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#ten movies challenge
realpersonfacts · 5 months
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tennis as a relationship -> art and patrick finding their way into each other’s arms during the final point of the movie being the consummation of that relationship -> tashi’s yell being the climax of that consummation
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johnskleats · 7 months
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got into zutara vs kat@ang discourse with a neighbor
neighbor: well the ending was good enough for ten year olds. it's not like the show was written for adults with writing degrees
me, who at age ten, watched the premiere when it happened and then rented the DVD off of Netflix later and rewatched the finale 5+ times before accepting that THAT was how it ended and there was simply no narrative explanation: it wasn't good enough for me then either
neighbor:
me:
neighbor: you must have been a weird ten year old then
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avida-heidia-5 · 11 days
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I’m bored, so I’ve decided to do a little art challenge.
I’ve seen variations of this challenge floating around on social media, including on Tumblr, and I thought it looks like a lot of fun. I’ve chosen 10 instead of the traditional 6 to allow for some variety.
Feel free to reply to this post, DM me, or drop an ask in my ask box to make me draw basically anything you like: An F1 driver, an actor/actress, a character from a film or a TV show, a character from a cartoon show or an anime, music artist (solo or from a band), etc. I will do my best to make them come to life in my art style.
Any artist who sees this can participate in this challenge too if they want to.
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kirsimys · 1 year
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Spider-Man 2099
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gregorycddie · 5 months
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just watched challengers. i can now go back to my social media in peace w/o bring bombarded with spoilers
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trans-witch-cauldron · 11 months
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People watching the movie beetlejuice: boy, what a fun little spooky flamboyant story this is!
Me watching beetlejuice: holy FUCK hold on, rewind, pause. Did you see that fucking QUILT??? Are those HAND PIECED HEXIES????? I’m going to cry it’s so beautiful!!!
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moonlitlunas · 1 year
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do not separate my mary jane and peter for ur silly old man yaoi !!!
HOWEVER ... have we considered a throuple instead?
mj introducing them like "this is my husband peter and his boyfriend miguel who is also my boyfriend" like april in that one scene in parks and rec
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britesparc · 2 years
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Weekend Top Ten #567
Top Ten Westerns: Film Challenge 2022
Last year I decided to give myself a bit of a challenge. I’m into film, right? I’m a film fan. I like watching films, and reading about them, and finding out about them and the industry and the culture and the history. I’ve been collecting Empire magazine for thirty years, and I started reading it because I was already into film at that point. But I don’t feel I’ve seen enough films.
It’s one thing that my lifestyle makes it hard to see as many new releases as I would like. But also there are huge gaps in my library. Scores of classic films I’ve never seen. I know all about them – when they were made, how they were made, who made them – but I’ve not seen them. I just don’t feel sufficiently informed. So last year I made a decision to try to fill as many gaps as possible by picking a different genre or style of movie – or even actor or director – and just trying to watch as many of those films as possible over the course of the year. To kick things off, for 2022, I picked Westerns.
I love a good Western; hell, I even like mediocre ones. I love the setting and the cinematography and the iconography. I love the themes of men pitting themselves against the elements, of barbarism versus civilisation. I love how most of the best ones are always rather melancholy, about something dying; a way of life, an era. They’re about men out of place and time, and sometimes – the best times – there’s an acknowledgement that the old ways aren’t always the best, that there’s something that needs to be put aside, but also something sad about that loss, too. There’s a cool counterculture element to them too, of outlaws and thieves, celebrating ingenuity and criminality. They’re often beautiful and they often have great action sequences. And, yes, they’re quite often problematic; there’s tons of racism around, both overt and casual, and the whole notion of an invading nation steadily wiping out an indigenous population is rarely addressed head-on. But, still, the mythic quality of men striving against the odds is one that resonates very strongly; notions of civility and frontier justice and making decisions when the rules run out is very potent and interesting and cool (it’s also one of the things I quite like about Star Trek, as it happens).
So, yeah, I tried to watch a load of Westerns. And I gotta say, I don’t think I did very well really. I managed to watch a paltry seventeen. The vast bulk of them were films that I’d either never seen before, or had seen so long ago that I barely remembered, so that was good; I managed to plug quite a few holes in the collection, so to speak, with some of the huge classics that I’d not got round to. And whilst I didn’t see that many genuinely old Westerns, I did broadly cover the big eras (the old Hollywood stock Westerns; the more revisionist Westerns of the sixties and seventies; and the modern era). There are quite a few that I wish I’d had chance to revisit – from Unforgiven to The Searchers, from My Darling Clementine to The Wild Bunch – and a few that I’ve never seen that I wish I’d got round to (Once Upon a Time in the West being quite a biggie, and also The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance). To be honest, I relied quite a bit on streaming services, so this is more of a collection of films that were on Netflix, Prime, Disney, and Paramount.
Anyway. I love Westerns. And my dad is happy I finally watched Josey Wales, so now we can talk about it. And this was fun! It was great fun! And now we have my ranking, not of the best Westerns of all time, but my favourite ten out of all the ones I watched – old and new – in 2022. But yeah, as my first Film Challenge I think I can do a lot better. I won’t reveal what the Challenge is for 2023, but whatever genre of movie I’m going for, I think I’ll manage more than seventeen; I’ve already seen three…
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The Shootist (1976): talk about elegiac Westerns, this one is not just about the end of an era of history, it’s also about the end of an era of film – the genre losing ground to crime dramas and science fiction and about to be almost entirely eclipsed in American cinema – and, crucially, the end of a career. As John Wayne’s final film it would always have had weight, but playing an old gunslinger dying of cancer adds pathos (although he didn’t, contrary to legend, know he was dying at the time). Beyond the metafictional examination of gunslingers, it’s also a great character piece, with terrific supporting roles, including James Stewart. Fun fact: Stewart’s last film was also a Western; 1991’s An American Tail: Fievel Goes West, in which he voices a sheriff dog called Wyatt Burp.
Open Range (2003): another pean to a dying breed, this tale of ageing cattle herders coming up against a corrupt rancher is really just a slow-burning character piece, allowing Robert Duvall and Kevin Costner opportunity to luxuriate in their roles. It’s slow and meandering – a key action sequence is basically crossing the street in the rain – but with its melancholic air of sadness and its bouts of violence, it’s basically an update of a classic Western done very, very well.
The Outlaw Josey Wales (1976): an episodic epic, easily one of Eastwood’s best films (I still prefer Unforgiven though). A story of violence begetting violence as Wales moves from tragedy to warfare to gunfighting, gradually overcoming his past and building a new community. Despite the bloodshed, it feels quite critical of the brutality we associate with Westerns, and in favour of community; could even be seen as an anti-war polemic. Anyway, it’s brill.
Back to the Future Part III (1990): look, as far as I’m concerned, it’s a Western. It’s set in the Old West, there are horses and showdowns and saloons and all sorts. And, yes, I think it’s tremendous. The cast are clearly having the time of their lives playing with old Western tropes. But even beyond the jokes and references, it’s a really enjoyable, adventurous film, that still has time to feature a really touching portrayal of friendship and a tender middle-aged romance. It’s great, Doc.
Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (1969): people talk about how the MCU and Joss Whedon lead to every blockbuster featuring fast-talking wise-cracking smart-arses, but here was William Goldman nearly sixty years ago showing us how it’s done. A banter-filled good time that’s given resonance not just from the three excellent central performances but also the creeping sense of melancholy. Yes, again, it’s about the end of an era, but also about how this lifestyle can only end in tragedy. And it’s still damn funny.
The Ox-Bow Incident (1943): so when I was on tour with Share Your Story I spent a lot of time working in hotel rooms, and I’d often whack on the telly during the day. Not being a fan of daytime TV, I gravitated towards the channels showing old films, and I unearthed this gem. A taut and rather hard-hitting morality play as a posse comes upon a small group of suspected thieves and must decide whether to administer frontier justice, it’s almost 12 Angry Men in spurs. It’s even got Henry Fonda!
The Quick and the Dead (1995): a somewhat overlooked Western from a period when the genre was already out of fashion again (after the early-nineties double-whammy of Dances with Wolves and Unforgiven). Sam Raimi has as much fun here as Robert Zemeckis had on BTTF III, directing the living crap out of a fun but tense story of a high-stakes duelling contest. A hell of a cast, including Sharon Stone and Gene Hackman and the height of the powers, as well as pre-megastardom turns from Russell Crowe and Leonardo DiCaprio, it’s mostly notable for how hard Raimi goes, with Dutch angles and light spilling through bullet wounds and all sorts.
Tombstone (1993): perhaps in retrospect feeling a little smaller and more stagebound than other films on this list (almost like a TV movie in some respects, despite its star wattage), this still tells a great version of the Wyatt Earp story, portraying him as a family man who is driven from the quiet life by circumstance, tragedy, and the fact that he’s the best there is at what he does. Another Western about a violent man yearning to put the violence behind him, it's full of great performances and terrific set-pieces.
Django Unchained (2012): shockingly, I’d never seen this till last year; blame the kids. Tarantino can go either way in his edgy excesses, but here it’s laser-focused as we follow vengeful slave Django as he earns his freedom as a bounty hunter and then plots bloody revenge against a flamboyant plantation owner. Yes, it circles round issues of race and violence, but it does so with more nuance than Tarantino sometimes provides, and it’s OTT exuberance is well handled. Grisly but great, and one of my favourite Tarantino films since his classic First Three.
3:10 to Yuma (2007): James Mangold can pretty much turn his hand to anything, and here he tells a dark parable of a downtrodden farmer escorting a vicious prisoner to the gallows. Rather than man against nature, or urban civilisation against frontier barbarism, we contrast the earnest morality of Christian Bale’s farmer not just against Russell Crowe’s brutal outlaw, but also against the various lawmen and officials tasked with bringing Crowe to justice. Ends in a long, tense, excellent shootout, and has great performances from the two leads.
So there ya go. Some tremendous films! I just wish I’d seen more, there are loads of Westerns available on various streamers. Paramount+ and Prime Video are pretty good for older films, from Paint Your Wagon to The Cisco Kid). And, hey, just coz I’m not challenging myself to watch more of this particular genre, that’s no reason to stop watching! I mean, Wild Wild West can’t possibly be as bad as I remember, right?
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darkpurpledawn · 2 years
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going to start a little record this year of the best things that happened each day of 2023 and it's already past midnight on the first day of the year but whatever, time lost all meaning in 2020 anyway. Feel free to block "everyday"
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roanofarcc · 2 months
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LIKE MOTHER LIKE FATHER LIKE DAUGHTER
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pairing. tyler owens x harding!reader - part 2!
summary. you had made a name for yourself in the storm chasing game; it was in your genes, being the daughter of famous chasers jo and bill harding. tyler found your knacked for knowing just what the storm’s thinking a little infuriating and incredibly impressive.
 warnings. fem!reader, reader gets injured, mentions of blood and injuries, probably inaccurate meteorological info & medical info, angst & fluff, some hurt/comfort on this fine Tuesday night.
word count. 3.7k || masterlist
a/n. twister has been my favorite movie FOREVER so here's a little homage to the og storm chasers <3
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You were ten when you went storm chasing for the first time. Growing up, you’d heard your parents' stories every time there was a shift in the weather. Instead of the typical childhood fear of storms, you had always been fascinated by them; your dad, Bill Harding often joked it was in your genes, the lack of fear. With some light convincing of your mom, Dr. Jo Haring, she agreed to take you storm chasing for your tenth birthday. 
The twister had been small, barely an EF1, but it was wondrous. There was something dangerously beautiful about it that drew you in just as it had your parents when they were younger. From that point on, you knew you wanted to be just like them, chasing storms up and down Tornado Alley. 
And with the stubbornness passed down by your mom, that is exactly what you did. You were damn good at it to. 
“It’s lookin’ like a big one to the southeast,” a member of your team said, slugging an arm around your shoulder as she looked up at the sky, squinting slightly at the sun. “But the radar says we’ve got another brewin’ west. She's pickin’ up speed but it’s still developing.” 
You hummed in response, gazing up at the sky too, judging which one was your best bet by observing the clouds in either direction. “Let’s hang back and go for the one to the west, I like her chances better.” Your teammate, Frankie, grinned as she nodded and headed off toward the other three members of your small, but mighty team. 
As you waited for the storm to flesh out a little more, you sat on the bed of your truck, dangling your legs off of the tailgate. The fresh air filled your lungs and the faint smell of incoming rain brought a smile to your lips. Every time you got ready for a chase, you felt ten years old again, giddy and excited for the thrill of the storm. You thought back to the photo albums you’d looked at a hundred times over of your parents and their numerous storm-chasing adventures. They never pushed you into storm chasing, as it was a dangerous line of work, but from a very young age, it was clear that your fascination with storms wouldn’t be quelled with a simple meteorology degree and a job behind a desk. 
Storm chasing was in your blood, and your knack for it was known among other storm chasers. 
“Well, if it isn’t the doctor herself,” a familiar voice filled your ears, belonging to the one and only Tyler Owens. He approached your truck, hands on his hips and a certain cockiness that excited you. You liked a challenge, and you loved showing cowboys up. Tyler was good at what he did, but you were just a little bit better, and it both irritated and impressed him. 
“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” you said, earning a light chuckle from him. 
“You don’t look in a hurry. That storm to the southeast won’t last forever.” You shrugged and he narrowed his gaze just slightly. “You’re not going after that one, are you?” 
“Damn,” you sighed. “You’re getting harder to trick, Owens.”
He laughed, light and sweet. It was easy to see how he garnered such a large online audience. Tyler was easy on the eyes, drove straight into tornados with a grin on his lips, and had the knowledge of storms to back up his insane behavior. You’d never admit it aloud, but he did impress you, even if you thought some of his actions were reckless even for a storm chaser.
The two of you had an interesting rapport. It toes the line between rivals and friends, the odd territory in between. You loved teasing him, and he tried to outsmart you even if it never worked. 
“Maybe you’re getting too predictable,” he said, a teasing tone in his voice. 
“Och.” You faked hurt, placing a hand over your heart. “What is it you always say? If you feel it, chase it. If you think the one to the southeast is gonna show her face, go for it.” 
