomach all while you tried to keep your voice steady. “Is there a number of times I should be saying it?”

“If there is, you’re certainly not reaching it.”

Smiling now – and, consequently, making him smile too – you bit, “well, I apologize, Jaebum.”

He smirked. “There we go.”

You went on, not stopping now, “submit the song, Jaebum. It can’t get better than it is now.”

His satisfied expression suddenly turned into a thoughtful one as he exhaled, leaning back on the chair again. You watched his chest rise and fall a few times – a hypnotizing sight, truly – before he sat up properly and gave you a nod.

“Alright,” he said. “I’m going to quit altering it. It’s on you now if the song hasn’t reached its full potential.”

You gasped at the accusation. “Hey! That sounds an awful lot like blame shifting.”

Jaebum cocked his eyebrows. “Is there any blame to be shifted? Do you think the song could still be—”

“No,” you cut him off, standing up and approaching him in his seat. You thought you saw him swallow nervously when you reached him but you assumed you’d only imagined that as you leaned down after having placed your hands on his shoulders. This was it. He needed to hear what you were saying and not just listen, so you gave him a reassuring look and squeezed the space above his collarbones with your fingertips before repeating, “it’s good, Jaebum. The song is great. There is nothing else you can do now. Stop looking for reasons to postpone this and just do it.”

Swallowing once more – all while you tried desperately not to trace the movement of his Adam’s apple with your eyes – Jaebum spent another few moments just looking into your eyes, anticipating something. Eventually, he blinked – against his will, really, because he was convinced that every milisecond he’d spent not looking at you, when you were so close he could see every little line and wrinkle on your face, was a milisecond wasted – and exhaled slowly.

“You’re sick of this, aren’t you?” he asked then. You thought he was still joking around and you would have certainly teased him had you not stood close enough to him to see the vulnerability in his eyes. He’d tried to cover it each time he talked but you’ve left him no choice but to be honest when you’d moved closer.

“Of what?” you asked, not wanting to misunderstand something in a situation that—just like every other situation that involved Jaebum’s music—was so important.

“Of staying here with me while I go back and forth on my decision to send the song to my supervisors,” he replied but you were already shaking your head after hearing the first part of the sentence.

“I’m never sick,” you started and then inhaled before finishing, “of staying anywhere with you.”

It was the kind of moment where two people felt red lights and sirens going off inside of their chests. The kind of moment where not kissing felt like an abomination. Like a forceful refusal to follow the nature’s path.

You weren’t going to deviate from what the universe had intended as you felt your eyes shift to his lips and then realized that Jaebum had—tentatively—moved closer to you. It had to happen. You needed it to happen.

But, naturally, it did not as a loud and unexpected buzzing interrupted the moment, immediately breaking the spell.

Startled, you blinked and removed your hands from Jaebum’s shoulders before turning around to the source of the sound. It was your phone, vibrating wildly on the hardwood floors of the studio.  

“You should—” Jaebum spoke up, the words getting stuck in his throat because he hadn’t yet managed to find a way to finish the sentence. What should you have done? Picked the phone up? Ignored it and turned back around to him so he could have kissed you and, most likely, thrown your relationship into an even bigger vortex of endless unresolved feelings? Neither of these outcomes seemed good enough and yet Jaebum sighed and decided, “you should probably get that.”

“Hmm,” a sigh passed your lips – the disappointment finding its way out of your chest – as you walked back to where you’d been sitting before and picked your phone up.

The caller’s ID just amplified your dismay.

“It’s Jiho,” you announced – not really thinking better – and turned around. “Probably calling to ask about the exhibition.”

Still overwhelmed from the moment the two of you had shared not too long ago, Jaebum didn’t have enough time to control his reflexive reaction at the mention of the photographer’s name and frowned.

“A-are you going to answer?” he asked, trying to play his sudden irritation off by looking away from you and refocusing his attention on his laptop.

You could tell he was hoping for the negative and, shamelessly, you gave him exactly that.

“No,” you said much to his relief. “He’s probably not even sure if I came or not, so he’s only calling to check.”

The scoff that passed Jaebum’s lips was supposed to showcase his disbelief as well as annoyance. “Do you think he’s called everyone he knows?”

“Honestly?” you waited until the phone stopped vibrating before you put it back down on the floor and turned around to continue, “yeah. I actually wouldn’t put it past him. Jiho is someone who cares about the public’s opinion of him a lot.”

Jaebum didn’t seem to think so as the same displeased expression remained on his otherwise stoic features. The special moment of magic between you and him had long passed and you sat back down on the settee, stretching your legs in front of you.

“Anyway,” you spoke then, “I’ll text him later to explain or something. Right now, I—”

“Why is it so necessary for you to explain every detail to him?” Jaebum asked, not really meaning to sound as accusing as he did.

“Because I think ghosting people is rude,” you replied, surprised to hear him even inquire about this.

“That’s not ghosting,” Jaebum disagreed. “You don’t owe him anything.”

“Well, he invited me to his exhibition and I didn’t show up,” you spoke. “So, actually, I do think I owe him an explanation.”

“You told him you weren’t going to be there anyway. How many times are you going to explain yourself to him?” Jaebum continued, lifting his eyes to meet yours. For the briefest of moments, he reminded you so much of the Jaebum you’d met when you first moved in with him – the cold, closed-off jackass with barely any consideration for other people’s feelings. You frowned, not understanding what had brought this façade back.

“I’m just trying to be polite,” you said, your arms crossed over your chest defensively. “I mean, I don’t find talking to him particularly enjoyable, either, but, technically, he hasn’t done anything wrong.”

“No?” something akin to a sneer was on his face now. “Just lead you on, then, but that’s not a big deal, right?”

Your frown deepened. “W-what—why are we arguing about this? No, hold on, let me rephrase that—what are we arguing about?”

“We’re not arguing,” he cut shortly, returning to his laptop and pressing a few buttons on it. “I’m just pointing out your inability to let certain things go.”

“What?”

“Yeah. I don’t understand why you’re holding onto him like that. You told me you don’t want anything to do with him, so why the hell are you even bothering—”

“Because I’m a decent human being,” you cut him off, forcing him to roll his eyes. “And, frankly, it’s not his fault I misunderstood him and—”

“It’s not your fault, either,” Jaebum snapped back, not looking at you. “And, personally, I would never want to keep a person like that in my life.”

“A person like what, exactly? He hasn’t done anything wrong.”

A moment of silence passed between you before Jaebum raised his head from the screen of his computer, his dejected expression registering in your mind and helping you realize what repeating the words you’ve said before made you sound like.

“You’re defending him?” he asked you in a hollow voice.

“I—” you started to say but the expectant look in his eyes made it difficult for you to decide what the right answer in this situation was. “I’m just saying… And, anyway, I’m not trying to keep him in my life. I’m just trying to do the right thing.”

“The right thing for whom?” Jaebum persisted, making you clench your jaw. “Because I don’t really think the right thing for you is to keep in touch with someone who only sees you as a social connection. As someone with a face that’s pretty enough to bring him attention. You’re, honestly, just a decoration to him.”

“A deco—” you stopped, not having thought of it that way. “T-that still doesn’t mean I should just ignore him.”

“Right. Sure. Carry on and let him treat you like one pretty little flower inside of his enormous vase.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Is there a hidden meaning? Are you subtly trying to call me names here?”

“I’m not trying anything,” he said. “But he’s clearly just trying to gather a collection of beautiful girls he can use to his advantage and if you think I’m ever going to condone that kind of behavior or support you condoning it, then I’m sorry, but you’re really fucking delusional.”

Suddenly feeling hurt, you swallowed slowly.

“And this is coming from someone who’s probably slept with half the women in the city,” you snapped back.

Jaebum’s eyes widened for just a moment before he regained his balance. “Right. Unlike your precious Jiho, though, I always made my intentions clear. Not one person out of the list of people I’ve slept with had ever thought something would grow out of that one-night-stand.”

You scoffed, too entangled in the whirlpool of emotions to control your mouth. “That’s what you think.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s supposed to mean that these are just your thoughts,” you snarled with a roll of your eyes. “You just think that these girls don’t care about seeing you again but it doesn’t mean that that’s the case.”

“No, I’ve always made it explicitly clear that we weren’t going to be seeing each other again.”

“How? By sleeping with them and then disappearing?”

“No. By using my words.”

“I don’t remember you using your words for that particular purpose with me.”

Silence again. The night at the bar – more than a month ago – had returned to both of your memories, frighteningly vivid. You realized at once that the only time you’ve ever mentioned your not-really-a-one-night-stand was after it’d happened and never in a way that obviously showcased your bitterness about the morning that had come after.

You’ve never talked about it after you two had allowed your friendship to develop and not even the kiss you’ve shared after having lived together for over a month could have provoked you to bring that night up out loud. But now that the memory was there, planted firmly inside of both of your minds at the same time, you realized that this was just one of many topics that the two of you had pushed under the rug and moved on.

“I—I didn’t think it was going to be just a one-night-stand with you,” Jaebum admitted with great difficulty.

“What?”

Another moment of silence followed as Jaebum attempted to gather his thoughts. Although, truth be told, you thought he wasn’t trying to find the right words at all; you thought he was trying to find a way to get out of this situation and change the topic so he wouldn’t have to explain what he’d just said.

But Jaebum continued, much to your surprise. And the words that he spoke sounded like they belonged in an alternate reality where you and him were actually in control of your decisions and weren’t just victims of irrational impulses brought on by your desperate wishes to have each other close.

“I thought it was going to be something more. I genuinely liked you,” he said, his eyes burning into yours with the same feverish rage – he was angry to have found himself admitting something he never thought he was going to be ready to admit – even if the words that passed his lips were soft. “But then you took me home and told me you were moving elsewhere. I was moving, too, at the time. I thought there was not a single chance in hell I was going to see you again because, fuck, what were the odds of us moving into the same neighborhood, let alone the same apartment? So, I dropped the hopes of us developing a relationship and focused on the moment. Fuck, I never imagined I’d see you again less than twenty-four hours later.”

Your first thought after hearing this was that Kiera had called this. She was the one who responded to your desperate text messages on the morning after Jaebum disappeared from your apartment and she was the one who had deduced that Jaebum was the boyfriend type, not the one-night-stand type. You thought she was talking out of her ass back then.