Tyler studied you for a moment, contemplating what kind of game you were playing with him. All you did was smile at him in return, which led him to roll his eyes. “Unfortunately, you’re rarely wrong,” he sighed. 
“It’s a blessing and curse.” 
“You’re impossible,” he said. “But the west it is. It better not let me down, Dr. Harding.” You only used that title in more professional settings. That had been a condition of your mother. She had gotten her PhD and believed you could too. It was tough, but you earned it; only, you didn’t expect some cowboy to use it to lightly mock you when you proved him wrong.
“You have my word,” you said. 
And you were right. The storm to the west produced a beautiful tornado. You and Frankie got close while the rest of your team hung back. Rain pelted the windshield as you grew closer, watching the dark funnel tear through the expanse of fields, picking up speed on the ground. Somewhere along the way, Tyler’s unmistakable red truck ripped past you, heading into the heart of the twister, which you rolled your eyes at. 
“She’s a beauty!” Frankie hollered, holding her camera at the ready. 
It was a great chase, but the thing about tornados that was both thrilling and dangerous was their unpredictability. You knew the storm would be big, and the closer you grew the more power you saw that it had. The other truck carrying the rest of your team had communicated the growing intensity of the storm via the radio. But it looked to be on a steady path west, so you saw no issue tailing it while Frankie snapped pictures.
The rain only grew heavier and heavier, almost completely obstructing your view. It wasn’t until a tree crash landed directly in the middle of the road did you realize the tornado had changed directions suddenly. A startled scream torn from Frankie lips and you slammed on the breaks, narrowly missing the tree. 
“Holy shit,” she whispered, leaning up against the dash and trying to see through the rain wrap. “It’s right there. It’s right there! We gotta go!” 
You quickly threw your truck in reverse and backed up, but you didn’t get far. A lone semi that had been traveling skidded to a stop just a couple hundred feet behind you. The way they had stopped at the sight of the tornado left its trailer sideways across the road before it was abandoned by the figure hunkering down in the ditch that lined the backroad. 
You hissed under your breath, trapped between two objects and a tornado that shook your truck. There wasn’t enough space to fly around the semi. The ditches on either side of the road were too deep to take quickly and another minute trying to maneuver around the semi would only lead to your truck getting swallowed by the storm, picked up, and tossed around like a rag doll. 
Your parents had prepared you for a kind of situation like that, but that didn’t shake your panic. With a rapidly beating heart, you put the truck in park and yelled at Frankie to get out. You both stepped out into the storm as the tornado loomed closer and closer. Wind whipped all around you along with debris. You grabbed Frankie’s hand and together you sprinted toward the ditch. 
Frankie lay on her stomach, and you lay beside her, covering her head the best that you could. Whatever happened, you had always told yourself your teammates' safety came first. You were the one who talked them into storm chasing with you. So, when danger arose, you felt the responsibility of keeping them safe. 
The screeching of winds was so loud in your ears that it almost disoriented you enough to miss the sharp piece of debris that swooped down at the tornado that passed along the field just opposite of the ditch, not directly over top of you but much too close for comfort. Something smacked against the back of your head, but you closed your eyes and held onto Frankie in hope of shielding her from any other flying objects. 
You weren’t sure how long you two lied there, but it felt like a lifetime until the tornado traveled further away. The winds died down but your heart beat stayed quickly pounding against your chest. 
Sitting up, you felt the sharp sting settling in the back of your head, but you ignored it at the sight of Frankie’s cut leg. 
“Shit,” you muttered, grabbing her knee to examine the clean slice down the back of her shin. 
She wiped back the wet pieces of her hair and let out a shuttered breath. “Holy shit, that was crazy.” You pulled off your sweatshirt and wrapped the wet fabric around her shin. “What’re you doing?” 
“You’re bleeding.” 
“It’s fine,” she said, trying to brush it off, but you heard the pain in her voice, along with the tremble of lingering fear at your close call. You knew the dangers of storm chasing and the possibilities of injuries, but it always felt different to you when it was a member of your team, one of your friends. 
A couple minutes after you tied your sweatshirt around her shin and helped her up from the ditch, the truck carrying the rest of your teammates rolled up, hooting and hollering at the size of the storm until they saw the state the two of you were in. 
“Take her back to the motel. If the bleeding doesn’t stop take her to the hospital.” Frankie opened her mouth to protest, but you cut her off. “I’m serious.” 
“What about you?” another member of your team asked. 
You looked down the road at your overturned truck, sighing sadly to yourself as the pain in the back of your head throbbed. “I’ve gotta call someone for my truck. I’ll meet you back at the motel later.” 
They were hesitant to leave you but eventually agreed. Down the debris-littered road, you hobbled back to your truck. It had been a gift from your parents after you graduated college; it was special to you, but it was totaled thanks to the tornado. 
With a groan, you heaved open the door and tried to gather your belongings, but a wave of dizziness washed over you. You staggered backward, reaching up to touch the tender spot on the back of your head. Something wet coated your fingers and when you pulled your hand back, it was painted red. Frustrated, you tried to take a deep breath and calm yourself down enough to find your cell phone. Unfortunately, the cut was a little worse than you wanted to admit, and you felt blood drip down the back of your neck. 
Dizzily, you sat down on the road, blinking back the pain and wooziness. A slow creep of panic started to take hold as the pain intensified and the world started to spin just slightly. 
With one hand placed firmly on the back of your head, you rubbed your temple with your other, trying to think clearly but it became increasingly more difficult. You missed the hum of an engine nearby, but a slam of a door startled you. 
“Harding!” Someone yelled and you blinked slowly, keeping a hold on the back of your head as you looked up to see Tyler Owens bee-lining right toward you. He kneeled in front of you, brows furrowed and lips pulled in a small frown. “Hey, are you all right?” 
“Yeah,” you said quickly, once again trying to push away the dizziness that plagued you. “I’m, uh, just looking for my phone. I gotta call someone for my truck.” The words felt heavy in your mouth, which couldn’t be a good sign. Whatever struck the back of your head hit it hard and the blood that leaked from the wound wasn’t helping. 
He studied you for a moment, his gaze landing on your hand pressed against the back of your head. “You hurt?” You started to shake your head, but that only caused little black dots to temporarily pepper your vision. Tyler wasn’t an idiot; he reached up and carefully pushed your hand back, stopping when he saw the blood that started to drip down your arm. He cursed under his breath and yelled something at whoever sat in the passenger seat of his truck. 
“Hey.” His voice became soft, comforting even. “We’ve gotta get you to a hospital.” 
“I’m fine,” you inisted, even though every thing you felt inside your body proved that to be untrue. You just hated not being able to do something yourself; you hated needing help. Your father said you interited that from your mother, while she said you got it from your father. Truth was, they both had their air of stubbornness and you was born with double. 
Tyler shook his head. “No, you’re not.” He stood to his feet and gently tugged on your arm in an attempt to help you stand. Begrudgingly, you let him help you. Standing up, the world spun faster and you felt panic swell uncomfortably in your chest. You swayed catching yourself on Tyler’s arms as they grabbed your shoulders. “I’ve got you,” he said. Maybe it was your slightly disoriented state, but his assurance and hands firmly holding onto your arms made some of your panic recoil. As much as you wanted to be okay, you knew that was not the case. 
He knew that too, and helped you into the passenger seat of his truck before he instructed one of his fellow Wranglers to keep pressure on the back of your head with whatever they could find in the backseat. You winced as a crumbled up shirt was held against your head, but the moving truck overwhelmed you with dizziness that made the physical pain of your wound the least of your worries. You didn’t want to pass out but your eyes felt heavy. 
Tyler noticed it too, and placed a hand on your knee, giving it a squeeze and a shake. “You gotta stay with me, okay? You gotta stay awake.” 
“M’trying,” you muttered. 
“You were right about the storm,” he said. “But aren’t you always?” 
A pained smile fell across your lips. “Was that a compliment?” 
He laughed, driving quickly down the road with one hand gripping the wheel tightly. “Yeah. You’re hard to say something bad about. You know your stuff, better than me, that’s for sure.” 
“My parents taught me,” you said, desperately trying to keep yourself consciousness, but it grew more difficult by the minute. 
“Do they still chase?” he asked. 
“Not much anymore. Sometimes if a storm’s close, they’ll take a drive. But they always say they’ve had their fun.” They also said they shared enough close calls to know it was time to hang it up. You know they worried you’d find yourself in one too, but you’d always been careful and rarely got yourself into a situation you couldn’t get out of, until now, that was. 
Darkness encroached on your vision, threatening to force your eyes closed. Some the backseat, you heard one of the Wrangles call Tyler’s name. He turned his head, but you couldn’t see the concerningly red-soaked shirt that made his stomach churn and caused him to press down on the gas harder. Your head lulled to the side and your eyes fluttered close. Vaguely, you heard Tyler call your name and felt him shake your knee, but you couldn’t open your eyes or open your mouth. Everything fell dark. 
-- 
Tyler had spent his fair share of time in hospitals. He’d been bucked off a bull more than once, resulting in his mother dragging him to the hospital and threatening to make him quit. Eventually she held to her threat when he shattered his nose and gained a nasty concussion. 
Being at the hospital for himself was one thing, being there for you made him realize why his mother used to be drenched in worry. He nervously drummed his fingers against the arm of the chair in the hospital room. You were asleep, a fresh bandage wrapped around your head and with a minor concussion. The cut on the back of your head required a couple stitches; you were lucky, all things considered, but Tyler really hated seeing you like that. 
To him, you’d always been unreal. A second generation storm chaser so accomplished. Not only did you know your stuff, it was clear how much you enjoyed it. You lit up at the sight of storms, and Tyler couldn’t help but be in awe. There was a competitive nature to storm chasing and as much as he wanted to be annoyed by you always being two steps ahead of him, he couldn’t. He was just impressed. 
Tyler wasn’t sure how or when that admiration turned into something that teetered on affection, but it felt more than it had been before seated at your hospital bedside. He’d never felt his stomach drop like that before, when you passed out in his truck, Boone holding a bloodied shirt to you head. Even after the doctor said you’d be just fine, he felt on edge. 
The door to your room was pushed open by a nurse who led in two more people, who he instantly recognized: The Hardings. 
He stood up quickly and watched as your mom rushed to your side, brushing a hand across your cheek with a deep frown. “Oh, baby girl,” she sighed.  
The nurse offered your concerned parents a polite smile. “As the doctor said, the concussion was minor so all she need is some rest for the couple of days to a week. She should wake up soon and we'll see how she’s doing, then the doctor will let you know when she can be discharged.” 
You dad rubbed your mom’s back like he was trying to ease the heavy worry that shined in her face, but he too looked just as worried with a crease across his forehead. 
Tyler lightly cleared his throat, gaining your parents’ attention. "Hello, ma'am, sir," he greeted them.
“You must be the one who brought her in,” Jo said, and Tyler nodded in response. “Thank you. We’d been trying to call her, after we saw that storm, but she never answered and I…I just had a bad feeling.” 
Bill rubbed the light stubble on his chin. “No wonder she’s knocked out; I don’t think you’d get here otherwise. Stubborn, that kid.” 
A found smile spread across Tyler’s lips. “She kept saying she was fine until she nearly passed out on me. We only got a couple miles before she did pass out; scared the life out of me,” he said, running a stressed hand through his hair freed from his hat. The second you passed out in his truck, he nearly broke every traffic law. He wasn’t sure he’d never been quiet that scared, which was something he wasn't sure how to feel about.
Your mom furrowed her brows at Tyler’s words, something glinting behind her eyes until it shined in recognition. “You’re that storm chaser she’s always talkin’ about,” Jo said. “The one online.” 
“Oh, yeah,” Bill said, nodding in Tyler’s direction. He couldn’t tell if it was disdain or indifference in the man’s voice, but Tyler was too hung up on the fact that you talked about him to care much. He didn’t know that filled him with an odd sense of pride and warmth. You two weren’t exactly friends but you were more than acquaintances. It was more like a nice, workplace rivalry that he enjoyed a lot more than he’d admit. 
A small groan sounded from the bed, and everyone turned as your eyes fluttered open. Your mom was quick to your side, speaking quietly under the hum of fluorescent lights. 
You started to mumble something about your truck that Tyler couldn’t quite make out, but your dad seemed to understand immediately. He said he’d take care of it, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before he headed out into the hall with his cell phone in hand. 
Tyler felt like he overstayed his welcome; you were in better hands with your parents there. He collected his things from the chair, garnering your attention. 
“Tyler,” you said, pushing yourself to sit upright. “Thank you.” 
He smiled. “No problem, doctor. I couldn’t let one of the best chasers be out of the game, now could I?” 
“So you admit it? I’ve got you beat.” 
“I said one of,” he joked. “But you may have one or two legs up on me. Not for long though. I’ll catch up.” 
Something in your smile made him want to sigh in relief, but he held it back. “Not a chance.” 
“Then you better rest up; I’ll see you back out there.” 
Bonus!
It took a little longer for you to bounce back, but the second you felt like yourself again, you were right back at it. Morning was supposed to bright a slew of storms to Kansas, so you and your team hightailed it to the state, finding a cozy little motel already occupied by other storm chasers. You spotted Tyler’s truck instantly, followed by a strange turn of your stomach. 
You hadn’t seen him since you woke up in the hospital, slightly surprised that he stayed with you until your parents arrived. Since then, your mom had managed to bring him up at every opportunity, not so subtly hint at what a pair the two of you would be. You brushed her off, but a small part of you wondered what would happen if you hung around the cowboy a little more. 
“Look who’s back!” Tyler’s voice sounded the second you hopped out of Frankie’s beat-up but sturdy truck; you were saving up for a new one, something even nicer that you could doctor up for chasing. 
He approached you with a beaming smile, flashing his teeth. “I just couldn’t stay away,” you replied. “I didn’t miss anything too crazy, did I?” 
Tyler shook his head. “It seemed like mother nature saved the good ones for you. They’re talkin’ some big ones tomorrow.” The giddy feeling that accompanied storm filled your chest, and the company of Tyler heightened it, strange and new but not completely unwelcome. Maybe it was time you gave into his charm a little more.