God, were you glad you were sitting down as you listened to him now.

“W-why—” you wanted to ask him so many things but, in the end, you only chose to focus on the most important one. “Why didn’t you say that before?”

He shook his head, almost smiling at the absurdity of your question. “After getting to know me so well, do you really expect me to just give you one reason?”

He was right.

There was Suji. There was his genuine inability to talk about his feelings. There was his pride which would have undoubtedly been injured had he confessed the truth immediately after seeing you again – he wasn’t the kind of person who opened his heart to someone if there was a risk of getting turned down. And, most importantly, there was the fact that the two of you were suddenly living together; and, no matter how ideal it seemed to share a living space with someone you had feelings for, it was, without a doubt, not the healthiest decision for most developing relationships. Yours, especially. People needed to be away from each other sometimes.

“Why didn’t you act like it, then?” you tried. “Why did you—you broke my bed, for fuck’s sake. What was the point of being such a huge asshole to me if—”

“We’d made a bet, there was no way I was going to lose.”

“Uh-huh. Why did you turn the hot water off, then?”

“You started that fight,” he pointed out. “I was just getting back at you for stealing my bed and then leaving my water bottles out in the sun.”

“I wouldn’t have done any of those things if you hadn’t broken my bed and then woken me up with the stupid blenders the next morning!”

“I only woke you up because—”

“Okay, fine!” you cut him off, noticing that the fight had headed in a different direction all of a sudden. “It still makes no sense.”

“What do you mean?”

You didn’t know what you meant because your brain had a hard time processing this new information. He’d just openly admitted that he was interested in a potential relationship with you and, as unlikely as that seemed, all you really wanted to know was if he had changed his mind now. You couldn’t make any assumptions about it based solely on his actions – because, excluding the kiss, everything else he did could have still been considered borderline friendly – but, God, you wanted to.

If you looked at the bigger picture instead of focusing on the separate details like the kiss, or his words each time you fought, then, yes, it would have seemed as though there was a chance that Jaebum had feelings for you and had not, in fact, changed his mind about wanting a relationship with you. You’ve considered this possibility before – and then successfully crashed your car into a roadside pole – but you’ve never really stopped and thought about it.

And now this realization – Jaebum, being genuinely interested in you romantically – hit you with a force so strong, you felt nervous shivers course up and down your body. But even as your mind turned into an endless stream of exclamation points – all of them screaming, “shit! Listen to that! He has feelings for you, too! He might even want to date you!” – you still remained doubtful because fuck, there was just no way this was your life now.

“I just—” you spoke again because Jaebum’s eyes were still on you, “you were so—it’s just not possible that you’ve actually considered—”

“It’s not possible?” he interrupted. “I don’t think that’s the word you were looking for. I think you just find it much easier and more convenient to believe that I’m an asshole than to realize that, hey, I have feelings, too.”

Your eyes narrowed. “That you try to hide so desperately.”

He listened to your snarky voice with a small smirk on his lips. “I’m not hiding them anymore, am I?”

Your heart might as well have worked as a substitute for a power plant because you were certain its rapid beating could have lit the whole continent up.

“What else are you going to tell me?” you said. “Is there another situation where I’ve misunderstood something because that’s, apparently, more convenient for me?”

“Well, Jiho—”

You groaned just at the sound of him mentioning his name again. “God, let’s not go back to him again.”

“I’m just saying,” he replied and then went back to typing on his laptop. This was, clearly, his way to avoid eye contact. “He’s a shady guy with some questionable morals.”

“He’s not shady,” you insisted. “And why do you keep acting like you know him so well?”

“Do you know him well?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Well, you know me well,” Jaebum stated, pausing to glance at you because he had a feeling you were going to have a hard time believing this, too. “And I don’t like him. And whenever I don’t like someone, it’s not without a reason.”

You scoffed. “Okay. So, you’re saying I should just trust your judgment?”

He threw his hands in the air, his eyes screaming ‘duh’ as he shouted, “yes!”

The exasperation in his voice washed off on you. “Alright, fine! I won’t text him anything then.”

“Fine!” Jaebum agreed, clapping his hands for more effect.

Continuing with the screaming, you demanded, “so, how about you actually go back to your song and just submit it now, for the love of God?!”

“I’ve already submitted it!”

“You—” you leaped to your feet, “y-you’ve already submitted it?”

“Oh, fuck,” Jaebum was suddenly in disbelief, too. His fingers had moved automatically – after typing the e-mail to his supervisors and attaching the .mp3 file, he must have pressed the ‘send’ button as a reflex while he was too busy talking to you. “I-I’ve submitted it. I’ve sent it. It’s done.”

Suddenly, the previous revelation didn’t mean as much as this did and you crossed the room in record speed, only stopping in front of Jaebum for one split second before throwing your arms around his neck in a congratulatory hug that took him off guard for just the quickest moment. He recovered from the surprise soon enough and you felt him exhale in relief against your hair as his arms found their way around your waist. The size difference when he was sitting down and you were towering over him – your legs locked between his thighs and your waist trapped in his arms – somehow made the hug feel more intimate

“I’m so happy to hear that,” you whispered into his shoulder. “They will love it.”

“God, I hope so,” his voice was so full emotion, it was almost impossible that these were just the feelings caused by the sudden possibility of getting his song played on the radio.

And maybe your hug wasn’t exacly just a display of joy because of that, either. Maybe it was a way to release the pent-up emotions without crossing any more lines that, you were sure, would have inflicted a full-on existential crisis upon you or, in a disastrous scenario, would have jeopardized everything you and Jaebum have worked on.

There was nothing you feared more than ruining what the two of you had now. You’ve just argued again – so much like in the so-called old days – but, you had to admit, it was different this time. It seemed more open now. More honest. More tender, even.

And then, as Jaebum stood up to hug you back properly, his warm embrace tightening – he showed no signs of letting you go now that you’ve made the first step and actually hugged him – you realized that perhaps, there wasn’t really a way to ruin this anymore. Perhaps you and him have already explored every possible outcome, walked on every edge, successfully crossed every bridge, and had come out standing. Perhaps, no matter what was thrown at you, you already had an arsenal of solutions ready to fight it with and win, against all odds.

Sighing in content, you snuggled your head into his shoulder – catching the subtle hitch in his breath after you did – and felt his hands gently caress your back in a comforting manner that seemed to remove every remaining ounce of worry from your body, even though it should have been you easing his stress about the song.

“Let’s go,” Jaebum whispered. “I’ve done all I could do here. Let’s go home now.”

You pulled away slightly to give him an agreeing nod and then tried to take a step away from him but he caught your hand in his, not letting you put too much distance between you two.

“Thank you,” he said when you raised your eyes to his to give him a questioning look. “For having enough patience to deal with me.”

It sounded like he wasn’t just thanking you for the long time it took him to finally send the song to his supervisors but, rather, for all that had gone down at the studio tonight and maybe even for all that had gone down in your relationship since you’ve met.

“You’re welcome,” you told him with a timid smile because he was still holding your hand and you weren’t able to find a different way to express your utter lack of anger towards anything he’d said or done today. Or any other day, in retrospective. He had you right in the palm of his hand – literally, at the moment – and you weren’t going to fight it. “Should we head out, then?”

“Mmhmm,” he nodded, closing his laptop and then picking it up with one hand because his other one was busy holding yours. “Let’s stop by the store on our way back, though. I feel like getting drunk tonight.”

Your smile widened at this proposition as the two of you headed for the door of the studio, hand-in-hand, as if that was the most usual thing you’ve ever done.

“Isn’t it too early to celebrate?” you asked, grabbing your phone on the way and then allowing Jaebum to walk you out and attempt to lock the door of the studio with one hand because he still refused to let you go.

“It’s not a celebration,” he replied. “I owe you.”

You shook your head as the two of you began to make your way down the hall and towards the elevator.

“You don’t owe me anything,” you said. “I don’t mind being here for you if you need me. And, if anything, it’s me who owes you for looking after me after the accident.”

“All the more reason to get drunk,” Jaebum said. “It’s been quite the week.”

Since both you and Jaebum had the kind of tolerance for alcohol that wasn’t bad per se but it wasn’t exactly outstanding either – it tended to give you the ability to say and do things you were going to regret later but it didn’t rob you of the ability to remember all those things the next day – the two of you had decided to take it easy after finishing a bottle – and a half, really – of wine.

You were both laying on the empty floor of your living room, the only light inside of your apartment coming from your laptop that you’d left on the kitchen counter, playing a random R&B playlist you’ve found on Spotify. It seemed to fit the mood very well but the dimly lit room and the abandoned glasses of wine between you provided you both with the exact kind of atmosphere you’d been hoping to avoid until you’ve managed to find a way to clear up what the state of your relationship was.

But now you were somewhat intoxicated and Jaebum’s eyes were glittering from the wine, and you didn’t really care what the two of you were to each other because, in this apartment, it didn’t really matter. You could have been anything you wanted to be. Friends, if you felt like it. Lovers, if you wanted. Enemies, if you tried.

“I’ve done my part of the deal,” Jaebum said suddenly, his dreamy gaze landing on you. “It’s your turn now.”

You turned your head to look at him. “What do you mean?”

“Your portfolio,” he explained. “You need to send it to the galleries of your choice. We’ve agreed we were both going to do this together.”

“Oh,” you looked back at the ceiling. “That’s right.”

“Come on, now,” he gathered himself up, sitting cross-legged next to you. It was obvious that you needed some encouragement “I did it. You can do it.”

You shook your head much to his displeasure.

“You spent a long time hesitating,” you reminded him. “It’s my turn.”

“Not a chance,” Jaebum disagreed. “Unlike me, you have no reasons to hesitate. Your work is great. Any gallery would be lucky to exhibit it.”

“You’re only saying that to be nice.”

“You know I’m not.”

He was right, you did know. Jaebum was never the type of person to lie just to please someone. And yet, even if it did fill your chest with indescribable warmth to know that he wasn’t being supportive because he felt like he owed you – he was being supportive because he genuinely wanted to be – you still couldn’t help your apprehension.