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thetriumphantpanda · 20 days
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you'll just have to taste me | joel miller
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Summary | He knows he's no good, knows it's a bad idea, you're out of bounds and should stay that way, but it's okay to test the waters, right?
Pairing | Joel Miller x F!Reader
Word Count | 1.7K
Warnings | this is literally 1.7k of utter filth, you've been warned, it's nasty, I told you, okay? Unspecified age gap, Joel is your dad's buddy and Sarah is your friend. Joel fights with his morals but the pussy is too good. Explicit smut, JUST THE TIP, unprotected PiV, cumshot, cum eating, spit play, dirty talk, Joel talks you through it. No outbreak au, no use of Y/N.
Authors Note | I AM SO INCREDIBLY LATE TO POST THIS, but this is my entry to @hellishjoel's HOT DILF SUMMER CHALLENGE. I know it's September and this was not my original idea, but it came to me and I wrote this in less than an hour. It's filth and it's nasty and I beg you not to judge me okay? Written and edited on my phone so forgive any mistakes.
Divider by @saradika
Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi
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He’s going to hell. He’s always known it. Despite the years of his parents putting him in his Sunday best and taking him to church each week with his brother, despite his upbringing and the way he’s always tried to be the perfect southern gentleman, Joel Miller is going to hell, and the evidence in right in front of him.
You. His buddy’s daughter. His own daughter’s friend. The bane of his existence for the whole damn summer, with your short dresses and flirty eyes and the way you make him laugh and the way he’s wanted you since you waltzed back into town, masters degree under arm, with one purpose which seemed to be to turn him on at every possible opportunity.
It’s been bubbling for weeks. You’d caught him in the corridor during movie night with Sarah, whilst she was downstairs microwaving popcorn and he’d had no choice but to kiss you, your lips drenched in something that tasted like mango and made him dizzy. Then, at the annual neighbourhood cookout, when you’d dropped a fork and bent over to pick it up, flashing him those skimpy panties as you did, he’d had no choice then but to drag you upstairs and teach you a lesson, ten sharp slaps on your pert ass and strong words that you needed to stop. He doesn’t doubt you went home that night and shoved three fingers into your cunt and dreamt of him as you came.
But now, it’s all real. Sarah’s gone back to college, your parents back to work, and you have nothing lined up until you start getting invited to interview for positions that you’d applied to with a slew of applications about two weeks ago. It’s why you’re on his bed, it’s why he’s left Tommy on site on his own, and why you’re bare as the day you were born, legs spread obscenely, pussy on display as he stands at the foot of his bed and contemplates whether he really should do this.
“Y’scared, old man?” You tease, one hand trailing down your body, two fingers spreading the swollen lips of your cunt, middle finger dipping inside.
He can see the webbing of slick you drag from yourself, finger slow as it circles your clit. His eyes can’t miss the way your hole flutters as you touch yourself, like it’s begging to be filled, begging to be filled by his throbbing cock that he’s currently fisting in his hand.
“Ain’t scared,” He mutters, “Y’sure you wanna do this?”
You don’t speak in response, just dip two fingers back into your weeping cunt and start fucking yourself with them. He squeezes his cock a little tighter in his hand, feeling the weeping of pre-cum at his tip as he watches.
“Ain’t no comin’ back from this.” He muses, moving forward, knees on the mattress, your legs spreading wider to accommodate the width of his thighs.
“Want you,” Is all he hears from your mouth as his cock rests on your pussy, hot and heavy against your skin, “Want your cock, Joel.”
He thrusts his hips a little at that, dragging his length through the soaking folds of your cunt, head rubbing against the swollen bud of your clit.
“Y’sure?” He asks, continuing the rub of his cock, “It’s all over then, baby,” He coos, “I’ll ruin ya.”
“Good,” You groan out, hips shifting to try and catch his tip at your entrance, to try and get exactly what you want, “I want it, Joel, I want it bad.”
“Y’know what I think?” He asks, looking down at you, stopping his movements and opting to circle your clit with his thumb instead, “I reckon we need t’make sure.”
“I am-” You try and protest, but he’s shushing you.
“I reckon,” He says slowly, bringing the tip of his cock to press to your weeping core, “It don’t count if it’s just the tip,” He pushes his hips forward ever so slightly, not enough to sink inside, but enough that he’s already had a taste of what you’ll feel like around him, “Just the tip baby, and then we’ll know.”
He looks down at you and he can see your wild eyes, the way you nod your head against the mattress. You’re such a good girl for him, taking whatever he’ll give you, so he does just that. With three fingers on the base of his cock, he lets the tip of him push inside you, just enough that the head of his cock is nestled inside you, and he knows he’s fucked.
You’re tight and you’re warm and you’re breathing and whimpering for him, and those perfect walls are clenching around him so right and so good that it takes every ounce of self-control he has not to shove his cock all the way in and damn you both to hell.
“Jesus girl,” He breathes, one hand clutching at your hip to hold you still, “Fuckin’ perfect, ain’t ya?”
You don’t speak back to him, it’s all you can do to lie and try not to writhe too much as he starts his shallow thrusts. The head of his cock popping from your wet cunt and then being sucked back in so perfectly. He’s had his fair share of women since Sarah went to college and he knows he’s a lot to take, knows that he knows what he’s doing too, but when he looks down at you, your eyes tilted back in your skull, cunt squeezing him just right, he can’t help but think this is what he’s been missing.
“That good?” He asks, bringing his thumb back to your clit, swirling wetness across it as he continues the shallow thrusts of his hips.
“Want it all,” You grumble, “Can take it all, Joel.”
“Ain’t got a doubt,” He teases, but doesn’t relent, “But we gotta make sure.”
He wants to lean down, wants to cover your body with his own and suck one of your perfect nipples into his mouth, but he knows the minute he does you’ll beg him so nice and he’ll break, so he resists, swirling his thumb across your clit with more purpose now.
“M’gonna-” You choke out, and he knows, he can feel it, the way you’re fluttering and tightening around the head of his cock so perfectly, “Gonna come, Joel.”
“Yeah?” He asks ruefully, “Gonna come on my cock, pretty girl?” He smiling down at you as your mouth drops open, your cunt pulling painfully tight around him, “Go on, you can do it,” He babbles, trying to fight the tightening in his own stomach until you’ve come for him, “Come for me, baby.”
And you do, by God you do, and he thinks it might be the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, the sweetest thing he’s ever heard. You whine, a high-pitched kind of thing, eyes clamping shut as you arch your back. There’s more slick around his cock than he’s ever seen before, making it easy for the tip of his cock to ease you through it. The convulsing of your walls around him bring him to his own end, using his last braincell to drag the tip from your cunt and give himself three strokes before the thick ropes of his cum are splashing across your swollen pussy. He watches where they land, painting your skin as his own as his head tips back and breathes a sigh of relief.
He know’s he should stop, but there’s something mesmerising about the mix of his cum and your own, the way he’s dripping down you and onto his sheets. His shuffles down a little and leans forward, using his thumbs to spread your pussy open, before he uses his tongue to gather the mess down there. He’s slurping at you, tasting your cunt through his cum, gathering as much of the two of you as he can in his mouth.
You’re moaning for him when his tongue flicks a few times at your sensitive bud, but then his body is over yours, weight pressed against you as one of his hands takes your chin, squeezing at your jaw to get you to open your mouth, which you do, gladly.
Joel opens his own mouth, letting his cum, your slick and his spit drop from his own into your waiting mouth. He doesn’t give you a minute to swallow anything, his tongue mixing with yours in a kiss that is messy and obscene. He can feel your hips against his own, your hot cunt pressing against him. If he was younger, he’d pin you down and fuck you again, this time for real, but all he can do is pull away.
“Swallow it,” He orders, closing your mouth and watching the bob of your throat as you do what he says, producing your tongue for him, “Good fuckin’ girl.”
He unceremoniously collapses onto the bed next to you, arm over his eyes as he tries to recover some semblance of composure. He can feel your body next to his, shuffling a little closer, and then he can hear you stifling a laugh and then before long, it’s not stifled, it’s full on laughter. He takes his arm from his eyes and looks at you, and can’t help but start laughing himself, until his ribs hurt and you’ve calmed down enough, your body draped across his in the mid-afternoon glow.
“This is bad, huh?” You whisper, fingers dancing through the smattering of hair across his chest.
“Terrible, really.” He responds.
“I’m sure though,” And he holds you a little tighter at that, “Next time, I want the whole thing.”
“Don’t worry baby,” He says quietly, pressing his lips to the crown of your head, “You can have whatever you want next time.”
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lukosei · 2 months
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Rewatching death note after TEN YEARS with some friends and we are horribly susceptible to theorizing animation student au headcanons for like every piece of media that has our attention so here’s their meet the artists with some stats :3 ridiculously self-indulgent + catered to our own personal experiences of being in cartoon school. How fleshed out is this??? Not very. But it’s fun (tried drawing them kinda sorta how they’d maybe draw if they were actually like people) (I’d love to put the music they listen to and movies they like but tbh idk light especially does not strike me as someone who listens to music for fun so they’re a bit minimal). Also thing to note I know the personality-database site says light is an entj instead of i which while it makes sense we motioned that he’s a bit more meticulous and while of course he can do social situations he doesn’t seek them out per se nor get fulfilment from them BUT BOTH TYPES ARE STILL GOOD
Now you may be asking how does the actual plot of death note translate into this. Well you see they are in their 3rd year ryuk is light’s goth alt roommate who shows him this cool site called twitter dot com and light IMMEDIATELY starts anonymously cyberbullying people notably school peers and it gets so bad the faculty has to get involved and they also need to bring in this mysterious transfer student from England who gets put into the same 3rd year film group as light to further investigate suspicions and also has a twitter handle/acc that has been actively challenging light’s + has like a gazillion followers. Also yeah they fall in love and stuff
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witchering10123 · 1 year
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we’ve finished the top row!!! day eight, i bring you, once again, the love of my life, suki!
(template by mondlichtkatze)
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poohsources · 2 months
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🐝  *  ―  𝑷𝑳𝑨𝑻𝑶𝑵𝑰𝑪 𝑺𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑪𝑬 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑺.
❛  you've been my best friend for years, what made you think it would change now?  ❜ ❛  i'm always here for you if you need me.  ❜ ❛  well, that's what friends are for.  ❜ ❛  remember, i'm always just one call away.  ❜ ❛  how long have we known each other now? i know you better than you know yourself.  ❜ ❛  you're an idiot most of the time, but you're my idiot.  ❜ ❛  do you want to come over and watch movies tonight? i could use some company.  ❜ ❛  you always know how to cheer me up.  ❜ ❛  i made you your favorite food.  ❜ ❛  i know it's 2 a.m. but i really need someone to talk to. are you awake?  ❜ ❛  remember when we used to build blanket forts? let's do it again.  ❜ ❛  please come to this family dinner with me. my family already loves you and i need some neutral person there with me.  ❜ ❛  here, i got you something. i saw it at the shop and it reminded me of you.  ❜ ❛  do you remember that promise we made to each other when we were kids?  ❜ ❛  i'm so grateful to have you in my life. you mean the world to me.  ❜ ❛  i don't need advice right now, just a friend to listen.  ❜ ❛  you're the best friend one could ever ask for.  ❜ ❛  hey, umm ... thank you for being my friend.  ❜ ❛  you don't have to go through this alone. i'm here for you.  ❜ ❛  want to grab a coffee and catch up?  ❜ ❛  we may not talk every day anymore, but i still consider you my friend.  ❜ ❛  i can stay and help you finish this if you want.  ❜ ❛  you've got this. i believe in you!  ❜ ❛  how about we plan a game night this weekend?  ❜ ❛  do you ever wonder what our lives will be like in ten years?  ❜ ❛  no matter what happens, you'll always have me.  ❜ ❛  you don't have to pretend with me. i like you just the way you are.  ❜ ❛  consider it ... a little friendly competition.  ❜ ❛  thank you, you always know how to make me laugh.  ❜ ❛  i can't believe how far we've come together.  ❜ ❛  just stay put, i'll be over in a minute.  ❜ ❛  i've got us tickets for that concert/movies/exhibition you wanted to go to.  ❜ ❛  how about a road trip? just like old times ...  ❜ ❛  i really appreciate you staying in my life all these years.  ❜ ❛  i don't know what i'd do without you.  ❜ ❛  you can tell me if something is bothering you.  ❜ ❛  race you to the end of the street!  ❜ ❛  bet you can't beat me at this game. i'm a pro.  ❜ ❛  i challenge you to a cooking contest. loser has to buy dinner for the next week.  ❜ ❛  you've been such a great friend, and i just wanted to say thanks.  ❜
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confused-pyramid · 5 months
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Breaking Point
pairing: art donaldson x fem!reader
summary: You and Art were hitting partners (and a bit more) in college, so when you run into him a decade later at the U.S. Open, old sparks reignite...
word count: 3.4k
warnings: SMUT, p in v, oral (fem!receiving), slight marking, drinking
a/n: I watched Challengers last night and then wrote this whole thing in one sitting. Nothing in this is really canon other than Art being a major simp lol so no spoilers for the movie! I usually make playlists (or at least find a few songs that get me in the zone) when writing, so I thought I'd start sharing them here too if people are interested!
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You should've known he'd be here. You've been following his career for the last decade since you graduated, and ever since he won Wimbledon last year, he's been tennis royalty, but a small part of you still thought you wouldn't run into him here. At the fucking U.S. Open.
Stanford was a lifetime ago, and you haven't kept in touch with anyone from the college team, but there was always something about Art Donaldson that stuck with you. Ten years later, that hasn't changed.
"It's been so long," he calls out when he spots you from across the practice courts. "I didn't think I'd see you."
You didn't either, and you still haven't decided how you feel about it yet, but when he jogs over to your side, you just shrug. "Guess it's your lucky day."
He smiles, and his teeth glimmer in the bright sunlight. "It certainly is."
The loud thwacks of tennis balls hitting rackets echo around you, but you can't seem to focus on anything but the man standing in front of you. He looks good.
He was beautiful in college too, whether he was training across the net or slipping into your bed, but it feels different now, with so much time apart. He looks like a man now.