“Don’t do what I did,” Jaebum warned. “Because my version of tough love is far less lenient than yours.”

You raised your eyebrows at this. “Is it, now? I’m curious.”

“I’m afraid it includes some rather unorthodox methods,” he said, grinning now. “You don’t want to know.”

“I’m actually debating not sending my portfolio to anyone just to see what you mean,” you revealed, making him chuckle.

“That won’t do,” he said. “How about you just do it this time and let me show you what I mean some other time?”

Suddenly perking up at the sudden flirtatious undertone in his voice, you sat up, too. “What a tease.”

Jaebum’s eyes widened for just a moment, the sudden nickname igniting the excited fire in the pit of his stomach. He suddenly wasn’t sure what he was drunk on – the wine or the features of your face, illuminated only by the faint light of your laptop – as your witty responses continued to keep him on his toes.

“Not at all,” Jaebum said then, trying to keep his posture straight and hide the way you affected him. “I’m just trying to keep your life interesting.”

“As if it’s not interesting enough already,” you shot back, just playful enough not to sound angry but still somewhat bitter.

This further amused him. “Well, no need to thank me, then. I’m sure I’ve provided you with the missing light in your life.”

“Oh, you’re a light alright,” you said, nodding and trying to stand up – you stumbled a little, the intoxication complicating your maneuvering skills. “You certainly lit my world up in colors I’ve never seen before.”

He watched you cross the room to change the song without saying anything, considering your words.

“That—somehow, that didn’t sound like a compliment,” he spoke.

“It wasn’t supposed to be,” you said and then shot him a meaningful look over your shoulder. “It was an observation.”

It didn’t take Jaebum long to recall himself saying the exact same thing to you and he couldn’t help the smile on his face anymore.

“You’ll kill me one day,” he said with a shake of his head.

“Oh, definitely not,” you disagreed, turning around to look at him – since the light of your laptop was coming from behind you, all Jaebum could see was your silhouette and, even though he’s never thought the shape of someone’s body could hold so much power over him, he was slowly coming to realize just how much of his mind—and heart—you controlled – and then sighing. “You’ll kill me first.”

All he really wanted was to stand up, cross the room, and wrap his arms around you until your silhouette merged with his. He wanted to kiss you and remain in that position until the playlist you’ve put on finished. Until your laptop no longer provided any light and the two of you got lost in the darkness of your secret haven of unresolved tension and so so much longing.

But he picked up his glass of wine instead, finishing the remaining few drops inside of it. After having swallowed and caught sight of you returning to your previous position on the floor, Jaebum shook his head again. Your smell – even if you weren’t wearing any perfume – and your face – even if he couldn’t see it properly in the dark room – was causing every cell inside of him to short-circuit.

“What are we doing?” he asked you quietly, desperately resisting all of his impulses that ached to have you close.

“I don’t know,” you said, your eyes afraid to leave his. “I never know what I’m doing when I’m with you.”

He swallowed thickly, no longer tasting the wine on his tongue. “Are you okay with that?”

Bringing your tongue over your lips, you nodded with no hesitation whatsoever.

“Always,” you said.

“Can we…” Jaebum began, unsure if he should have finished the proposition and even more unsure if you’d have understood it even if he did finish it. He looked at you, however, and then he knew that the chances of you refusing him in that moment were so slim, they were virtually non-existent. You radiated all the same feelings he was fighting with inside of his own chest. “Can we blame it on the wine tomorrow?”

You’d stopped breathing long before he finished his question and you only managed to nod because it was a crucial move to make Jaebum get up from his position on the floor and kneel right in front of you instead, both of his hands on your face.

Unlike before in your room, where he seemed to hesitate briefly, this time Jaebum leaned in to kiss you without a single bit of unease in his eyes. And you kissed him back, allowing him to catch your lips between his and sigh softly once he felt your hands reach out to hold onto him.

Unlike before in your room, where he pulled away and realized that he’d just risked destroying your friendship, Jaebum did not pull away and pushed your lower lip with his instead, deepening the kiss and then bringing his tongue over yours until he heard you exhale shakily. The feeling of your kiss was so intense, he felt his chest explode but he’d have rather allowed your lips to end him for good than pulled away now.

You didn’t owe anyone any explanations – just yourselves. And, as of right now, you were fine with not having any excuses why the desperate need to be with each other constantly won over every other emotion inside of you and yet, neither of you dared to use any official labels to describe what you were to each other.

You’d stopped caring about every other matter and, for the first time in your life, you were completely fine with the uncertainty instead of actively seeking certainty because knowing the answers to your questions didn’t really matter when Jaebum was kissing you as if tomorrow was never going to come. As if, once he stopped, he was never going to be able to kiss you again.

Neither of you knew how many of these kisses you could steal before you had to stop yourselves and talk about this--and everything else--first but right now it didn’t seem like you’ve reached your limit yet. And if you have -- if this was truly the last chance for you to share a kiss -- then you’d have gladly spent the rest of your life kissing him to make sure this moment--this chance--never ended.

   chapter directory

[eagesoldartblog]

HELLO EVERYONE!!! Im a bit late today- oops! But here is day 5 of Whumptober!!!

Now, this must be said now, this prompt has a few references to suicide and self harm toward the end. Nothing graphic, but characters clearly speaking about it.  Stay safe!! 

Gunpoint

The evening had grown uncharacteristically cold that night. The frigidness enough to shoo any wandering animal or person into their shelter of choice. Some cats made a habit of resting on their back porch, curled up under the vents Duet always had on. 

After they saw the first kitten cuddled under the sheet they set out, Duet started to make a habit of leaving the back door ajar.

Hearing the scratch of small critters roaming their halls, scratching up the curtains and making a nest in Duets many covers and rugs.

What Duet never suspected to hear- not without panic following their thoughts- was to hear a voice, and heavy steps falling on the back porch.

Sitting up, Duet softly yawns, stretching their limbs and draping a cloak around their neck, obscuring every part of them, before approaching the trespasser. Quickly after, Duet handles their staff, a crystal lining it’s top, a perfect weapon and a light wrapped into one.

Perhaps one of the homeless saw the light and decided to stop inside...?

 Duet ponders, humming wistfully as they step out.

A smaller kitten- a calico- jumps in surprise when Duets bedroom door opens, peering up and promptly meowing a greeting. Duet paid them no mind, and kept walking, following the paintings and hung messages along their walls, before reaching the pantry.

If this was someone of no harm, would they scurry away?

Duet had no idea. Lacing their fingers around the clean door knob and cracking it open.

Someone flinches. The brisk chill of the wind attempting to bypass the insulated cloak.

The staff glows, and Duets eyes widen in surprise.

What Duet did not expect, was a man seemingly larger than his door frame leaning in, a hand pressed to one of the cats sides and petting them gingerly. Puffs of white air marking each shaky breath.

“Lewis, what on earth are you doing?”

Lewis- Vivi’s friend, a gentle giant who lingers around her every step- shakes and jerks back, vanishing past the door, “hold on, is everything alright?”

The steps creak loudly, crescendoing into a haphazard whine mixed with Lewis’s gasp. Duet pushes through the door, crossing the steps in a few short steps and peering out.

“Hold it.”

Lewis freezes, hunched over himself and turning to meekly stare at Duet in a moment of silent paralysis. At a loss of what to do, what to say to explain away his sudden appearance.

Lacking shoes, and a coat, 

Duet thinks to themselves, recalling how “uptight” Vivi once said Lewis was about proper weather wear- forcing her to come into work with several coats. This sort of appearance on a night like this was far from natural.

Something else was wrong.

“I-.. I’m sorry, Duet. I never should have come here or-“ Lewis’s voice interrupt their thoughts and brought Duet back to the fact that Lewis must have been freezing.

Lifting their hand, Duet quickly silenced him.

“First, Lewis, no need to explain yourself. Please, come in, you’ll get frostbite,”

As if he wasn’t even aware of his own predicament, Lewis’s head snapped down to his own body and feet.

“Ah- are you sure..?”

“Positive. Come in,”

Lewis hesitantly followed their instruction, flinching at the bitter cold of the railing and forcing himself to walk up the steps.

“My dearest apologies, Duet. I didn’t mean to disturb you-“

“There is no need for apology, I would be devastated if I had left you out there.” Unclasping their cloak, Duet takes it off and holds out the feathery material, shaking it lightly when Lewis simply stares at it, “Be a dear and accept this gift, for tonight. I’ll prepare some tea for you. Please take a seat anywhere.”

Lewis blinks down at it, gingerly taking it with shaky hands, confused.

“Where... is your living room?”

“Down the hall, once you get to the end, turn and there will be a couch and television set.”

Before vanishing out of sight, Duet reaches over and opens a spare closet, quickly pulling out a pair of slippers, the biggest ones he had, “Wear these, I can’t imagine how cold you are.”

Steam rose gently from each glass Duet poured, allowing Lewis a chance to stop the flow when he felt necessary. But upon not hearing a word from him, Duet simply capped it off halfway.

“Would you like to talk, Lewis?”

The larger man stifles a breath, chest rising and falling calmer than it had before, and Lewis nodded his head.

“Yes, I wanted to ask why you let me in.”

Duet quirks an eyebrow, taking a small sip, “Is there a need for a reason?”

Handling his own cup gingerly, Lewis mimicked them, “... Yes.”

“Aha, you’re a funny man, I’ll tell you that.” Duet sets down their cup and smiled calmly, “You appeared at my doorstep without proper protection, in the middle of a freezing night, and presumably without prior knowledge I lived here. One can’t help but be concerned.”

“I could have been a thief.”

“Alas, that’s a risk I have been willing to take. Although, most thieves are easily subdued.”

Lewis furrows his eyebrows, “How..?”

“Offering a meal, a place to stay, a direction to a proper life. Or, if needed, I use one of my canes.” Duet explains, leaning over and gesturing toward their collection. And Duet turns to him again, “However, I’m also familiar with you.”

Lewis swallows back more tea, pointedly looking away from Duet now, murmuring how he still didn’t have the right to simply show up. Regardless of what he said, Duet simply shrugs.

“But, I do have a question for you Lewis. Why did you come here like that.”