"Anyway," Art says, jerking you back to reality. "We should get a drink sometime. To catch up."
He adds the last part almost as an afterthought, but it doesn't escape your notice how his eyes have been trailing up and down your body since he walked over.
A drink could mean almost anything with Art Donaldson, but you're too curious to refuse. "Sure. This weekend, after the semi-finals."
He nods, his eyes glinting with amusement, and you grab your bag from the bench beside you before looping the strap over your shoulder.
You walk off the practice courts after one last glance over your shoulder, and you feel his eyes following along until the doors swing shut behind you.
***
He should've expected this. You were a firecracker in college, and you kept him on his toes every single day you were together, so he really should have known what he was getting into when he met you for drinks that weekend.
Instead, he's one too many beers in, and his buzz is only enhancing the glow of your beauty in the hazy bar light. Your dress isn't even that low cut, but something about the shadows glancing over your strong shoulders reminds him of late nights in the Stanford dorms after a hard practice when there was only one thing he wanted more than sleep.
"You played really well this morning," he says genuinely as he sets his beer back onto the table. "After that first set, Mueller didn't stand a chance."
You flash him a dazzling smile as you shrug, resting your chin on your palm. "I had her after the third game, but thanks. It was a quick match."
Art hasn't taken his eyes off of you since you sat down, and while prolonged eye contact usually makes you nervous, you find that you're actually enjoying the attention quite a bit. Attentiveness was never an issue with him, and you would normally give in to your urges, but there's just too much history with him, and you can't afford to lose focus. Not when the title is so close you can taste it.
"I hear the networks are eyeing you for a commentator post," you say, trying to change the subject.
You trace your finger around the rim of your nearly empty margarita, before lifting it to take a final sip, and you don't miss how his throat bobs as you lick the salt off your lips.
"Uh, yeah," he mumbles, clearing his throat. "It was just some chatter, but I'm not looking to retire anytime soon."
You frown. "Is that right?" He's playing better than ever, but he definitely hasn't been himself out on the court in years.
He glances down, clearly trying to avoid the scrutiny, and when his eyes land on your empty glass, he changes the subject again. "You want another drink?"
You shake your head, knowing that another will lead to a less than fun morning, but he isn't done yet.
"You sure?" His eyes find yours again, and this time the eye contact feels primal. "It doesn't have to be here."
Your eyebrows lift and you tilt your head with a knowing smile. "Where were you thinking?"
"I don't know," he shrugs, before his lips curve up into a cheeky grin. "My room's nice."
You saw it coming from a mile away, but it still pulls a laugh out of you. "Oh, I'm sure it is, but this isn't college anymore, Art. You should get some sleep...focus on your match in the morning."
You push your glass forward and stand up, nodding at him as you turn to leave, but then you see him stand too out of the corner of your eye.
"I'll walk you to your car."
He looks at you with a hint of amusement in his expression, and you can't help but want to play along, even though Art Donaldson was nothing but trouble for you.
You don't respond, instead just stepping out from around the table and walking out the front doors of the bar. You don't have to turn back to know he's right behind you, and when you reach your car, parked in the center of the nearly empty parking lot, you spin around.
He doesn't stop walking until he has you practically boxed in by your driver's side door, his face less than a foot from yours as he tucks his hands into his pockets.
He had pushed his sleeves back at some point in the night, from the humid summer heat of the bar, and you can see the veins on his forearms now, under the dim light of the street lamps.
"This is me," you say jokingly, tipping your chin at your car as he looks at you with an expression you can't distinguish. "I'm good from here."
He doesn't move.
It's not that you expected him to give up so easily; you had just forgotten how persistent he could be.
Art's mouth stretches into a slanted smile. "Do you remember the Davis Invitational? Junior year."
Speaking of his persistence...he had been pursuing you for months, not in any tangible way, but you always knew what he was thinking.
After the invitational, where you and Art had been the respective men's and women's champions, you had gone back to his dorm to celebrate. Three hours and just as many vodka shooters later, he had finally gotten you in his bed. Not that you were complaining.
Art knew his way around your body, and even that first night, he had managed to get you off more times than you can remember.
"What about it?" you shoot back, your eyebrows raising at the insinuation.
"Nothing," he says with a shrug, but you don't miss the humor glinting in his eyes. "You just used to be a lot more fun to celebrate with."
"Fuck you," you spit out, shoving his shoulder harder than you mean to. He barely budges, instead grabbing your hand and tugging you a few inches closer, and suddenly a wave of lust washes over you, making your breath hitch.
You press your thighs together under your dress, hoping he can't feel the heat spreading across your skin, but then his smile turns to a smirk and you know you're done for.
"What do you think?" he whispers, leaning in so close that his lips brush over your earlobe. "Want to celebrate?"
Molten lava pools in your gut and you are only peripherally aware of his hand sliding down your hips to the flowy edge of your dress. His fingers glide over your skin as his hand goes under the loose fabric, before rising up to grab your ass, drawing your hips flush with his.
Your arousal is already starting to soak through your panties, but the feeling of his hard bulge pressed up against you sends you flying back to reality.
You lift your hands to his chest and push him back so that he's a few steps away from you. It's not far enough, but at least you can't feel him from there. "I'm not fucking you, Art."
He shrugs, his smirk only slightly shaken. "Who said anything about fucking? I just wanted to talk."
You huff out a laugh. "You're funny. Besides, I'm too tired for this. I need to rest up before my match."
"What about tomorrow night then?" His lip is still curved up in a smirk, but there's an earnestness in his gaze that surprises you.
"What makes you think you'll still be here tomorrow?"
His mouth spreads into a wide smile. "I always win."
You snort. "Fine. Win your match and we can talk."
You don't miss the grin on his face as you climb into your car and leave.
***
You win your next match in straight sets again, so by the time you're out of the locker room, Art's match is still in play. Driven by a mixture of curiosity and intrigue, you head over to his court and find a seat halfway up the stands.
He has won two of three sets, and he's leading the fourth, so with the prospect of the match ending soon, you use the time to observe him from a different angle.
His form is much better than it was in college, and you've seen him play countless times on TV, but you haven't really let yourself see how good he looks out there. The sinewy muscles rippling in his arms as he lifts them to serve. The rugged sturdiness of his legs as he races back and forth across the court.
You wish you could be down there with him, running your hands over the smooth lines of his abdomen, tasting the drops of sweat as they roll down his body-
The crowd erupts in cheers, and you are thrust back into reality as Art throws his arms into the air with a loud whoop. The scoreboard confirms his victory, and you clap along with the audience as he shakes his opponent's hand and heads over to his chair.
People around you stand up to leave, but you stay in your seat, watching as he grabs his bag and stuffs his rackets inside. When he wipes a towel over his face, his head turns up and his eyes immediately go to you, like he knew you were here the whole time.
Your stomach does an involuntary flip and he flashes his eyebrows at you as you bit the inside of your lip, trying to hold back a smile.
When he ducks back down to grab his things, you stand up quickly to avoid letting him see your blush and follow the rest of the crowd off of the stands.
***
You hear it late that night. Three little raps on your hotel room door, just before midnight.
You're in the finals, and you don't have any friends here to celebrate with, so you were sipping a beer and watching old match recordings when you heard the knock.
There's no one else who would come to see you this late, so you're not surprised when you open the door to find Art, dressed in a tee shirt and comfy-looking pajama pants.
"What are you doing here?" you ask, even though you already know the answer.
Art just looks at you, his pupils already massive. "You said if I win, we could talk." He shrugs. "I won."
"Okay," you concede, opening the door wider to let him in. "Just talking then."
He nods, before following you inside and shutting the door.
"You want anything to drink?" you ask as he trails behind you.
He shakes his head. "I'm good."
You grab your beer bottle from the side table and sit down on the floor, crossing your legs beneath you.
Art sits across from you, his feet in front of him and his elbows on his knees. You were assigned to a modestly sized room, but for someone as tall as him, the space must feel cramped.
"How did the match feel?" you ask, taking a swig of beer.
He thinks for a moment. "It was close at first, but once I shook my legs out, it became a breeze."
"Your legs were never the problem," you say, leveling him with a serious look. "It was always your attitude. Or your confidence."
He frowns, his eyebrows scrunching slightly. "I'm plenty confident."
"You are now," you tell him as you swirl the bottle around in your hand. "You won Wimbledon, you have a reason to be confident."
That makes him smile. "So you're saying my legs are fine."
"Yeah," you say before you can process what you're saying. "You looked good out there."
His smile turns to a smirk so fast it nearly gives you whiplash. "You think I look good?"
You let out an exasperated scoff. "At tennis."
His grin doesn't falter so you roll your eyes at him before lifting the bottle to your lips to take another swig. When you tilt the bottle back down to swallow, his hand reaches forward to take it from you. Your grip on the beer doesn't loosen, so the motion sends you pitching forward.
Your mouth parts with a small yelp as his arm wraps around you, tugging you closer, and before you can process what's happening, his lips are on yours.
If you let yourself think too hard, you would realize that there is way too much shared history and way too much baggage here for this to be a good idea...so that's why you don't.
Instead, you let him pull your body flush against his and when his tongue slides over the seam of your lips, you grant him access immediately. Your shirts come off in quick succession and you gasp as his hands run up and down your body, his strong, calloused fingers grasping at every inch of purchase they can find. Yours reach up to tangle in his messy hair, and when his lips move down your neck, your grip tightens, making him moan quietly against your skin.
Something about being on the floor takes you back to your college days, when you'd both be so worked up after practice that you couldn't even make it to the bed, but that feels too real right now.
"Art," you whisper as he runs his lips and teeth over your neck, before replacing it with his tongue to soothe the quickly blossoming marks. "Art, the bed. Now."
It takes him a second to process your words, but when he does, he loops an arm around your waist and lifts you up and onto the bed in one motion, before pushing you back onto the covers.
By the time your head hits the bed, he's already pulling your shorts and panties down, exposing you to the cool air. His lips follow the path of his hands as they trace up your legs, making you squirm under the hot touch of his rough fingers. He presses wet kisses to the insides of your thighs before spreading them apart and dropping to his knees on the floor in front of you.
"So wet for me," he whispers, almost to himself, before he dives in, his mouth making lewd noises as he licks a thick stripe up your core. "You taste so good."
He lifts your legs over his shoulders to give himself some leverage as he makes a mess between your thighs, licking and sucking your clit into his mouth before fucking you with his tongue.
His grip on your thighs is the only thing keeping you pinned to the bed as you writhe beneath him, trying to not squeeze your legs together from the heat spreading up your core.
His mouth feels amazing and it takes only minutes before you're already nearing the edge. You don't want to come until he is inside of you, though, so you yank his hair, pulling him up and off of you.
He looks up at you through his lashes, and he looks ethereal with his disheveled hair and his chin wet with your slick.
You, on the other hand, look like heaven itself with your eyes half-hooded from pleasure, and he can't help the grin that crosses his face as he licks his lips and climbs over you onto the bed. He lets you taste yourself as he kisses you again, and he lets out a low groan when you bite his lip just hard enough to sting.
"Fuck me," you gasp, your voice too breathy to be actually authoritative. "Fuck me the way I like."
Art grins at your desperate tone and the wild lust in your eyes, committing this image to memory for a later time when you're much further away.
He kicks his pants off as he lifts you both further up the bed, and after covering himself with a condom from his back pocket, he lines himself up and slowly pushes forward.
He gives you a few moments to adjust to his size before slowly pulling out nearly all the way and then thrusting in again.
The slight pain turns to pleasure almost immediately, but he keeps his pace steady so as not to hurt you. You need more right now, so you wrap your legs around him for leverage and flip him over so that you're straddling him.
He groans as his head hits the pillow, and when he tries to sit up, you press your hands to his chest, pushing him down as you ride him. This position gives you a lot more control, and you use it to your advantage as you bounce yourself on his cock, feeling the way he fills you up so fully from this higher angle.
His fingers dig into your hips as he helps lift you up and down, and his eyes are practically feral as he watches the spot where his cock disappears inside of you.
He's the perfect size to fill you up completely, and with each swivel of your hips, you get closer and closer to your climax, which is approaching so fast you can taste it.
You cry out when he hits exactly the right spot deep inside of you, and his eyes fly to yours as your movements start to stutter from your impending release.
Needing to see the look on your face when you come, he pushes your lower back forward so you fall against his chest, before lifting himself up to meet you halfway. With one arm locked around you, he brings his other hand down between the two of you to rub quick circles over your clit. The new angle lets him thrust up into you, and the increased pace of his movements mixed with the speed of his fingers sends you flying over the edge.
Your mouth falls open with a loud cry, and you squeeze him so tightly he's practically seeing stars. You look so beautiful when you come, like a goddess sent down here just for him, and when your eyes meet his, he finds his own climax.
His body jerks forward with the force of his release, and you let him thrust a few more times as he finally finishes inside of you.
After pulling out, he tugs you down to lay next to him, and at first you let him, but the emotions warring inside of you don't stay quiet for long.
You know that whatever this was isn't going to go anywhere. You didn't work in college, and you won't work now, and you don't want anyone to get hurt again, so you have to make a choice. Now.
"I need to get some rest," you say quietly, a tiny part of you hoping he doesn't hear you. "Before the next match."
"Yeah," he sighs after a beat. "Me too."
You let him hold you for a moment longer, before he unwraps himself from your body and sits up, tugging his shirt and pants back on. You tug the sheet back and wrap it around your torso as he stands up and walks to the door.
You're not sure what you're expecting as he goes to leave, but what you get is a silent nod as the door swings shut behind him.
2K notes · View notes
euphorajeon · 5 months
Text
trippin' over, gettin' lost on you | jjk (m)
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— pairing: jk x f. reader
— genre: fluff, smut | college au, slight coffee shop au (?)
— word count: 12.4k
— warnings: pov change after the first part (its kinda obvious.. i hope), sleeveless jk, jealous jk, like really jealous, side character yoongi, cameo jimin and hoseok, they work tgt in a coffee shop, boxer!jk is back to his nature (he's boxing again, at last), cocky jk (but he's hot so its ok), usual banter between jk and oc, also banter between oc and jimin, mentions of cuts and bruises from boxing, references to the movie Real Steel, uhh what else i dont rmb anything else this thing is GIANT for me, smut in the form of: kissing, marking (hickeys), making out, an attempt at dirty talk, dry humping, cumming in pants, hint at unprotected penetrative sex at the end (don't do this!). [pls lmk if i missed smth]
— summary: a visit to the coffee shop you work at rewards jeongguk not only with a cup of coffee and a plate of brownie, but also with something else simmering deep in his veins. a challenge is issued, and all hell breaks loose.
— author's note: okay first of all full disclosure i started this in sept 2022 and just finished it today ^_^ i tried to edit it as best as i could, so if you see any mistakes, pls kindly... ignore... thank you... ^_^ that aside, i also feel the need to disclose that this is only my second time attempting to write smut so pls.. be kind.. hehe. okay! i hope you enjoy this absolute giant baby of mine!!
masterlist | boxer!gguk masterlist
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There’s an advantage to knowing someone for years. Jeon Jeongguk can attest to this fact from first-hand experiences he’d had with you throughout the many years you both have known each other. He’s seen you cry after you almost drowned when you were ten and you’ve seen him throw up his breakfast after drinking skimmed milk when he was twelve, where both life-threatening experiences had been deemed not serious by young-you and young-Jeongguk who used both experiences as means to roast each other. (Though growing up, your hands automatically grabbed the whole milk carton when grocery shopping with him and he’s never let you go within a five-meter radius of a swimming pool without his supervision.)
Years of friendship with you has also given him the advantage of being familiar with your likes and dislikes, from trivial ones like how you don’t drink coffee because it upsets your stomach to more serious ones like the type of boys you would date in your teen years. He’s never had a problem with the former, instead using it as another mean to annoy you (“You can’t drink coffee? What are you? A child?”), but the latter had always bugged him for reasons unknown prior to his big epiphany a little over a year ago. (Spoiler alert: it was the first time he came home with piercings on his eyebrow and lower lip, when he tempted you into kissing him stupid.)
Now he’s confident that the type of a boy you’d date would be someone who is handsome, tall, has a great smile and tattooed bulging biceps on the side. Add a lip piercing (and a fake tongue one!) as well and he’s sure you’re never going to look at other boys ever again. If you do, well, he’d just make the piercing on his tongue a permanent one, even though that means he wouldn’t be able to kiss you for weeks after. But as said earlier, he’s confident that you only have eyes for him alone.
With that same confidence, Jeongguk struts through the glass door of the coffee shop you’re working at for the summer, going up to the counter with a grin painted on his features. Said grin goes unnoticed by you, though, as you’re busy taking the order of the person in front of him. His lips stay tilted upwards as he watches you work, writing the customer’s name on the cup with your big, round, cute handwriting. Only when you’re done taking the order and the customer’s cup has been given to your coworker do you notice his presence, eyes lighting up at the sight of him.
“Hi, what can I get you today?” you greet him in your customer-service voice and smile like you do any other customer that has come before him. Jeongguk gives you an amused smile, making you chuckle as you key in his order even before he says it himself. He eyes the small screen in front of him that displays his usual choice of beverage, making a sound to stop you from ringing him up.
“Actually,” he says when you hum in question, “could you add milk to that? Make it a latte?”
“You want a latte?” you emphasize the last word, making sure you didn’t hear him wrong. “Like, with milk and foam on top?”
“Uh-huh,” Jeongguk confirms, leaning his elbows on the counter to stare at you as you change his order from an americano to a latte. “Can I also order you on the side? Look too good not to be devoured,” he adds, a sleazy smirk on his lips.
You scrunch up your face at his innuendo, his words hard to believe when you’re wearing a murky brown apron and a matching cap on your head. “I’m adding a brownie,” you deadpan. “That would be seven dollars.”
“You don’t want anything?” Jeongguk asks as he straightens up, hand reaching for his wallet to take out his credit card. “No coffee though, babe.”
“Nope, I’m good,” you answer as you accept the card Jeongguk hands you, swiping it through the card reader. “Yoongi said I can try the new menu in large for free! I’m saving calories for that so no sugar allowed for now.”
His forehead creases upon hearing the new name. “Yoongi? Who’s Yoongi?”
“Him,” you tilt your head towards a mint-haired guy who’s busy making all the drinks, hands skillfully moving from one cup to another. It’s a wonder how he doesn’t spill even a drop of liquid. “I’ll introduce you later but now you have to move, there’s a line. Shoo.”
Jeongguk gives you a playful pout as a protest but complies with your request to move, sliding down to the pick up counter as you greet the next customer in line. There are two people lined up after him, barely a line like you made it sound like, but he figures because it’s an hour before closing that you consider any amount above one person a line. He also notices that you and the mint guy (Yoongi, was it?) are the only ones manning the counter, so it’s not like you have any spare time to deal with him given the amount of work that has to be done.
“An iced latte and brownie for Jeongguk!” Mint guy shouts as he slides the drink and dessert on the counter, lingering for a second when he sees Jeongguk’s hands reaching for his order. Mint guy’s gaze trails up his arms to his face, eyes meeting Jeongguk’s confused ones. Recognition bleeds into his cat-like eyes as his mouth forms into an O shape.
“Kiddo’s boyfriend?”
The low baritone of his voice is unexpected, though that’s not the only thing throwing Jeongguk for a loop. ‘Kiddo’? He has a nickname for you??
Mint guy—Yoongi!—doesn’t take his lack of response personally, instead opting to turn around and talk to you who have just finished taking orders from the customers. Jeongguk can’t hear what words you and Yoongi are throwing around, but from the way you glance at him, it looks like the mint-haired guy is just trying to confirm the answer to his two-worded question directed at Jeongguk earlier.
Your response to Yoongi’s inquiry makes the guy give you double pats on your cap-covered head, triggering a laugh to come out of both of you. While Yoongi’s laugh looks like he’s teasing you good-naturedly, yours looks like a shy one if the pink dusting your cheeks are any indication. It prompts a scowl to appear on Jeongguk’s handsome visage, furrowed brows and clenched jaw. It is not in your nature to get shy.
As much as he wants to stay rooted to the pick-up counter to keep you and Yoongi in his close watch, he has to move his ass somewhere less crowded to avoid getting eye-fucked by the girl next to him who has been staring at his tattoos for the past five minutes. Prior to dating you, anyone who displays interest in his tattoos would make pride swell in his chest, an ego-booster guaranteed to make his day a thousand times better. He used to subtly flex whenever he caught someone looking at his sleeve tattoos, an equally subtle wink on the side if that someone is a girl he found attractive. But after dating you, he realizes that the only attention he wants (and matters) is yours. Now anyone staring at his tattoos with the intention of flirting or getting in his pants just makes him shiver in disgust.
Though, in this particular instance, Jeongguk admits it’s his own fault by showing up to the coffee shop in a sleeveless shirt. It wasn’t intentional, he just grabbed anything within reach when he packed for the gym earlier in the day, but the way he left his hoodie in the car is definitely intentional. He thought he would give you a distraction surprise by baring his sleeve when you’re working, but you seemed unaffected even when he leaned on the counter to flex his muscles. Which is weird, considering you never missed any chance to ogle his inked bicep whenever he’s boxing.
As Jeongguk plops a small piece of brownie into his mouth, he just realizes that your roles are reversed now, with you doing your thing and him doing the staring. His eyes never leave your figure as you ring up three more customers since he sat down, transferring plastic cups onto Yoongi’s never-ending queue of orders. He watches as you take the last two cups by yourself, re-reading the order before moving to grab the ingredients needed for the drink. Your hands don’t work as fast as Yoongi’s, the muscle memory not yet settling in, but Jeongguk can tell that your help is appreciated by the way the mint guy smiles at you while patting your shoulder.
When the orders are all done, you go up to the glass door to flip the sign so it shows the Sorry, we’re closed! side. A glance at the clock tells him that it is thirty minutes until closing time, meaning thirty minutes until you can get out from behind the cashier and into his waiting arms. He hasn’t seen you all day today and all he wants to do is kiss you breathless the second you get rid of that horrendous apron and cap. Jeongguk starts counting down from the thirty-minute mark, hoping time would tick by faster.
Behind the counter, Yoongi is still busy making one more drink while refusing your offer to help. It’s weird seeing your kindness being offered to someone that isn’t him, but Jeongguk supposes this time it’s strictly work-related as he knows Yoongi has been making all the drinks (except the last two that you did) ever since he sat down with his order. Though, it seems like the drink in his hand is not an order at all, because he gives the plastic cup to you instead of putting it on the counter for a customer to take. There’s an almost childish grin on your face as you sip on the drink, eyes lighting up as you shoot Yoongi a thumbs up. After you exchange some more words with Yoongi, Jeongguk watches as you skip happily to his table with your drink in hand.
You place said drink next to his cup of latte on the table before your hand reaches for his drink to steal a sip. “I just have to clean up and wait for everyone to leave, then we’re good to go.” You steal two more sips of the latte just because you can.
“Okay, babe, but I still want my latte, you can put it down now,” Jeongguk chuckles, watching you do as he says with a guilty smile on your face. But then your hand takes the little spoon that came with the brownie to cut a sizable chunk from his half-eaten treat, quickly plopping it into your mouth. “Finish your brownie so I can take the plate away to wash it.”
“Are you just here to steal all of my food?” Jeongguk jokes, no menace behind his words as he reaches up to thumb away a stray piece of brownie from the corner of your lips. “And you said you didn’t want anything when I offered earlier.”
“I didn’t,” you confirm, “stealing from you is just too hard to resist.”
Jeongguk would’ve continued the banter if not for Yoongi calling your nickname from behind the counter, signalling for you to get back to your job.
“Boss calls,” you say, sneakily stuffing some more brownie into your mouth. “Should get back. Bye!”
“He’s your boss?” Jeongguk asks incredulously, glancing at the mint-haired guy who’s still busy moving around behind the counter. “That young guy is your boss??”
“Yeah, I’ll explain later,” you wave your hand dismissively, turning to leave. “Don’t steal my drink!”
In true Jeongguk fashion, of course he steals a sip from your drink. He does it just to be petty that you won’t explain anything about Yoongi, but he’s also curious what the new menu tastes like. He doesn’t remember seeing any banner for a new menu when he entered the shop earlier, so he’s guessing it hasn’t gone on sale yet.
He scrunches up his face the moment the drink touches his taste buds, tasting the bitterness of coffee among the layers of other flavors. It’s not as strong as the americano he usually has, but he can still feel it linger even after he swallowed the drink. Definitely not the type of drink you’d order on your own, though, so why were you so excited to try this new menu?
Looking around the shop, Jeongguk’s gaze falls on Yoongi. You did say he was your boss, didn’t you? Could it be that this free drink is just a plot to use you as a guinea pig for his experimental weird recipes, knowing that you can’t refuse your boss? Was that why he refused your help earlier? So he could make the drink taste as bizarre as it is right now?
His eyes continue following your and Yoongi’s figures behind the counter, squinting them in distaste whenever he sees you laughing at something the mint-haired guy said. Your smile, your lowered gaze, your shy demeanor, all remind him of a feeling he thought he had buried a long time ago—the same feeling he got whenever you got a boyfriend in your adolescent years. Suddenly, Jeongguk feels fifteen all over again—a clueless doe-eyed boy who donned t-shirts in every color of the rainbow every day of the week and strutted like he owned the school just so you can see that he was cool, only for you to deny him of a Sunday together.
Those years have become a core memory for him that it inspired him to get one of his tattoos: Rather be dead than cool, because he realized the way to your attention was not by being cool, it was by just being himself. (Yes, the ‘him’ who showed up unannounced at your doorstep after two years and ended the day with you on his lap stealing all the breath straight from his lungs.)
Anyways, all of that doesn’t matter because currently, your eyes are not on him but on your mint-haired boss who’s busy grinning while washing some equipment. Why are you both smiling so much around each other? Do you have some kind of inside joke that’s so funny you can’t stop laughing? What is so pleasing about Yoongi’s presence that you keep beaming at him?
Jeongguk chews the straw of your drink in anger, not realizing that he has inhaled almost half of the cup’s content despite claiming that he hates the taste. Sipping on your drink has become an afterthought as he was busy analyzing how wide your smiles are while working with Yoongi and how friendly the shoulder and head pats you give each other are. It’s sickening.
Eventually, everyone else in the coffee shop left and you’re in front of him once again to get rid of the brownie plate from his table, whining when you see the half-empty cup in Jeongguk’s hand even as you’re chewing the rest of his brownie in your mouth. Fair trade, he says as you walk away with the plate and spoon in hand.
Not even five minutes has passed since you left his table, yet Jeongguk feels tired of being patient, taking your and his coffee cups in each hand before coming up to the counter. It seems like Yoongi senses his presence, because he looks up from the calculator app on the tablet in front of him to give Jeongguk a curious glance. Their eyes meet for a split second before Jeongguk moves his gaze past Yoongi’s shoulder to you, who’s still busy wiping down the counter. A knowing smile curves on Yoongi’s lips.
“Hey, Kiddo,” Yoongi turns towards you, the nickname still irritating to Jeongguk’s ears. “I’ll finish closing up, you can go. Great work today.”
“No it’s okay, I can help you mop the floor after I’m finished with the counter.” You don’t even look up as you wave him off, oblivious to Jeongguk’s presence and his increasing impatience in front of your boss. He clears his throat comically loud, making you turn around to see a frown etched on your boyfriend’s face and Yoongi tilting his head towards him with a small, almost teasing smile on his face.
“Oh.” You pull your lips into a thin line. “Okay then. Sorry about him, Yoongi.”
“No worries, Kiddo.”
Yoongi’s nonchalant response is laced with a chuckle, which for some reason, upsets Jeongguk even more than the nickname he keeps calling you by. Is Yoongi not scared of him? Of his tattoos, of his muscles? Is he not intimidating? Can’t he feel the piercing stare Jeongguk keeps giving him ever since he walked into the coffee shop?
“You.” Your stern voice tears his hot gaze away from the mint-haired guy, whose focus is back on the calculator on his tablet to count the sales they made today. “I’ll clock out first then we can go. Please don’t do anything weird in the five minutes that I don’t have my eyes on you.”