Pursing his lips, Lewis nervously turns his attention to his hands.

“I had an anxiety attack.”

“So you ran?”

“Yes.”

“What happened?”

Lewis’s face twists, expression and lips tightening and growing intense, “I had a scary nightmare, and I woke up panicked, and I ran.”

Nodding, Duet leans forward, watching Lewis pointedly, “And?”

“... and..?”

“What was it about? You were very frightened earlier, so perhaps there is something I can do to quell your anxieties.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes! I’m sure!” The burst of frustration died down instantly, hand flying up to his mouth, a look of shock and shame spreads over his face, “..Im sorry, I don’t know what’s come over me.”

“Heh, you’re quite alright.” Duet says, tilting their head to the side and watching the light bounce off Lewis’s shoulders. The moonlight seemed to flutter against him, highlighting the slight gaunt in his cheeks and the darkness under his eyes. A swarm of negativity lingered around him, similar to his much smaller friend.

“Has everything been alright, Lewis? As of late.”

“... what do you mean?”

There’s a shift, a hint of defensiveness returning, Duet can feel the truth getting closer.

“Inside your own head. I’m not one to beat around the bush, so let me put it this way; how has your thoughts changed these past few days? Is it harder for you? Easier? Does it feel like the demons of your life have gotten the better of you?”

Silence grows between them, Duet keeping their gaze still and calm, all while Lewis’s face is tight and- a tad too panicked. Similar to how Chloe appears when Duet catches her in the middle of her schemes.

“Lewis?”

His face cracks, and after a tense moment, he lets out a heavy sigh. “Things are bad, Duet. Nothing is wrong at home, or with work... or my friends.. nothing really is wrong,” he pauses, “but nothing's right either. I sleep so much now and I’m - unbelievably tired. I think I may just be anxious.” Lewis rambles, releasing a deep breath and looking everywhere besides Duets face. They couldn't help but laugh.

"You've been sleeping a lot." Duet repeats, mulling over the words a few seconds longer, "I don't suppose this bount of rest your getting is the culprit for these dreams? Possibly feeling like you've done too little to be satisfied?"

Twiddling his thumbs, Lewis bites his lip and nods, "I suppose you can say that... Its been.. a bit more than that."

"Oh..?"

"Well! A- well not a lot but- nothing has been going on in my head- in general and I've been just a tad bit stressed and-!" Lewis splutters, the words spilling out of him like a waterfall, and it becomes painfully apparent just how much he's been holding all of it back. Unable to keep up, Duet instead keeps in mind the small details that Lewis kept emphasizing- A sense of misery, tiredness, and an over abundant amount of paralyzing stress, and on top of all of that, how little Lewis feels he can talk about these feelings.

"And how long did this occur?"

"About- well.. i've been noticing it for the past few months, and I can't help but think its getting worse! It's- its even affecting my dreams now. I- ..." His breath hitches, caught on the next details that would surely send anyone into a panic.

According to Lewis, that was. His gaze returning to his cup, and despite it now having gone cold, he snatches the cup and downs all of it in an instant. Drawing back with a gasp and sorrow painting his face, "Duet- s.. I-.. thank you very much for your kindness, and listening to my rambling, but I- I need to get home and-" Lewis is rising from his place, shrugging off the feathery cape and hastily folding it.

"Would you like me to drive you?"

Flabbergasted, Lewis chokes on his breath, straightening up, "I- im sorry?"

"It's far too cold out for you right now. I fear you may catch frostbite, and that will cost you a lot more. In fact, you may want to sleep more, wouldn't you?"

His mouth hangs open, about to respond and reject the notion. If it wasn't for the fact that Duet knew what they were talking about. Stilted, and now considering a whole lot more, Lewis resembled more of a startled puppy than the werewolf Duet compared him to when they first met.

"... I mean.. you're right but- its so late!"

"And your parents will be much happier knowing their son returned home safe and sound, don't you think?" Suggesting that, Duet watches Lewis's eyebrows furrow with concern, and stands up themself, "I can always explain what had occurred to them if they fret, but it would be far safer than you traversing Tempo on your own.”

".... Perhaps... I can always call my friend for a ride..?"

"But its like you said, it's far too early." Duet points out, but tilts their head, "However, I would be far more comfortable being driven home than you being by yourself. Do you have your phone, by any chance?"

By instinct, Lewis pats his side, his pocket, not breaking eye contact before he's digging around for it.

"I- I thought I had it-! But-!"

He freezes, eyes locked on the small and outdated phone held out to him. Duet- smiling- seemed to produce it from nowhere.

"I have Vivi's number already programed in, but if you have someone else in mind, by all means."

"... Are you sure..?"

"Positively."

For once, Lewis didn't hesitate, and he carefully took the phone and began to dial, murmuring to himself about Arthur being awake..

No answer. Lewis gruffs, dialing again.

This time, he lifted the phone to his ear and whispers, "Vivi...? Yes, its me... I know, I know, I'm sorry to call to late but-... Im at your boss's place, can you come pick me up? ... I'll explain in a little bit... Okay... okay... thank you Vivi... I love you, too.... goodbye." Lewis huffs, hanging up and holding the phone back out to Duet, "she's on her way. Thank you Duet, for everything. I'll wait outside-"

"Hm, I understand. Then I hope you realize, I am going to watch over you until I know you've been safely picked up."

"Are you sure?"

"It's my responsibility to ensure all of my guests are safe, so yes."

Conflicted, Lewis taps his fingers against his side anxiously, before nodding, "May I wait outside..?"

"If that helps you feel comfortable, yes. But you must keep the cloak."

Lewis doesn’t object, not this time.

The porch was far colder than even Duet expected, a chill shaking them both to their cores. And it seemed even with the cloak, Lewis still shivered. No words spoke between them. Leaving them both in a comfortable and calm silence. Until Lewis's chest rags a little heavier than before, and he turns to him.

"Duet, may I- share something with you? Its... a little frightening."

"Your in luck, frightening and mystery is my middle name."

"Heh- didn't realize you and Vivi shared a middle name."

"I try to keep a theme in my book shop, you see? Now, what is on your mind, Lewis?"

Lewis tenses, pulling the cloak tighter around him, "My dream... what- what made me so panicked.. I... I had a gun."

It comes out with a sigh, and Duet tilts their head, urging Lewis onward.

"I was about to shoot myself."

"Ah, I see. Is this related to your recent struggles?"

"... It is. I keep thinking about- ways to... to hurt myself. I can barely move half the time because of it."

"... Do you experience a need to take your life?"

"Not always," The puffs of air surround his face, lighting up how disappointed he was in himself for saying it, "but a lot of the time."

"Is that so?" Two headlights shine down the street, growing closer, "have you spoken to your parents about it?"

"You're the only one who knows." The car is pulling up, a door opening, Vivi opening the door and squinting up at that, dressed in only a tank top and some shorts, unaffected by the brisk chill- much to Duets own amusement.

"Do you plan to tell anyone else?"

Lewis doesn't answer, waving back at Vivi and about to head down the stairs to her, before he finally pauses and turns to them, "Yes."

[optimizche]

Doctor {Part 2} (Kim Taehyung/Reader)

"Good morning, Dr. Yoongi," you said, voice extra honeyed, as you walked into the clinic room.

The man you had addressed, your colleague, Min Yoongi, scowled at the overt sweetness in your voice. He knew you were teasing him.

So he decided to pay you back in kind.

"Good morning, Dr. _____________," he said, mimicking your tone with a signature roll of his eyes.

You laughed and handed him a cup of coffee. Black. No sugar. Again, his signature.

Upon seeing that you had, very considerately, brought him the much needed drink, his lips curved up into a genuine, gummy smile.

"Bless you, bless you, my good _________," he said, gratefully accepting the styrofoam cup. "After sixteen hours, I needed this."

"You and me same, Yoongs," you sighed, sliding into a chair beside him, taking a sip of your own latte.

It had been an especially arduous shift, what with patients being admitted in one after the other, being sent to the wards from the ER. It was your responsibility as a Junior Resident to run the patient's labs and take their case histories so that you could report the same to your seniors and treatment could be started for the patients.

You clutched at your head in your hands, staring at the mass of paperwork that you needed to complete. Writing down the nursing orders for every patient so that the nurses knew which drugs needed to be administered to each patient, at what time and in what dosage.

Seeing the utter exhaustion on your face, Yoongi reached out and patted you on the back.

"Its okay, kid," he said, using his nickname for you. "You've got this."

You smiled at him weakly before extending your hand to take a patient file off the desk.

_________________________

It was around lunchtime that your phone buzzed with a text from Taehyung.

So bad was your crush on him that everytime you looked in your notifications and saw a text from him, your heart would explode into butterflies, despite being fully aware that your deep seated affection for him was most probably going to go away unrequited.

"Oh, I know that smile," Yoongi said and you looked across the table to see him grinning like an idiot at you, waggling his eyebrows. "Its little TaeTae, isn't it?"

"Shut up, Yoongles."

"Has he finally come to his senses now?" Yoongi persisted, grin growing more and more teasing by the second. "Is he finally returning your luuurve?"

Refusing to deign his teasing with a response other than a sharply aimed kick to his shin which caused him to gasp around his mouthful of salad, you opened the message from TaeTae.

Tae (13:16): Princess, are you free tonight? The boys and I are going out for drinks. Come with us?

Your heart skipped a beat when you saw him use his nickname for you in the text.

"Aha!" came Yoongi's exclamation from behind you, making you jump and almost drop your phone in surprise. "So it is Loverboy."

Turning around, you swatted his arm. "Min Yoongi! Hasn't anyone told you that it is rude to read someone else's messages?"

He shrugged, returning to his seat in front of you. "So what are you gonna do?" he asked, plucking out a cherry tomato from his salad and popping it into his mouth.

You let out a weary sight. "I can't go. I'm tired. Plus, I have evening rounds too."

"That's not a problem," said the man before you. "I'll take over the rounds."

Your face lit up with a smile at the offer. "Really, Yoongs?"

"Of course," he said simply. "But you're buying me coffee for the week."

"Everyday," you promised, rushing over to his side excitedly and planting grateful kisses all over his cheeks and forehead. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

He playfully shoved you away. "Yah, restrain yourself woman! I have a reputation, you know?"