Jeongguk follows your figure with his eyes until you disappear into the backroom, leaving him alone with Yoongi. Yoongi, the guy with the mint hair, whose surname he doesn’t even know, who is your boss that strangely have an endearing nickname for you. Things that stream steady questions into his head, about your initial meeting with Yoongi to the extent of your relationship with him. It’s the nickname he can’t seem to shake off of his mind, the way it rolls easily off Yoongi’s tongue, as if he’s been calling you that for years. Has he known you for years like Jeongguk has? Been through near-death experiences with you like Jeongguk has? Has he deserved the right to call you by a nickname like Jeongguk has?
“You can stop shooting daggers at my head, you know,” Yoongi’s low drawl almost makes Jeongguk think that he’s talking to himself, but the sentence is clearly directed at him. The older guy finally looks up from his tablet to look at Jeongguk in the eyes for longer than a second, no coffee orders to complete to interrupt their interaction this time. “Kiddo’s boyfriend, Jeongguk, right?”
As Jeongguk gives a nod to confirm Yoongi’s question, a hand is extended towards him to complete the introduction. “I’m Yoongi, Kiddo’s coworker-slash-boss.”
Jeongguk grips Yoongi’s hand with more strength than necessary, unintentionally flexing his muscles too. He thought that would be enough to tell Yoongi that Jeongguk is your boyfriend and he has no business being so friendly with you, but Yoongi only glances at his tattooed arm before letting go of his hand with a comment about how strong his grip is.
“Thanks, I do boxing,” Jeongguk mutters curtly, upset at the degree of nonchalance Yoongi is showing. He starts glancing at the door to the backroom where you currently are, wishing you would emerge right this second so he can go and doesn’t need to face Yoongi’s mint hair ever again.
“Yeah, Kiddo might have mentioned that a few times, just like she won’t shut up about your sleeve tattoos,” Yoongi says, going back to his tablet. “I used to box too, by the way.”
If you asked Jeongguk what Yoongi used to do, he wouldn’t be able to answer at all as he chooses to focus on the part where Yoongi said you won’t shut up about his sleeve tattoos and tune out the rest of his sentence. “My tattoos? What about them?”
“She said you have tons. Shoulder to fingertips. That’s how I recognized you when giving your order,” Yoongi answers lightly, which piqued Jeongguk’s interest even further. Wouldn’t it be fun to use this coworker-slash-boss of yours to get information about what you’ve been saying about him at work? What else does Yoongi know about him other than he does boxing and has a sleeve tattoo?
“Really? Does she gush about how hot they are to you, too?”
It’s not a question meant to be answered, its sole purpose to show off that you indeed gush to him about how hot his tattoos are. Though, if one thinks about it, why would Jeongguk need to boast to Yoongi about the compliments you give him about the strokes of ink on his arm? What business does Yoongi have knowing about it?
Yoongi seems to be unaware of Jeongguk’s inner dilemma as his face breaks out into a grin. “I think she’d be mad at me if I told you half the things she gushes to me about you.”
So you do gush about how hot his tattoos are to Yoongi. Interesting.
The fact that Yoongi insinuates there’s more to that is both endearing and terrifying to Jeongguk, because while he’s giddy that you talk about him with other people with so much enthusiasm, too much of it could end up in you sharing something about him that you should not have. Not to mention you’re sharing it with your boss, someone you should keep at an arm’s length when it comes to sharing about your significant others. One wrong move and he could use it against you.
Jeongguk is just about to ask Yoongi to elaborate further on his statement when you step out of the backroom, now out of the murky brown cap and apron and in a white t-shirt that looks like it belongs to Jeongguk. All thoughts of Yoongi knowing all sort of things about him evaporates right away, his mind focusing on how cute you look instead. If only Jeongguk doesn’t know basic human decency, he’d pull you by the waist to taste the mouth he’s been deprived of for the whole day, not giving an ounce of care about your boss watching the whole thing.
No, he’s a good boyfriend so he opts to pull you by the shoulders instead, letting your arms go around his waist before squeezing you in his arms. The kiss he drops on your cheek is chaste yet lingering, like he wants to let you know just how much he missed you. You tighten your arms around him in return, wordlessly saying the same thing back.
“Ready to go?” Jeongguk mumbles into your hair, not yet letting go of the hug.
“Ye—oh, wait!” You pull your face away from its initial position on Jeongguk’s chest. “You haven’t met Yoongi yet.”
“We did, Kiddo,” Yoongi waves you off. “You’re free to go. Your boyfriend here has been waiting long enough.”
“No,” you say, pulling away from Jeongguk’s hold. “I mean I haven’t introduced you two properly.” You gesture to the both of them back and forth as you say their names. “Yoongi, meet my boyfriend, Jeon Jeongguk. Jeongguk, meet my boss, Min Yoongi. His family owns this coffee shop.”
“That’s what you mean by proper?” Jeongguk says to you as he takes Yoongi’s hand for the second time that day, regular grip this time because you’re watching his every move like a hawk. “I didn’t know you own the shop. Nice place,” he nods to the older guy, releasing his hand.
“Thanks. It’s my dad’s, though. I just help from time to time,” Yoongi shrugs.
“You ‘just help from time to time’ but willing to dye your hair mint in honor of the new menu.” You nudge his elbow playfully. “Speaking of the new menu, did you finish the whole cup, Jeongguk? I’ve only had a few sips.” You frown as you bring the cup to your eye level, examining just how much of it is left. It’s an exaggeration, obviously, as the cup in your hand is still half-filled. But Jeongguk plays along, saying the reason why he inhaled your drink is because he’s tired from having just gone back from boxing.
“You have your own latte,” you point out, finally taking a much-deserved sip from your free drink. It still tastes okay, so you stop grilling Jeongguk about stealing your drink (even though you kinda stole his too, in the middle of your shift nonetheless.) “Oh, and did you know Yoongi also—”
Yoongi clears his throat loudly before you can finish your sentence. You look up from your drink, alarmed, afraid you might have said something wrong. Your eyes meet Yoongi’s and he gives you a tiny shake of his head, one Jeongguk doesn’t notice because he’s busy taking sips from his own cup of latte. (And because he’s more focused on you than Yoongi.)
“He knows, I told him I used to box too,” Yoongi says.
“You did? I didn’t catch it,” Jeongguk averts his eyes from you, turning to look at Yoongi. “Wanna have a match? I could use an opponent for my session tomorrow.”
“I said I used to, Kid,” Yoongi re-emphasizes on the two words. “I have a shoulder injury. It’s healing, but I still shouldn’t do too much to it.”
“Oh come on, I’ll go easy on you.”
“Jeongguk!” A slap lands on his bicep courtesy of you.
“What? He said it’s healing!”
It’s only now that Jeongguk witnesses the exchange between you and Yoongi using only your eyes, yours looking frantic while Yoongi’s looking as cool as a cucumber. Maybe he should dye his hair a shade of green resembling a cucumber rather than a mint.
After watching you and Yoongi have a silent conversation for a minute, Jeongguk lets out a sigh as he takes the final sip from his latte. “It’s okay, babe, I was just kidding. It’s fine if Yoongi doesn’t want to have a match with me.” He throws the empty cup into a trashcan nearby. “It just means that he backs down easily from a challenge.”
You physically face-palm at his sentence, missing the way Jeongguk throws a challenging smirk Yoongi’s way. The older doesn’t seem fazed at all, instead letting a small smirk take over his features as well. “That’s not a really nice thing to say to someone you’ve just met,” he drawls.
Jeongguk shrugs. “Just stating the truth.”
“Jeongguk, please stop,” you whine from behind your hands, still facepalming because you don’t want to become a witness in case this coffee shop becomes a crime scene.
“Alright, I’ll have a match with you,” Yoongi says finally, tone resolute. You peek out from the cocoon of your hands, glancing back and forth between your coworker-slash-boss and your boyfriend who are having a staring contest, both refusing to back down. “Tomorrow after my shift works? Kiddo here can take the same shift so she can watch us too.”
“Sure,” Jeongguk agrees without a pause. “It ends at three, right?”
“Yep.”
“Cool. See you then.”
Then Jeongguk puts his arm around your shoulders, pulling you away from the counter to finally go take you home as it’s the reason he came here in the first place. You hastily give your coworker a wave goodbye over your shoulder, getting a wave back accompanied with a laugh. Jeongguk uses the opportunity to steal yet another sip from your drink.
“Stop it! You’re gonna finish it all!”
“What even is it? It tastes really weird.” Jeongguk scrunches up his face.
“It’s mint mochaccino, you ass.” You pull the cup away from him, who chases the straw with his mouth while grinning wide. “Stop or I won’t kiss you until tomorrow morning.”
“Always withdrawing kisses when I need them the most,” he pouts, retreating from your drink to let you finally finish the cup yourself. “Can I kiss you in the car or should I wait until we get home?”
(Does not matter what you answer is, because he grips the back of your neck in the car to make out with you for five minutes, and then finish what he started in the safety of his room, under the blankets.)
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“Are you sure you want to fight with Yoongi later?”
You and Jeongguk are back in his car, on the way to the coffee shop for you to start your shift and for Jeongguk to get his americano to kick off the day. His nod to your question is firm.
“Yeah. My coach said it’s good to train with an opponent sometimes.”
“You could’ve fought with your coach instead, then,” you point out.
“True, but—” Jeongguk tilts his head, sucking in a breath. “He’s the one who trained me, so he knows my fighting style and pattern. It’s good indeed, but it’s missing that element of fun.” He drums his fingers against the steering wheel. “Besides, I want to know what your Yoongi is made of.” He casts a glance at you to see your reaction.
“What ‘my’ Yoongi, what are you talking about …” You heave a sigh, massaging your temple. It’s not even 9 AM yet but you can already feel a headache coming. Sometimes you wonder why you’re willing to date this childhood friend of yours, knowing all of his flaws and bad habits like this. Though it’s given you the advantage of being able to read between the lines of his actions, often you wish he’d just say things outright without you having to dig it out of him.
“You know, the Yoongi you work with? The Yoongi who gives you head pats? The Yoongi who has a nickname for you?” Jeongguk’s tone gets more annoying near the end of his sentence, almost as if he’s trying to get a certain reaction out of you.
“The Yoongi who owns the cafe I work at, which is the sole source of income I have?” you reply instead, refusing to give in to Jeongguk’s silent provocation. “Also, the Yoongi who used to box. I think you should keep that in mind when you fight him later.”
“Yeah, yeah. Bet he wasn’t even that good.”
You manage to arrive at the cafe unscathed, only losing a tiny piece of sanity because your boyfriend couldn’t keep his mouth shut about Yoongi and his non-existent boxing skills (Jeongguk’s words, not yours.) It doesn’t help that the Yoongi in question is already standing behind the register, greeting you with a smile and throwing a lopsided smirk your boyfriend’s way. You don’t like the thick tension between them at all so you quickly slip into the backroom to let Jeongguk be a big boy for once and order his own americano for the day.
Stepping out of the backroom in your mandatory work apron and cap, you’re kind of relieved when you see the shop is still intact, not thrown upside down courtesy of your boyfriend and his inability to control his strength (and emotion) in the face of a threat (read: Yoongi.) Upon seeing you, Jeongguk pushes himself off the counter he’s leaning against before reaching for your waist despite your boss standing just a few feet away. The cup of americano on the counter tells you that you took too long in the breakroom, which if anyone asks, you’d justify with adjusting your work attire. In reality, you just don’t want to face your boyfriend and the sour look he has whenever he so much as glances at your boss.
“You can always cancel the fight with Yoongi, you know,” you murmur, biting your bottom lip in worry. “You could hurt him, he could hurt you … it’s not ideal.”
“Hmm.” Jeongguk purses his lips. “What’s not ideal is your boss having a nickname for you.” There he goes again, always having something to say about Yoongi. “Aside from it being highly unprofessional, it’s also inappropriate since you have a boyfriend and that is me. Jeon Jeongguk. I am your boyfriend.”
“Jeongguk, he knows,” you groan, fed up with the back-and-forth about this whole Yoongi thing. You don’t even know why your boyfriend is so threatened by the older guy when he’s a whole lifetime ahead of him. “It’s not even a nickname. You’re just seeing what you want to see.”
Jeongguk’s reply never makes it out of his mouth as he’s interrupted by Yoongi clearing his throat, making you both look at him tapping on his wrist to signal the time. It’s a reminder that you’re here to work, not to continue the argument that sparked in the car. Your boyfriend rolls his eyes at your boss, sharing a hard stare with him before deciding to do something one should not do in front of their boss: dip down to kiss you, using your surprised gasp as a way to slide his tongue inside your mouth. In the five seconds he manages to tangle his tongue with yours, you completely missed the sound of the glass doors opening and the low whistle that came after, along with Yoongi’s chuckle and greeting to the person who just came in.
Shoving Jeongguk away by your hand on his chest, you try to cover your burning face with your other hand as an attempt to save your dignity in front of Yoongi, though you doubt it’s working at all. Jeongguk licks his lips then winks at you, squeezing your waist in his grip before stepping back to grab his cup of americano, now full of condensation sliding off the plastic cup. He takes a sip to taste test before scrunching up his nose.
“Could’ve been better,” he sneers, making you glare. “Alright, I’ll let you get to work. See you later, babe.” Then, after a second, turns to Yoongi to add: “you too.”
When Jeongguk disappears into his car, you put your head in your hands and let out the loudest groan known to man. “I’m sorry, Yoongi.”
The mint-haired guy only gives you a gummy laugh, eyes turning into crescents as he shakes his head. “Your boyfriend is really something, Kiddo,” he muses. “A really … fun early morning entertainment, you could say.”
“Entertaining it was!” You hear the voice first before you see the person, the one who must’ve come in when you were rather preoccupied with your boyfriend. Park Jimin, your other coworker, slides behind the counter in a brown apron identical to yours and Yoongi’s, just minus the cap. Good, that means he doesn’t have a bad hair day today and can take the position at the register instead of you. You could use some more time to learn to make the drinks, anyway.