You just laughed and kissed him again. "You're the best, Dr. Yoongles!"

____________________________

They were all waiting for you at the bar. Seokjin, Namjoon, Taehyung and a man you did not recognize.

"Ooof," Seokjin clutched at his chest dramatically as you approached, heels clacking against the floor. "Hello, gorgeous!"

You hugged him, and heard Namjoon wolf-whistling. "You're a knockout, doc!"

Colour rose to your cheeks as you basked in the compliments.

The outfit you had on was a welcome change from your usual scrubs and lab-coat: a little black dress, sheer tights and black heels.

Hair free from your usual messy bun flowed down your back in gentle waves. And you were wearing makeup. Not too much, just enough to make you look presentable.

You had made an effort and it showed, considering at how the boys were gawking at you.

Taehyung was sitting there in his seat with his mouth hanging open, clutching his beer in one hand. And with rapidly rising irritation, you noticed the pretty brunette on his other side, who's hand he was holding in his other hand.

You tried to keep the annoyance away from your expression, that Taehyung had managed to find another new squeeze for the night even though this was supposed to be a night-out only for your group of friends.

But ever perceptive, Seokjin noticed the slightest change in your mood.

"__________," he said, gesturing grandly to the man beside him, the one you didn't know, as he approached to hug you. "This is Im Jaebum. He's an architect."

You immediately stiffened at the realization of what Seokjin and Namjoon were trying to not so subtly pull off, judging by their encouraging smiles.

You hugged Seokjin, smile firm on your face. "Are you trying to set me up?" you muttered through your resolutely smiling lips into his ear.

"Yes," he murmured back, smiling just as brightly. "Its about time you moved on from that imbecile Taehyung."

"He is not an-" you began, but the other man, Jaebum, rose from his seat, and you were startled at how good-looking he was.

He had a sharp, angular face. Porcelain skin, unblemished. And the fact that he was wearing black only accentuated his complexion. He had on a black t-shirt, blue jeans and a black leather jacket. And black hair.

Shit.

He was hot.

Your heart was thundering away madly, as he approached you, lips curled into a welcoming smile. And in your palpable nervousness, you blurted out, "Are those real?"

No hello. No hi, how are you.

Are those real.

"I'm sorry?" Jaebum asked, his voice impeccably polite.

You pointed at the twin moles that sat above this left eye. "The moles. Are those real?"

He let out a laugh.

And you felt your heart stop.

"Yes. They're real," he said, taking your hand in his and bringing it to his lips. He placed a kiss to the back of your hand, before letting go.

You grinned at him, suddenly at ease. A glance over his shoulder showed you Namjoon with a bright smile on his face, Seokjin grinning and giving you a thumbs-up. And Taehyung rolling his eyes before turning to talk to his brunette companion.

Just seeing Taehyung's reaction set off a lightbulb inside your head. If he could remain so blissfully unaware of your pretty obvious crush on him, and parade one girl after another in front of your eyes, you could surely play his game and pay him back in kind as well.

You spent the rest of the night chatting with Jaebum, paying no heed to Taehyung or his new girl. You flirted your heart out, charming Jaebum and wrapping him around your little finger as the night went on, both of you sipping on martinis.

When the time came to part, you exchanged numbers with Jaebum, planting a kiss to his cheek and telling him how wonderful a time you had had tonight. It was true. For the first time in a very very long time, you had had an amazing night-out, except for one little thing: you and Taehyung had hardly spoken a word to each other for the whole night and the strain of silence made your heart twinge with an ache that remained no matter how hard you tried to smother with the euphoria of meeting a man as incredible as Jaebum.

Gathering your purse, you kissed Seokjin and Namjoon goodbye, thanking them for inviting you out, even though it was Taehyung who had actually invited you.

Steeling yourself, you decided to approach your roommate, hoping to ask him if he was coming home. You both could share the Uber after all. But when you turned around to talk to him, you saw him making out heavily with his new girl, drunkenly pawing at her.

Your expression spasmed painfully and you swallowed down the sudden lump in your throat. The truth was that no matter how hard you tried to play down the fact that Taehyung's player ways had no effect on you, the exact opposite was true.

Watching him make out with the girl in front of you caused a wave of pain to crash over your heart, brutally crushing beneath it whatever little happiness you had been feeling upon your brief flirtation with Jaebum.

Namjoon was instantly beside you, Seokjin flanking your other side, both of them immediately recognizing your feelings being ripped into pieces by the sight before you.

"Hey," Namjoon breathed, "don't let him ruin tonight for you."

"You deserve so much better than just pining after a man who doesn't care about your affections," Seokjin said and you closed your eyes, trying to halt the tears from sliding down your cheeks.

"Thanks, guys," you muttered weakly, trying unconvincingly to sound valiant, before turning on your heel and walking out of the bar.

Even as you hailed a cab, the tears began to spill over. And only one question kept replaying over and over in your head, as insistent as the neon lights of the bar's signboard hanging above you. 

Were you ever going to get over how madly you were in love with Kim Taehyung?

[harrieatthemet]

hi im soo in love w ur writing its an obsession 🖤 do u think u could do a thing where harry and y/n broke up a few years ago but they see each other again and they miss what they had and want to get back together?

hope you LOVE IT because I DO!

The heat is swallowing him whole. The collar on his dress shirt is starting to stick to the back of his neck, as it begins to feel more and more like it’s suffocating him. He’s wondering if anyone else is as bothered by the sweltering heat, if there’s anyone else sitting in the crowd splayed out in front of him as hair sticking to the front of their forehead, if they feel like they’re sitting in a literal bowl of soup.

He’s almost tempted to ask the man in front of him, the one tucked beneath a suit jacket identical to his. He wants to know if that coat feels a tad bit heavier than it did earlier on today, if it’s just him or if the rest of the groomsmen felt the same way. It’s probably visible how uncomfortable he looks, as he tugs at the sleeves of his jacket every now and again, shifting his weight from one leg to the other, all while trying to discreetly dab away the little beads of sweat assembling at his hairline.

It’s an all in effort when he tries to focus on something else, to keep from over obsessing about the heat, to avoid wondering if his hair ha completely matted itself to his forehead yet. His eyes do a quick one over of all the guests in attendance, smiling at the faces he recognizes. It’s a quaint event, very intimate, as there isn’t too many people there. It’s a small crowd, mostly family with a few close friends of the bride and groom sprinkled in. So he’s not sure how he missed you the first time. 

It’s not until what he believes to be the fourth glaze over the formally dressed audience, that he sees you. Tucked away in the back, sat beside a friend of yours he had deemed as familiar. At first he’s convinced he’s seeing things, that the heat has finally done away with him and that he was so utterly dehydrated that he’s having hallucinations. But it’s clear that it’s real, you’re real, as you sit sweetly with your legs crossed. He likes that color on you, always has, a mute yellow shade that seems to flatter you quite well. 

Surely you know he’s here. Of course you know he’s here, why wouldn’t he be? It’s his friend that’s getting married, after all. But he remembers that your a friend of the couple as well, which is how the two of you managed to end up in the same place after a little over 5 years. It’s not that he had forgotten about how pleasing it was to look at you, maybe in this case, stare. More often than not you tended to cross his mind, regardless of how hard he tried to avoid the idea of you altogether. It’d just been a while since he had the privilege of getting to gawk, in person, instead of staring at a photo through a cracked iPhone screen. 

“S’that Harry?” Your friend is doing her best at a hushed whisper, though she shoots an apologetic smile when the man in front of her turns to give her a glare.

“Oh,” you sigh, “yeah, guess it is.”

She sarcastically rolls her eyes, mimicking you beneath her breath as she goes to trail her eyes back on the bride. Your bleakness is nothing more than just a decoy, because the very moment you’d caught sight of him up there, tie sloppily done because he has always just been so awful with those, the internal screaming concurring within you was enough to send your head spinning. But you were keen on not letting yourself stare, as you’d be sure to steady your eyes and keep your focus maintained any direction opposite of Harry’s. And, you thought to yourself, you were seated in one of the furthest rows back, so it was slim to none that he’d spotted you so hurriedly. 

But how foolish of you to be so quick to assume. Of course he’d spot you so soon, so easily. It didn’t matter how much time would ever pass without the two of you crossing paths, spotting you amongst a crowd was such a simple task for him, it was almost second nature. He knew you were keeping yourself from meeting his gaze, because during the vows he’d peek over at you, doing his best to remain subtle, just to steal another quick peek. And he was almost sure that you’d felt him glancing over every couple minutes, positive that by now, you were well aware of his eyes boring into you. And you were, though you continued to look straight on, smiling softly as you watched the couple exchange rings. Though you broke away, only for a moment, when you were under the impression that he had pulled his gaze back to where it should have been focused in the first place. But you were wrong, and your stare had finally met his. To which, he smiled, discreetly, though it was genuine, even a little excited. It was like he had been waiting for most of the ceremony for you to finally just fucking look at hi. And once you did, you felt that familiar flutter in your stomach, the one you had gone without for a while. You’re quick to return the favor, smiling shyly before awkwardly waving a hand. And your eyebrows furrow right after, as you try to figure out why the fuck the wave was necessary. But he only chuckles, lowly and quietly, biting back on his lip before his stare wanders off again. 

He doesn’t head over to the reception with much else on his mind, aside from trying to locate you in the hustle and bustle of moving people. It’s hard to hear over the live band, drown out the noise of obnoxious laughter and loud banter. He’s left with his eyes, and they’re feverishly coursing throughout the outdoor reception tent as he tries to knit pick the frenzy of people for a particular familiar face.

And his determination is put off when a drink is slipped into his hand, a friendly pat on the back abruptly given to him as he’s greeted by a pal of his. In which, he feels obligated to stay and chat here now, about nothing really in particular. A lot of it is just chit chat, some about his career, some about other things he can’t quite commit his attention to. But it drags on, somehow, regardless of here meekness and his short, one-worded answers. He’s doing his best to be polite, he is, but he’s got other things he’d rather be doing than talking about the European leg of his tour.

It’s not until an hour later that’s he free of small talk hell, releasing an exasperated breath before slinking off to grab a well deserved drink. His empty cup is sat between his index and ring finger, as he traipses over to where the bar’s set up whilst humming along to whatever tune the band is playing. And he’s about halfway up there when he gets a glimpse of a familiar dress, a yellow one in specific.

“Thought yeh did th’dip on me.” His voice is silvery, tone lighthearted, and you don’t even need to see him to know he’s got a smirk on his face.

He feels his chest go tight and his throat get dry when he watches you twirl to face him. Everything is exactly how he left it, how he so vividly remembered, and it’s making him feel so at ease and so comforted to know that you hadn’t gone and changed on him. The smile on your face is sweet, it’s warm, so infectious that now he’s smiling like a dork because he just can’t help it. 

“Took you long enough t’find me.” You tease, sighing sweetly when he goes to invite you for a hug.

And he smells exactly the same. A familiar trace of cologne comes floating in through your nostrils, and you try to be low key and when you take a deep inhale to savor the familiar smell. The hint of mint gum follows not long after, and it nearly makes you wanna stay in this hug forever. But you don’t know that he feels the same way, an overwhelming sense of homeliness coursing throughout him as he inhales your vanilla scented body spray, trying to refrain from nestling his head into the crook of your neck, like he used to. 

“See you still can’t properly do a tie.” You giggle, and he glances down at the poorly done up bow tie on his collar.

“‘Nd I see yeh still don’t like wearing heels.” And now you’re looking down at your open toed sandals, smirking before you nudge his shoulder.

It’s weird how you still have this affect on him, how he can stand here in a room filled with plenty of other people, yet he can’t seem to realize that. Feels like it’s just you and him, not that he minds. Talking with you is a like a sigh of relief, because he’s wanted to for a while now, since he had last seen you, he just never knew how to go about actually doing it. You still laugh at all his jokes, even if it is out of pity, and again, he doesn’t mind. His face can’t ever get sore, no matter how hard he’s smiling, when he hears that laugh of yours. He let’s you go on about your job, what you’ve been up to. And he’s completely zeroed in on the conversation, careful to not miss a word. 

“Y’gonna step on my toes? Like y’always did?” He grimaces at the roll of your eyes, resisting the urge to place a kiss to your forehead.

He’s, honestly, surprised you’d agreed to dance with him. And he didn’t care that, upon your request, it was only for one song. He didn’t care to be the only groomsmen that sat this one out, didn’t wanna be the one sitting at the table with a glass of wine while the rest of the wedding party had a dance. He’s just happy to have you a little close to him, hands on his shoulder, as he’s snickering at the joke you made about how the bride’s brother was already a little too drunk. It feels like you’d never left, like he hadn’t just gone and did the past 5 years without you. It feels normal. 

“Looks like y’got a little better,” he cajoles, “m’toes aren’t throbbing in pain yet.”

“Well it’s been a couple years,” you laugh, “had some time to work on my craft.”

And though he smiles, laughs lightly along with you, he doesn’t need to be painfully reminded of the time apart. In fact, it triggers him to start wondering why there was even time apart to begin with. He’s a little stubborn, no doubt about it, and right now he’s kicking himself for being that way. Why he wouldn’t have just swallowed his pride and picked up the phone earlier, he’ll never know. Everything feels a little easier with you, calmer and just simplicity soothing. He’s always known that, he’s just merely being reminded of that right now, as you inch your body a little closer to his. 

There’s a very obvious, and prominent, frown etching itself onto his face when the band winds down. Your hands slink off of his shoulders, and you’re stepping back a little, wishing he’d coaxed you into agreeing to two songs instead of only one. Because one just didn’t feel like enough. 

“Where y’off to now?” He’s watching you fidget with the top of your dress, knees nearly giving in on him when you peer up to smile at him.

“M’leaving,” you shrug, “have t’fly some where for work tomorrow.” 

“Oh.” The word comes off in an apologetic tone, as he lets out a sigh.

“But before I’m off,” you murmur, hands maneuvering their way back to his chest, “can’t leave you looking like this, with a messy bow tie.”

It’s a very small gesture, your nimble fingers fumbling with the material of his tie to try and get it the right way. He knows it’s not a big deal, knows that you’re just polite, always have been. But it feels like more than a gesture. And he’s thinking that maybe you’re just looking for a reason to linger around in his presence a moment longer, angling for an excuse to be able to touch him. Which, you are. 

“M’I not gonna see yeh for another five years?” He asks, your hand patting the tie before you go to look up at him again.

“You still have my phone number, don’t you?”

“Do you still have mine?”

He probably shouldn’t have asked, because if you said no, he thought he’d might throw up. You’re not sure what angle he’s working, and you too are hoping he hasn’t gone and erased your phone number out of spite. 

“Of course.” You giggle, and he can finally breath right again.

“I don’t think I can go another five years not seeing yeh.” He confesses, and the conversation has rerouted to a more serious tone. 

“Couldn’t even do four?” You’re teasing is a mechanism to lighten the context, but it doesn’t work well.

“Couldn’t even do a week.” You’re going to slide your hand from the collar of his shirt, to retreat it back to his side, but he catches it with his own to keep it there. 

He’s sick of hinting on by now, and you’re through playing oblivious. His hand is resting atop yours, his thumb stroking the side of yours, as he waits for you to just fucking say something. You’re a little caught off guars, only a little, but you’re not gonna object either. Because even a week feels like a lifetime, the longer you think about it.

“Then don’t.”

[edsbev]

can we just talk about the whole window climbing thing? it’s so soft. Eddie being half asleep with his back facing the window, and then Richie climbs in (clumsily, so he makes a lil noise) and Eddie just turns with his eyes still closed and says calls for him with grabby hands. And Richie says ‘hi, baby’ kisses Eddies forehead and lets him curl up in his chest. “I love you, bubba.” followed by “I love you too, lovebug.” And then they’re both asleep. S O F T

ok so i wrote a lil thing for this but its not rlly like ur message at all im sorryfhjds i just love this trope and i dont think ive rlly written anything thats focused on it before?? so heres this sappy garbage that was supposed to be like 500 words and ended up being 1.9k lmao (also a bit of this is nsfw not rlly but just a warning)

Eddie doesn’t always hear it,when Richie comes through the window, but still he knows the action better thananything, by a distinct set of sounds.

There is a soft thud atfirst, of Richie’s palm meeting the glass, and then the scraping of woodagainst wood, of the window being moved up in its frame. Sometimes rattling as Richie struggles with the weight. There is a beat afterthat - once the window is lifted enough for Richie to stick his hand under itand push it up the rest of the way - where he pulls his hand away. And in thatbeat comes a rush of music from outside. Summer nights bring the chirps ofinsects, a car or two humming as it crawls along the road. Autumn nights bringa wind that rattles the frame and rustle the trees. Spring nights bring theflap of bird wings and hooting of owls.

All nights bring a little gruntfrom Richie’s throat as he slides the window right up until he can crawlthrough it. And sometimes that is followed with laughter, as he tumbles ontoEddie’s floor. Or Eddie’s name sung sweetly, teasingly from Richie’s lips as hesticks his head in through the opened window. Or a groan that escapes withouthim being for it. Or nothing at all.

Tonight, it is winter, and themusic is an orchestra of heavy rain hitting the roof and the road and the soggygrass. And it’s so loud that Eddie can’t make out anything else. Lies on hisside in his bed, his back to the window, his face half buried in his pillow.With one eye open he sees a rectangle of moonlight spill into his dark, quietroom, paint silver over the carpet. And then a dark shape, shadowing over thatlight, in the vague shape of Richie hunched over and squeezing himself throughthe gap. And then tumbling onto the floor.

The bed shakes and mattress dipsas Richie leaps onto it. Landing on his knees by Eddie’s side, his hand holdinghim up planted on Eddie’s spare pillow. When Eddie rolls over, he comes face toface with the image of Richie leaning over him, eyes bright and grin wide.Looking raggedy and breathless, with shadows cutting over his face and his haircurling over his forehead.

“Hey,” Eddie says,with a smile. When he breathes in, Richie smells damp, of rain and the bitterair outside.

“Hey,” Richie says,and leans down further for a kiss. And that’s when Eddie feels something cold and wet driponto the corner of his eye, and slide down toward his ear, like a tear.

“Holy shit, Richie,”Eddie yelps - in a way that’s more like he’s swallowing down a yelp, because heneeds to be quiet. He gets a hand onto Richie chest and pushes him away.“You’re dripping wet you fucking idiot.”

Richie lets himself be pushed,stumbling off the bed and onto his feet with a laugh. “Please let me kissyou,” he says, no less cheerful and breathless.

Eddie sits up, and now thatRichie is standing right where the moonlight hits him, Eddie can see the wayRichie’s wet hair sticks to his face, his skin shiny and damp when it catchesin the light. His jeans look plastered to his skin and the shoulders of hisdenim jacket are so soaked through they’re black.

“You walk here?” Eddieasks, as a joke.

“Ran,” Richie replies.

“Fuck off, you’resuch an idiot,” Eddie says, though there’s a tinge of affection to it,because Richie is still grinning at him, looking almost eager and excited.Happy. Eddie would think he’s drunk only he didn’t smell any alcohol on himwhen he was close. Just that sweet scent of rain. “You have a car, youknow.”

“Yeah but I’m grounded, youknow,” Richie repeats in the same know-it-all tone. He cocks hiseyebrow, the corner of his mouth, in a teasing “what? you asked forit” when Eddie looks offended at the mockery. “Now how about thatsmooch. I didn’t run all the way here just to look at you. Not that that’d beterrible–”

“Get out of those wetclothes and I’ll think about.”

“I like where this isgoing,” Richie says, and starts to peel off his jacket.

Eddie laughs.

It’s always been this way. Well,not always always. But throughout all the time that’s mattered, Richiehas been climbing in through Eddie’s window.

When they were twelve, andRichie was sticking out a sticky hand for Eddie to shake. And Eddie was saying“my name is Eddie,” and Richie was saying “my name isRichie,” and one week later Richie fell from Eddie’s window sill ontoEddie’s floor purely because he was curious if he could actually climb throughit and Eddie screamed because he thought a burglar had broken in.