“Didn’t know you and your boyfriend were such exhibitionists, Kim,” Jimin taunts you, his eyebrows wiggling suggestively. “Although, if my boyfriend were that hot, I would have wanted to exhibit him too…” He purses his lips in an exaggerated manner of faux thinking, obviously trying to rile you up. “Lucky you, Kim.”
“Shut up, Park,” you seethe through your teeth, slapping him with a dish rag while he cackles happily. “We’re not exhibitionists. You just have terrible timing.”
“Oh, it was perfect I’d say, just in time to catch sight of his tongue going into your mouth—”
“JIMIN!”
When Jimin continues making fun of you by making gross kissing sounds, you turn to Yoongi for help. As the oldest amongst you three, he must have a sound solution to get Jimin to stop making those awful sounds and put you out of your misery. Although, your trust in him is probably misplaced as Yoongi just chuckles and tells you something your own mom would tell you whenever you’re telling on Jeongguk: “Just ignore him, Kiddo.” The sacred word of ignore. “Go prepare the breakfast pastries now.”
So much for sound solution.
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You go about your shift as usual, with Jimin manning the register like you planned to. Time goes by quickly when you’re busy working (and when your coworker is Park Jimin) that you didn’t realize it’s almost time for your shift to end. You glance at the line in front of Jimin and see that there are still three more people he needs to serve, while you and Yoongi still have about five tickets to finish before you can clock out and leave. Scratch that, might be eight tickets to go considering the workers who have their shift after you aren’t here yet. It’s gonna be a while before you can see your boyfriend and be a witness to an unnecessary fight between him and Yoongi.
“Hey, Kim, where’s your boyfriend? Didn’t you say he was gonna pick you up from work?” Jimin nudges your elbow when he finishes taking one customer’s order, sliding a plastic cup into the queue in front of you. “I want to see just how hot he really is,” he continues while wiggling his eyebrows.
Before you can slap the guy with your dish rag again—it’s looking more like your weapon rather than a cleaning tool at this point—Yoongi pipes up from his position in front of the sink. “Just look for someone with a tattoo sleeve. He loves brandishing it.”
“Ooh, a hot guy with tattoos,” Jimin whistles. “Add some piercings and I might steal him away from you.”
“Jimin, quit drooling over my boyfriend,” you sigh, taking the next cup in line as your coworker turns back to the register. He’s already starting to greet the next customer when you decide to give him a taste of his own medicine, sliding next to him to brew the espresso needed for the order you’re making. “He has one on his lip, but he’s mine. Note that, Park,” you whisper to him while he’s keying in an order, earning a light chuckle from the man.
“He’s just messing with you, Kiddo, don’t mind him,” Yoongi chuckles from beside you, eyeing Jimin whose focus is currently on the cup he’s scribbling a customer’s name on. “He has his eyes set on someone else already.”
“Gossiping, aren’t we?” Jimin turns to you and Yoongi with a sleazy smile. “Careful now, unless you want Hoseok to know about your hot boyfriend too, Kim.” He gestures to the glass doors, where Hoseok from the next shift just walked through. He’s a great guy, but you’ve only shared a couple shifts with him, so you think you haven’t got to the point of sharing about significant others.
With the mention of Hoseok, you and Yoongi move to finish the orders you have left before handing over the shift to the aforementioned man. When all your orders are done and you’re ready to head to the backroom, you turn to ask Jimin to go with you only to find him still rooted in front of the register. “Jimin, you’re not going?”
“Oh, I’m actually covering for Eunbi.” Jimin shrugs, sliding a cup into Hoseok’s line of orders. “Go, Kim. Have fun with your boyfriend,” he grins, sending you a teasing wink.
Hoseok, a clueless witness, looks at the both of you with a scandalous stare. “What, what, what did I miss? Why are you winking like that, Park Jimin?” he says, urging Jimin to elaborate while pouring drinks into a plastic cup.
“You should ask her, Hobi,” Jimin snickers into his hand as he turns to greet a customer. Hoseok turns to you, his expression hopeful that you will shed light on the reason behind Jimin’s wink.
“My boyfriend is about to fight with our boss and I don’t know how to talk him out of it,” you say through your teeth, giving an overly-sweet smile to a confused Hoseok. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to meet him and make sure he’s not gonna bite Yoongi’s head off.”
“Bye, Kim,” Jimin sing-songs, waving his hand to you. “Say hi to your boyfriend for me!”
You’re already walking away, turning to tell Jimin off when you bump into Yoongi who’s just came out of the backroom, void of his work apron and ready to go. He grabs your shoulders to turn you around, pushing you into the backroom to prevent anymore banter between you and Jimin. “Let it go, Kiddo.”
In the backroom, you catch a text from Jeongguk saying that he’s already in the coffee shop, ready to go when you are. You emerge from the room after clocking out, moving your feet to the dining area of the cafe while waving to Jimin and Hoseok behind the counter. Scanning the room, you search for a familiar mop of black hair that belongs to your boyfriend.
It’s easy to spot Yoongi’s mint hair amongst the sea of other natural-colored hairs. What’s not easy is believing your eyes when you see the person sitting in front of Yoongi waving wildly at you, grinning like a mad man. It’s your boyfriend, the person you’re supposed to see after work, the person you’re supposed to supervise when he fights your boss later, alright, that part you know. The part that you don’t know and have a hard time believing is:
Jeongguk’s hair is mint.
Not black, not brown, not the experimental half-half he tried in high school. Mint.
The exact same shade as Yoongi’s.
It feels like you’re on autopilot when your feet carry you to their table, jaw on the floor while your eyes are stuck on Jeongguk’s freshly-dyed strands.
“Hi, babe,” your boyfriend has the audacity to say, lips stretching impossibly wider. He reaches up to run his fingers through his mint hair, an act so deliberate even Yoongi sighs at the sight of it, but it makes your heart skip a bit nonetheless. “Do you like my new hair?”
The light green strands previously tangled with his fingers fall back to cover his forehead and frame his face perfectly, the light hue somehow blending well with Jeongguk’s skin tone. It also accentuates his jaw more, making it appear sharper when the grin on his lips morphs into a smirk once he notices that you can’t stop staring. Oh, that smirk. Usually hot with his previously black hair, it is now lethal with his mint hair, toeing the line of playful and dangerous at the same time.
You want to scream at the obvious and cheesy question.
Yoongi, the third person who’s been watching the entire interaction unfold before his eyes, clears his throat. “If you’re done eye-fucking your boyfriend, can we go now? I have somewhere else to be after this.”
“Yoongi!” you whisper-shout, half scandalized, half disbelieving that your boss can say something so crude in the middle of his own buzzing coffee shop. Maybe he’s been hanging out with Park Jimin too much. (Or maybe he’s just sick of you drooling over your boyfriend time and time again … yeah, maybe that.)
“Can’t wait to lose to me, Min?” Jeongguk snickers, taking your hand in his as he follows Yoongi—who pointedly ignores his taunting question—towards the glass door of the coffee shop.
You catch Jimin’s eyes as you’re stepping out, his eyes rounding in surprise before a sly smile takes over his features. Have fun! he mouths, giving you a wink. Ugh, you’re gonna face a lot more questions the next time you have a shift together with him.
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After another futile attempt at talking Jeongguk out of fighting with Yoongi, you’re seated where you usually are, on the sidelines of Jeongguk’s gym, this time with heightened anxiety out of fear that your boyfriend and your boss could hurt each other. You’re worried less about the physical part—boxing is a very physical sport, after all—and more about the mental part.
Boys are full of pride, full of ego. They pride themselves on their ability to box, delivering punch after punch until their knuckles bruise. They pride themselves on their muscles, bulging biceps that took years to build and maintain. They pride themselves on their strength, how they are able to hold you up against the wall when you’re busy sucking air off each other’s lungs.
Oh, and in case it’s not clear, by boys you mean Jeongguk.
You have a lot of faith in your boyfriend, of course, but knowing Yoongi’s boxing skills, no matter how long ago it was, the outcome of the fight today could just be the one that would hurt Jeongguk’s pride. The possibility of it happening is so high that you’re already preparing yourself for when Jeongguk comes back to you with his ego bruised. God, you can only hope Yoongi won’t hit too hard.
You’re too busy thinking of the many possible outcomes of this fight that you don’t realize when Jeongguk is back from putting his gloves on and warming up, now standing in front of you. “Wish me luck?” he says, along with a toothy grin your way.
“Yeah, good luck, Ggukie,” you reply, lacking your usual sarcastic bite. Jeongguk seems to pay no mind to it, though, ducking down to peck your lips before turning around to face his opponent for the day.
You catch Yoongi’s eyes when Jeongguk has his back to you, quickly mouthing don’t hurt him! to your boss, which he only responds with a smirk. All the blood drains from your face. Looks like your worries about someone getting his ego bruised won’t be just worries after all.
When the fight has started (Jeongguk’s coach started it—you’re grateful he’s there because then you don’t have to worry too much about Jeongguk and Yoongi beating each other to a pulp), you can’t help but watch. You just realize, in the years you’ve known Jeongguk and watched him box, you’ve never actually seen him fight anyone else other than his coach. He’s said before that he only took boxing as a way to work out, not to actually fight, so you guess that makes sense.
You don’t watch boxing matches a lot (actually, you don’t watch them at all), your only knowledge of boxing you get from watching Real Steel, a movie about boxing matches for robots, set in the far future when human boxing is not interesting anymore due to the limited brutality. You’re not sure how much information you retained from the movie, and how accurate they are, but you’re pretty sure you don’t need much boxing knowledge to know that right now, Yoongi is playing defensive while Jeongguk is playing offensive.
Alright, you admit, you have no idea if the terms you’re using are right, but it’s the simplest ones you can use to describe the sight in front of you. Since the start of the fight, Jeongguk has been throwing punches continuously, while Yoongi has had his gloved hands covering his face the entire time. Okay, not the entire time, but he’s only thrown one punch compared to Jeongguk’s one hundred ones.
As the fight goes on, Yoongi starts throwing punches here and there while still dodging Jeongguk’s aggressive fists. You’ve never seen Yoongi move this much in the entire time you’ve known him, and it surprises you how agile he is. The way he ducks under Jeongguk’s arm and throws him off balance is admirable, sometimes a little bit funny (just a bit, you promise) because it shows just how calm he is compared to Jeongguk’s aggressive, almost-angry boxing style.
When Jeongguk’s coach declares a break, your boyfriend walks back to you with his brows furrowed, tearing off one of his gloves so he can remove his mouth guard and grab his water bottle. After chugging down half of its content, Jeongguk heaves a frustrated sigh.
“I can’t grasp his fighting style,” he grumbles to himself. His eyes are set on Yoongi, who’s on the other side of the room, drinking from his own water bottle. “Who the fuck ducks all the time while boxing?”
“Maybe it’s because you keep throwing angry punches at him, babe,” you say, initially to keep his frustration at bay, but instead it makes him raise his eyebrow at you in a duh way. You backtrack immediately. “Okay, okay. But it’s just your first time fighting him, isn’t it? Be patient, Jeongguk, and maybe let up your punches a little bit?”
“Baby, it’s boxing,” he says exasperatedly. “Someone has to throw some punches.”
“I know, but you just seem so … angry. Yoongi’s only ducking to dodge that. I’m saying maybe you can tone it down so he could stop dodging, so then you can see his fighting style better.” You’re saying this while gripping his biceps, hoping your words can go through his seemingly-clouded mind. “When you see his fighting style, won’t it be easier to figure out a way you can beat him? Isn’t that what you taunted him with at the cafe?”
You know it’s not even remotely possible to learn one’s boxing style just from a single fight, let alone “figure out a way to beat him”. Somewhere in his fogged mind, you believe Jeongguk stores this fact as well, he’s just currently too deep in frustration to place it in the front of his mind. You’re not even sure your suggestion to learn Yoongi’s fighting style is registered well in his head, considering your boyfriend is now back to eyeing your boss with fire in his gaze.
“Jeongguk?” You give his shoulder a firm grip as he puts his mouth guard back on. “Tone it down. Yoongi could just be waiting to punch back. You don’t want that.”
Jeongguk parts ways with you with an absent-minded nod and two pats to your head with his heavy gloved-hand. On the other side of the room, Yoongi looks ready to go back into his fighting stance. You sigh internally. Jeongguk is so going to punch him aggressively, again.
The next thirty minutes of the fight goes like a blur in front of your eyes. Jeongguk throws a hook that Yoongi dodges, Yoongi retaliates with a jab to Jeongguk’s side which makes you wince, rinse and repeat. Maybe you’re wrong about your boyfriend for once, you think, seeing his calmer fighting style now. With the way he left your conversation minutes prior, you really thought he was gonna continue raining punches on any part of Yoongi’s body he could reach. You’re relieved that that’s not the case.
Although, perhaps your relief came too soon because a boxing match isn’t over until it’s over.
Watching Jeongguk fight with Yoongi is like watching a cartoon character with an energy meter atop his head, except for Jeongguk, it measures his patience instead. As the minutes went on, you feel like you could see the patience meter above his head depleting until it’s all gone, and that’s the moment he went back to his initial fighting style: aggressive and angry. You almost pull your hair out in frustration because you just know that this is what Yoongi has been waiting for ever since the fight started.
The next thing that happens reminds you a lot of one fighting scene in Real Steel, where Atom was waiting for his opponent to run out of energy so he can fight back. In the movie, Atom knocked the other robot down with a final uppercut, gaining him a win and advancing him to the next round. Well, uh, in this case, just replace Atom with Yoongi and the other robot with Jeongguk.
Yoongi’s clean uppercut wiped your boyfriend out, who’s now lying on the ground clutching his face—which you’re sure is beginning to swell right now. Despite already knocking Jeongguk down, Yoongi is still in his fighting stance, never lowering his guard even as Jeongguk’s coach counts to ten. Your boyfriend remains immobile, though, and the second the count is up you’re running towards Jeongguk’s limp body.
“Gguk, are you okay? Baby, look at me,” you say hurriedly as you try to pry his arms away from his face. He doesn’t budge, and for a second, you’re scared that Yoongi has maimed your boyfriend for life. “At least let me know you’re alive,” you continue when his silence becomes concerning.
“Hmmph,” Jeongguk grunts. You heave a huge sigh of relief.