When they were fourteen and bestfriends and Richie would crawl in through the window because he was bored. Andthey’d play cards on the bedroom floor and Richie would laugh and push hisglasses up his nose over and over and talk about girls in a way that soundedmore like he was just reciting words he had heard and not saying anything he’dthought of himself.

When they were sixteen and onthe verge of dating and Richie’s toes would find the carpet late at night,shutting the dark out behind him. And they’d spend the nights lying side byside in Eddie’s bed, painfully aware of each other’s presence. Careful not totouch but so desperately wanting to. Their legs and arms and ankles alwaysmysteriously draped over each other in the morning. Eddie never knew why Richiecame in, then, because he doubted so late at night that Richie was just bored,and that was usually why Richie would climb through his window. But then Eddiefound his nerve one night when he’d rolled over in bed and found Richie awake,looking at him sleepily beneath heavy eyelids - and Eddie realised he’d caughtRichie staring at the back of his head, as he so often stared at the back of Richie’shead, gaze tracing over Richie’s curls. And so he’d leaned over and pressedhis lips against Richie’s, and Richie kissed him back in a gentle way, like it was a dream he didn’t want to wake up from, and Eddie realised thatRichie came over because he just wanted to be close to him, just as Eddie hadwanted to be close to Richie.

When they were eighteen and inlove but too young to truly know it and Richie would sweep into Eddie’s roompast midnight with an eagerness that was not so much excited as it wasdesperate. Eddie would sit up and Richie was already there, kneeling in frontof him on the bed, a hand cupping Eddie’s cheek. “Eddie,” hewould breathe, with their noses bumping and lips so close every breath Richietook sent a thrill up Eddie’s spine and Richie’s gaze glued to Eddie’s mouth.“I’ve been thinking about you.” He’d say it in the same way someonemight say “I want you.”

Eddie’s own gaze was glued toRichie’s mouth. He’d reply, “I’ve been thinking about you too.”

And Richie would kiss him. AndRichie would push Eddie gently onto his back and kiss him. Kiss slowlydown his jaw, kiss hot and wanting down Eddie’s neck, until little gaspswere escaping Eddie’s throat and Richie was sucking at Eddie’s skin with agroan. And they’d continue until they were both undressed and Eddie wasscraping his nails down Richie’s back and biting his lip to hold back a sob andRichie was rocking into him and biting down on Eddie’s shoulder to hold back aslew of swears that would escape anyway.

And through it all Eddie wouldnotice that in his rush Richie had left the window open. And he’d feel a senseof freedom in it, being able to feel the night air on his face, and see thestars in the sky, before Richie would kiss the side of his mouth and holdEddie’s chin so he could look into his eyes. Like whatever was, is, betweenthem - this all-encompassing feeling of…feeling - didn’t need to behidden.

They’re still eighteen now. Butthey’re verging on nineteen very quickly, and maybe soon they’ll move out. Intoa house that’s their own, no parents to ground them because ‘if you’re under myroof you’re under my rules".

“I think these jeans arepermanently stuck on me,” Richie says, still trying to jimmy out of hiswet clothing. His jacket and shirt are off, chest bare, but he actually hasn’tbothered to go so far as to unbutton his pants. Just gave them one look andgave up. “This is how I’ll have to live now. With jeans for legs. You cancall me Jean-Boy.”

“Oh my god,” Eddielaughs, climbing out of bed. He stands in front of Richie, tilts his head up togive his boyfriend a grin as he tucks his fingers into the waistband of hisjeans. “Do I really have to do everything for you, Jean-Boy?”

In a house that’s their own,they can have the windows open all the time. Even on rainy nights like this.Because their house won’t be here, in Derry. It’ll be somewhere where theynever have to hide.

Richie smiles down at him. Hishair is already starting to dry and frizz and curl. Eddie feels a suddenfondness for him and his frizzy hair but he doesn’t feel like reaching up toRichie’s mouth so he just plants a soft kiss below Richie’s bare collarbone.

When he looks back up again, hesees a flash of Richie’s grin before Richie is ducking down and pressing a kissto the corner of Eddie’s eye. Then his cheek. Then below Eddie’s ear. Then hisjaw. Then, then, then.

“Oooh, my EddieSpaghetti,” Richie croons as Eddie giggles at all the soft littlekisses. “He’d do anything for me. He loovess me.”

“Wow, you got me,”Eddie says. He struggles with the buttons of Richie’s jeans for a moment beforepopping them open. “Now help me get these jeans off so we can go to bed. Iwanna be little spoon this time because I always get a shit night sleep whenyou’re little spoon.”

In a house that’s their own,Richie won’t have to climb in over the window sill and creep over the carpet,run all the way over here in the rain just because he wants to sleep with Eddiecurled up by his side.

“Yeah, yeah,whatever,” Richie grumbles. Together they manage to unstick Richie’s dampjeans from his damp legs and peel them right off over his feet. Then theystumble over into Eddie’s bed, laughing, Eddie shushing Richie when he gets tooloud, reminding him of his mother downstairs. Richie slots himself againstEddie’s back and smothers his laughter into Eddie’s neck. Then noses there affectionately. Then falls asleep with his lips pressed to Eddie’s shoulder and his body warm and dry. And there’s a contentedness to it that makes Eddie think that Richie wholeheartedly believes that running all the way here against the rain is worth it. Not that he’d ever admit it in a way that isn’t disguised as a joke - that he’d brave cold nights and hot summer days and the climb up to the second storey and the wrestle with Eddie’s window just to be pressed up against Eddie like this. But Eddie knows. 

Eddie will miss it. 

[wonderlustlucas]

eggs - lee taeyong

⇢ prompt Breakfast does not go to the stomach, it goes to the heart. ⇢ pairing taeyong x female reader ⇢ word count 3.1k ⇢ genre fluff ⇢ warnings none unless fluff gives u whiplash :D ⇢ summary “Taeyong fluff. basically like they aren’t a couple yet but they know they both like each other so they’re all cutesy and shit :) plot doesn’t really matter tbh as long as it’s some cute ass fluff”—request ⇢ a/n take this fluffy shit and shove it up ur ass for optimum benefit

“Noona, will you please make us breakfast?” You are one hundred percent going to kill him.

“Ten, call me that again and the only thing I will cook is your arms and legs. I just bought cereal and milk, so leave me alone,” you groan like a branch under the weight of snow, rolling away from the brightness of the sun filtering through the window and swinging a leg out from beneath the covers to dangle off the bed. “No, you finished the cereal Thursday and never told me to pick up more, plus there’s no milk left,” Ten retorts, voice muffled behind the white door and at the sound of his—your—friends laughing, you feel like screaming. “Then go out and buy some more!”

“___, there’s like fifty eggs in the fridge, plus it’s past twelve and loverboy is starving, don’t you want to cook for T—“

“Okay, shut up!” You shout, accepting defeat rather than embarrassment and whipping the blankets away with an annoyed sigh. Picking a crumpled tee shirt from the floor, you pull it over your head with a certain irritation and make way for the door, swinging it open and glaring coldly at the grinning boy despite the heat growing on your cheeks like sunburn. “I hope you rot in Hell,” you hiss, jabbing a finger into his chest and stomping past him.

In a weak attempt to move past your guests as quietly as possible, you direct your attention to the floor and scurry through the living room quiet as a mouse, embarrassingly aware of loverboy’s—as Ten called him—presence. “Morning, ___.”

Caught. “Good morning,” you sigh, finally averting your gaze to look at the trio and offering a feeble wave. Maybe if you just pretend that he isn’t here, you can survive the day. However, as soon as your eyes land on Lee Taeyong and all his glory, hot rosiness is already burning its way up your neck quicker than before and settling on the apples of your cheeks. Curse you, you want to say, mouth sour and stare fixated on the brunette for a heartbeat too long until he smiles and you embarrassingly hurry on to the kitchen.

If it’s not for the incessant growling of your stomach, you truly contemplate opening the refrigerator door just to slam it back on your head; however, even though you would never admit it, cooking breakfast for Taeyong remains to be your first and foremost priority on this lovely afternoon. And so, no matter how much you don’t want to, you smack a cast-iron pan loudly on the stove and twist on the gas, pausing to count with your fingers how many eggs you’ll need before eventually just grabbing the whole carton.

You see, developing a crush on one of Ten’s friends was never part of the plan. To be entirely honest, you had laid in bed the night Ten first moved in, tucked delightfully in your duvets wondering how in the name of God you were going to survive just a week without falling for him. However, as time went on, Ten’s fiery attitude and the fact that it seemed as if his friend Johnny was the one who in fact moved in based on the amount of time he spent in your shared apartment made it quite painless to get over the brief obsession in your newest flatmate.

And while Ten does have a mentality spicier than sriracha, you could not find it in yourself to complain when he brought not one but three friends over two months into moving in. By that time, you were fairly close to Johnny, considering he was knocking on the door almost every day (at this point, you had already settled on the idea that the two were one hundred and fifty percent dating, although you would never ask), but had zero ideas that Ten even had other friends, let alone met them.

And to be quite frank, you did not expect another two attractive men to enter your life. Jung Jaehyun, quite possibly the most angelic human you have ever met and Lee Taeyong, the greatest threat to your existence.

Perhaps you would not have fallen so quickly if it was not for the fact Ten was adamant on having the three over every fucking day. The first time you met was a terrifying case of embarrassment; you had been sleeping in when you woke to quite possibly the loudest noise to ever enter your eardrums. And so, with speed faster than light, you fled from bed with nothing but measly undergarments to see what sort of Satanic ritual Ten was pulling, only to find two strangers grimacing at an enormous box now flat on the floor.

It was painfully awkward, from the moment they noticed your ghastly presence in the doorway, to the realization they just dropped the new television Ten just bought, and finally to the fact you were practically naked in front of them. Without even a glance to their faces and with a noise akin to a frightened mouse caught in a trap you spun back behind the door, slammed it closed, and dove back into bed, shivering under the covers and planning your plan of survival that included never leaving the one hundred and twenty-seven square feet of your bedroom.

However, five hours later your stomach had a mind of its own.

6:07 PM - To Ten: i will literally do absolutely anything u want ever in ur life if u bring me cereal

6:07 PM - From Ten: No shot

6:07 PM - To Ten: oh my god ten please

6:08 PM - From Ten: I think my friends need an apology for seeing ur titties this morning🤧

6:08 PM - To Ten: please dont do this to me im so hungry i will literally do anything

6:08 PM - From Ten: Bj?

6:08 PM - To Ten: yes an infinite everyday

6:08 PM - From Ten: hmmmm

6:09 PM - From Ten: nah

6:09 PM - From Ten: come get food urself

With an infuriated, muffled scream into the downy pillow, you hurl your phone to the mattress before leaning up and mentally preparing yourself for the onslaught of teasing from your sinister flatmate. Sighing obnoxiously as you exit your bedroom for the first time in almost twenty-four hours, absolutely nothing in the entire fucking universe could have prepared you enough for the unquestionably perfectly crafted specimen of Lee Taeyong.

Upon first glance, you barely noticed his figure hidden in the corner of the room, simply a monochrome silhouette concealed in the darkness. It was not until the hues flashing from the television lit up the dark space with brightly colored shades from a commercial did he come into view, seated on the farthest side of the sofa. He was like a single brilliant star on a sky of perfect midnight velvet, a star whose gravity stole the air from your lungs and left you breathless in the doorway upon first glance.

He was by far the most alluring human you have ever seen.

“Hey ___!” Ten suddenly shouted, cutting your train—or lack thereof—of thought into shreds and replacing it with your previous hatred. “Die,” was all you said, earning a chuckle from someone, although you could not seem to care to find out who and instead continued for the kitchen.

“How’s your day been?” He continued, yelling from the other room and you contemplated whacking the side of his head with a cast-iron pan. “Don’t talk to me,” you shouted back while rummaging through the refrigerator, only to pull out a container of half empty white rice left over two days prior and a gallon of Breyers Extra Creamy Vanilla from the freezer.

“Are you grumpy because of what happened this morning?” He singsongs, followed by just leave her alone from an unknown voice as you grab two spoons and slam the drawer close. He was truly pushing your buttons. Ice cream, rice, and spoons in hand you made way for the living room, paused midway, and mercilessly pegged one of the metal spoons at Ten.

It unexpectedly hit him square in the forehead, creating a chorus of oohs from the others and you beamed. “Don’t forget who owns this apartment, Chittaphon,” you sneered, gracing his friends with a beaming smile before spinning on your heels and marching back into your bedroom.

Needless to say, Ten found it in himself to never tread that deep into your patience again and even apologized the next morning. However, the image stuck in your brain of whoever sat in the corner of the living room could not go without questioning.

“Hey, who was over last night, by the way?” You asked as Ten took a seat on the couch beside you, flicking between different television channels. “Taeyong and Jaehyun.”

“Which one had the pink hair?”

Ten huffed, throwing in the towel when it came to choosing an adequate channel, “Taeyong, why?”

You shrugged, “Nothing.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m not dumb, c’mon. You think he’s cute?” More than cute.

“I only saw him for like, a millisecond,” you sniffed, waving him off and returning to your assignment. “Good news. They’re coming over again tonight!”

You groaned, throwing your head back onto the plush cushion and kneading your eyes with your knuckles. “I didn’t pick up enough groceries to feed a whole soccer team,” you sighed, lolling your head over to blink at him. “We have eggs?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Tae will help you.”

And only after a proper introduction when Johnny, Jaehyun, and Taeyong arrived an hour later, you found yourself in the talons of a trap designed to drag you down into the depths of drool-worthy dreams and endless nights of “being in your bag.”

When it came time to cook a meal for the new clan you found ravaging your apartment, it took no less than half a minute for the cotton candy haired art-major (something you found out about him during some unacceptably adorable small talk) to jump up from his spot on the loveseat to aid you in any way possible.

“You like cooking?” He asked as you passed him another egg to be whisked, and you laughed heartily. “No, I just have to so I don’t blow all my money on takeout,” you explained, shrugged, and then followed with, “well, I don’t know. If I had time to cook out of enjoyment rather than survival, I would probably like it.”

“You should, it can be really relaxing,” he said, voice luxurious velvet as he poured the whisked eggs into the hot pan. “I don’t really know any recipes,” you shrugged, watching with quiet admiration as he went through what minimal spices you had while simultaneously folding the eggs into what would eventually be an omelet.

“Oh! I’ll have to show some you one day, then,” Taeyong grinned, and no matter how hard you tried you could not fight the rosy blush warming your features.

It was at this moment you realized you were royally fucked. There was absolutely no way of getting out of this one, you told yourself, and it was a constant reminder nearly every day when him, Johnny, and Jaehyun made their entrance. It was especially obvious on days he came over after class, the top few buttons of his shirt undone and revealing an inch too much skin that made your insides crawl, or the alone time you shared when he would help you in the kitchen, when one day over the course of three months you realized it had gone from two strangers forced to feed a group of helpless college kids to a pair naturally creating meals together, including a handful too many hip bumps, tickles, and any other type of physical touching to be categorized as just friends.

“No way,” you blew Ten off one morning when he asked if you thought you would ever date Taeyong, “he doesn’t like me like that.”

When all he did was roll his eyes, some part of you truly did drop with disappointment. For if he had said, “You should hear how he talks about you,” or, “You really are a dumb bitch,” then maybe you would have had some hope. But his lack of response confirmed your thoughts: Taeyong was an unattainable love.

Four months later, you and your now crimson haired friend dragged an absolutely wasted beyond repair Ten into his bedroom, flung him onto his mattress, removed his shoes, and patted him a good night.

“Sorry you had to deal with him,” you frowned, making way for the tiny kitchen and offering him a water in which he graciously took. Lord knows, if you had known he was coming, you would have been more prepared. And yet there you were, in nothing but an oversized tee shirt in front of the man who held all the stars in his irises and the very being of you in his hands.

“Don’t worry about it,” Taeyong smiled, clicked his tongue after taking a sip of water, “either way, I got to see my gi—you.”

Realizing his miniscule slip-up, Taeyong’s eyes grew the size of saucers, as did yours. My girl? Was that what he was going to say? You gulped, windpipe suddenly dryer than any desert on Earth, heart bumping frantically in your chest because holy shit, were you to blow it off or act on it?

Taeyong cleared his throat, and you did the same, an awkward tension suddenly filling the room thick like syrup and you were suffocating. “Anyway, I’m gonna head home. G’night, ___,” said Taeyong, offering a weak pat to your cheek. You watched him in silence as he left, and as soon as the door shut behind him the world came crashing down, the walls suddenly seemed to shrink and you hopped off the barstool in order to save yourself and sped to your bedroom in a rush of excitement and undeniable shock.

Only two days later you saw him again, a mini celebration in your apartment for the end of the semester with a bit too much soju involved. You found yourself curled into his side as the antics settled down further into the night, however alcohol still had your nerves on fire and you were hyperaware of Taeyong’s hand on what was exposed of your waist where your shirt had ridden up, long fingers drawing random patterns onto the bare skin and you could not breathe.

“___,” he said, you turned from the loud Raymour & Flanigan commercial blaring from the television to look at him, eyes wide and honest and his heart lurched. He suddenly could not find it in himself anymore to ask if he could stay the night and instead languidly studied your pretty features, face hovering closely above your own so you could feel his warm breath fanning across your cheeks and he did not know what to do.

“Taeyong!”

Ten shouted and the two of you jerked back, the serene moment suddenly popped like a bubble and you wanted to scream at him for ruining the possibilities.

The exchange between Taeyong and Ten turned to nothing but marbles in your ears, the idea of kissing him much too loud and growing from a small mustard seed hidden within your brain to an enormous tree. Except now it was in bold font and flashing every color known to man because there was no way he was actually going to kiss you, right?

Fast forward nearly a month later and here you were, found in yet another treacherous predicament as the man of your dreams sat only feet away. The past twenty-seven days were the worst of your life, you tell yourself; for every time you close your eyes, all you can picture is all the diminutive moments shared with Taeyong since your almost-kiss, every insignificant touch, every drawn-out ogling, every unnecessary compliment that only increasing became worse because Ten told him that you liked him. And instead of bringing it up, too fearful to do so even though you are convinced he must like you back, you push it away, avoiding any possible interaction that will lead to your potential collapse.

And so, when a, “Hey, do you want any help?” erupts from just around the wall, you nearly drop an egg when every muscle in your body freezes because yes he’s here but no get away. “Um,” you sniff, glancing down at the dozen eggs and then back to the boy sporting hair the shade of oozy caramel, “sure.”

You go on in silence, continuously passing Taeyong an egg to be cracked and then throwing out the shells, and you are telling yourself oh, this isn’t too bad until he decides to break the relative silence, “I like you.” You blink, squint at the wall before moving around him to wash yoke from your hands, hearing the words from those damn kissable lips makes your legs burn and heart thump at a rate that definitely is not healthy. “I know,” you finally answer, voice clogged in the back of your throat so you continue, “I like you too.”

“I know,” says Taeyong once you look up at him and he bestows upon you a toothy grin.

“I’m glad that’s settled, then,” you laugh breathlessly, leaning into his side as he scrambles the eggs, cheek pressed against his bicep, “you’re bulking up, I like it.” Taeyong drops his head to look down and you glance up with a smile that cannot seem to leave your face. “Jaehyun said the same thing,” he grins, pulling his arm away so that you must pull away but, just as your lips start to pout, he pulls your body close and wraps his arms around your waist.

In a sudden surge of courage, you raise your hand to trail a finger down the razor-sharp edge of his jawline, something you have dreamed of doing for months and now that you are finally able to, you do not know whether you will ever be able to stop. “Wow,” you almost say, breathlessly infatuated by his presence, however, the sudden pressure of his lips upon yours steals your breath furthermore and suddenly everything is all him and you pull yourself closer, air hitching in your lungs, nerves fizzing with sparks, melding your mouth against his own as the anticipation of kissing him over the past months has reached its boiling point.

“Does this mean you’re my girlfriend?” Taeyong asks once you have pulled away, lips swollen red. “That’s the general plan, yes,” you laugh softly, planting a milder peck on the side of his mouth.

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“Does anyone smell burning eggs?”