“Okay, good.” You run your fingers through his sweaty hair, trying to offer some comfort even though you know he had this coming. Gigantic ego, big talk, cocky as shit? Yeah, you understand that Yoongi would want to knock him down a few pegs. But now is not the time to launch into an ‘I told you so’ spiel, not when Jeongguk is still freshly bruised—both his body and his ego.
So instead, you lash out at your boss.
“I told you not to hurt him, Yoongi,” you snap-slash-whine, a frown on your lips. You thought, as the oldest among all of you, Yoongi could be trusted to knock some sense into Jeongguk’s mind without physically hurting him like this. As it turns out, all boys are the same.
The older guy just shrugs. “Probably wouldn’t get my point across if he weren’t knocked down.” He shakes the sweat out of his hair as he starts taking off his boxing gloves. When he sees you’re not impressed, he chuckles. “Relax, Kiddo, I didn’t even hit him that hard. He’ll be okay.”
“Really, Yoongi?” You roll your eyes. “You gave my boyfriend an uppercut just to prove a point!”
Yoongi just continues laughing as he chugs from his water bottle. His nonchalance about this is starting to piss you off. Maybe it’s your turn to put on the boxing gloves and sock him in the face, give him a taste of his own medicine. You scoff to yourself, picturing your own body lying next to Jeongguk if you really did that.
“Just tell your boyfriend here that there’s no need to be jealous of me, Kiddo,” Yoongi says, picking up his bag. Just then, Jeongguk’s coach appears with an ice pack in his hand, offering it to you so you can place it against Jeongguk’s swollen jaw. Despite your attempt to coax him out of his arm cocoon, he still refuses to move.
“Yoongi, look at him, you really broke him.” You’re flat-out whining now, kicking your feet like a child. It doesn’t even occur to your mind that you’re all still in the middle of a public boxing gym, with other people around you, being witness to this ridiculous scene.
“Oh my God,” Yoongi laughs before crouching down at Jeongguk’s legs. “Hey, Jeongguk, you hear that? Your girlfriend is worried about you,” he says, nudging Jeongguk’s leg lightly. “She only has eyes for you and your tattoos, too, you don’t need to be jealous at all.” You smack him on the shoulder for that.
Jeongguk finally removes his arms from his face at Yoongi’s words, his doe eyes menacing. “Go away,” he grits out at the older male, his scratchy voice making him sound less threatening than he intended. Despite that, Yoongi still holds his hands up in surrender.
“I’m going, I’m going,” Yoongi relents, standing up while adjusting the hold he has on his bag. “Was gonna go anyway, I have a date to get ready for,” he throws a grin your way. “Alright, I’ll be going first. Take care of your boyfriend, Kiddo.”
Yoongi retreats with a wave towards you both.
Jeongguk lets out a groan, shifting your attention away from your boss who’s already backing his car out of the parking lot. “Quit your job tomorrow,” he says. “I hate your boss.”
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“Stop moving around!”
“It hurts!”
You’re both back at Jeongguk’s house now, with you sitting atop his outstretched legs on the bed, attempting to take care of his battle wounds courtesy of his fight with Yoongi. Aside from the swollen jaw, Jeongguk has a cut on his eyebrow and a split bottom lip. For a boxing match, you’d say these are minor injuries—proving Yoongi’s words right, he didn’t hit Jeongguk that hard—but your boyfriend is acting like a baby. He keeps jerking his head away every time the alcohol swab comes in contact with either of his cuts, it irritates you to no end.
“You have a goddamn full sleeve of tattoo and a lip piercing, quit acting like this hurts more,” you hiss, pressing the cotton in your hand to the cut on his lip as Jeongguk hiss back in response.
“At least when I got my tattoos and piercing, the artist didn’t do it while yapping my ear off,” he lisps through the cotton. “What happened to the caring girlfriend at the gym? Did she go away too, alongside Yoongi?”
“Oh, shut up, if I yapped back there Yoongi would’ve stomped on your ego more than he already did, do you want that, Jeongguk? Huh?” Your words are harsh, but you try hard for your hands to be the opposite, gentle as they cover the cut on his eyebrow with a band-aid. Jeongguk’s forehead is still damp from his quick shower earlier, beads of mint clinging to his skin. He might look smoking hot with his newly dyed hair, but the way the color rubs off on anything is starting to get onto your nerves. You wipe lightly at the color to make sure the band-aid sticks to his skin and does not come off the second he jumps around again.
“My ego is fine, you don’t need to protect it like this,” Jeongguk grumbles, adjusting the ice pack he’s holding to his jaw as you press a new cotton ball on his lip, discarding the one stained crimson red to his bedside table. “Maybe if you care about me as much as you care about my ego, everything would’ve been better.”
The way he’s rambling like he got his sense knocked out of his head as well makes you roll your eyes to the back of your head. “Don’t test me, Jeon. If I didn’t care about you I wouldn’t be here sitting on your thighs patching your minuscule injuries like they’re fucking wounds from a war.”
“Maybe,” Jeongguk half-agrees, a pout on his lips. “But you haven’t kissed me even once ever since the fight ended. Do I not deserve a kiss because I lost? Do you not want to kiss me ever again because I can’t beat Yoongi in boxing? Do you think Yoongi is way better than me now? Do you want him to be your boyfriend instead of me?”
With every nonsensical question, his pout deepens, and his eyes droop to stare blankly at nothing.
“Hah, ‘my ego is fine’ my ass,” you mumble, mostly to yourself as you turn the gears in your head on how to stop the bleeding on Jeongguk’s lip. It keeps gushing out blood, and you can’t exactly stick a band-aid to it like you did his eyebrow. At last, you just hold a cotton ball against it and hope it stops bleeding soon.
“Yoongi was right, you know,” you say clearly now, the tumble of Yoongi’s name out of your lips making Jeongguk glance up and focus his sight on your face. “You don’t need to be jealous of him at all. Heck, you don’t need to be jealous of anyone, Jeongguk. I’m your girlfriend and will always stay your girlfriend, no matter what. You don’t need to beat anyone in boxing or dye your hair the exact same shade as anyone for me to stay. You, Jeon Jeongguk, are enough.”
Jeongguk’s eyes, gazing into yours, are glassy with unshed tears. You don’t know if they are there because he’s touched by your words or are leftovers from crying over his bruised ego from the fight with Yoongi. Either way, it throws you off balance. Next thing you know, you’re being tugged down by the nape for a kiss.
Jeongguk’s lips are warm, like usual, but the tinge of metal you taste on your tongue is making you worry. Before you lose yourself in his kiss, you pull away to thumb at his lip lightly, seeing streaks of red on your skin. You’re about to continue pressing the cotton ball in your hand to his lips and stop all forms of kissing immediately, but your boyfriend has a mind of his own as he instead sucks your thumb into his mouth, wrapping his lips around the digit delicately as he holds eye contact with you.
Gone is the trace of any tears from his eyes, now replaced by something you can only identify as lust. As flattered as you are that Jeongguk finds you desirable in your current situation, it also makes you confused. He’s hurt and the only thing in his mind is getting his dick wet? Unbelievable.
The ice-cold feeling on your waist tears your attention away from Jeongguk’s dark eyes as you yelp, hand instinctively prying the cold thing away. The ‘thing’ turns out to be his hand, which was previously holding the ice pack to his swollen jaw. He’s sneaked his fucking cold hand under your shirt to hold your waist when he should’ve kept holding the ice pack to his jaw—his swollen jaw!
Your boyfriend has a swollen jaw, a busted lip and a cut eyebrow. This is not the time to be screwing around.
Pulling away your thumb out of Jeongguk’s mouth at the speed of light, you attempt to climb off his lap, but he’s read your mind even before they are conjured up in your own brain. His hands are back on your waist—yes, the cold one too—and they hold you firm in place. The side of Jeongguk’s lips turn up into a sickeningly sweet smile, before he tugs your body towards his, making your hips come in contact with his crotch. He’s hard. Oh, fuck.
“You know, I never really understood why you’re so bratty whenever you’re horny and I can’t tend to you right away, but I think I get it now,” he says right by your ear, making a shiver run down your spine. “I’ve been trying to will away my boner ever since you sat on my lap, but your weight on it is so damn distracting, it’s hard.”
“So,” he punctuates the word with a kiss on your neck, “I started saying anything to get my mind off it, but the way you care for me just … turns me on even more, if that was even possible.” He noses his way down your throat, coming to a stop at your collarbone. “And then all that talk about how I am enough … holy shit, I lost it. All I could think about was how I want to kiss you and fuck you into next week on this very bed.”
You can barely hear the last few words Jeongguk is saying, because he’s mumbling them into your skin as he peppers kisses and nips there. His fingers are now pressing into your back, pulling you closer and closer to him until there is no space left between you. You crane your neck so he can have more room to splash reds and purples onto your skin, sighing to the top of his mint head.
“You know, for someone claiming to be horny, you’re doing a terrible job at dirty talk,” you jab at your boyfriend, earning you a bite on your neck and a tightened grip on your body, making you close your eyes with stuttered breath.
“Easy, babe,” Jeongguk chuckles. “You talk as if you won’t be a moaning mess by the end of this,” he continues with much confidence. “But also, my lip is still kinda bleeding and my sides are still throbbing from the bruises. Kinda debating should we continue or just go to sleep.”
“Jeon Jeongguk I swear to God if you leave me high and dry—”
“Maybe you should kiss them better,” he cuts you off with a suggestion, his lips still trailing butterfly kisses on your neck and collarbone. The hands still on your back sneakily climb up and up until they’re reaching for the clasp of your bra, easily opening it to free your breasts from its confines. Your sound of protest gets stuck in your throat as a strangled moan comes out instead when Jeongguk massages your breasts tenderly with his fingers.
“Maybe I would—fuck—if you get rid of your shirt,” you say, tugging on the offending piece of fabric still covering your boyfriend’s gorgeous body. It’s not fair that he’s got you half naked already and he’s still fully clothed.
Jeongguk parts himself from your body long enough to tug his t-shirt off from the back of his neck in one smooth motion, exposing the golden expanse of his skin to your hungry eyes. If you thought his mint hair was smoking hot with his shirt on, it’s literally burning a flame of desire deep in your belly with his shirt off. You’re tongue-tied as you marvel at the sight in front of you, you almost jump when your own shirt and bra are taken off your body.
Now both bare from the waist up, Jeongguk wastes no time leaning back in for a kiss on the mouth, this time open-mouthed so he can slide his tongue inside. You keen happily, slipping a sigh in between as he slowly lowers you to the bed. Jeongguk anchors his hands on your hips, teasing at the waistband of your sweatpants as he keeps your mouth busy with his own. In contrast, your hands are everywhere, from his broad shoulder to his firm back, from his bulging biceps to his rock-hard abs. You even tease your fingers past his waistband, grabbing onto his ass and squeezing, making him groan hotly into your mouth. It’s only when your fingers brush against his sides that he winces, reminding you of his earlier request.
“Flip around,” you whisper against his lips, “so I can kiss your bruises better.”
“Hmm?” Jeongguk hums, your words a murmur in his head. “But I like having you like this. Under me, naked, panting, wet,” he says, slipping his hand beyond your sweatpants to prove his words right—you’ve soaked through your panties. He drags a finger slowly up your center. You shudder.
“Yeah? I can be naked, panting, and wet on top of you as well.”
“Ooh, tempting.” Jeongguk licks his lips. He flicks your clit with a cheeky smile dancing on his lips, before settling his hands back on your waist. “Alright, I’ll flip over.”
The next second, you’re staring at him from up top, admiring how his mint hair looks against his dark grey bed sheets. Although, his hair is the least of your concern right now, as you’re tugged back down for another bruising kiss. Now that you’re on top, Jeongguk takes the opportunity to return the favor that is slipping his hand into your pants to squeeze your ass, but his version involves pulling your hips down while his thrusts up, creating a delicious friction between your body that makes you exhale a moan into his mouth.
You move away from his lips, down to his jaw where you take care to land a kiss light as a feather, before moving to his neck and collarbone where you have your own share of bites and licks. Aside from your infatuation with his tattoos and biceps, you actually have another one with his collarbone, this one you keep secret from him lest he goes around the house shirtless more often just to brandish his clavicle. But maybe he’s already noticed from the way you always make sure to cover that body part of his in blooms of red and purple, taking care to trace each and every bite mark slowly with the tip of your tongue.
While you’re busy with his collarbone, Jeongguk keeps dragging your crotch steadily over his, like he can’t get enough of the feeling and wants to keep chasing it. The delicious pressure on your center is a bit distracting, so you smooth your palm across his chest to pinch at his nipple in warning. Jeongguk lets out a broken whine from his throat.
“Stop humping into me, do you want to cream your pants?” you chide, fingers still giving tiny pinches to his nipple to keep him on his toes.
“Was trying to get you to cream your pants,” Jeongguk grins guiltily, his hips snapping up yet again to collide with yours. Even if you roll your eyes at his antics, you still continue your journey of kissing down his body, making sure to suck and lick on his sensitive nipples. You love the moans and groans that slip out of his throat every time you do things to his nipples. He likes it so much that his hips keep chanting up, searching for friction, that you have to pin them down so you can slide down to pepper kisses on his abs and waist.
Jeongguk works really hard to maintain the body he has, clearly evident in the eight pack he’s sporting on his stomach and the tiny, minuscule waist that’s way too slutty for a man to have. Sometimes you’re jealous of how nice his body looks, how firm it is to touch. You told him this one time, along with your regret that you couldn’t give him a similar experience, but he’d only laughed and said that admiring and appreciating him was enough, before proceeding to show you how he admires and appreciates your soft body (he kept biting into your inner thigh as he was eating you out, coaxing you into four orgasms back to back that day.)
And so, you admire his body by kissing the taut muscle one by one, tracing the lines outlining them with your hot tongue, caressing his bruised waist with the pillow of your lips and the feather of your touch. You know he’s hurt, but you can’t hold yourself from nipping on his slutty waist, gifting him another bruise that’s not a result of a punch. From the choked sob that rips out of his throat and the jump of his dick somewhere on your stomach, you take it he likes the bite.
“So,” you say as you mouth at the seam of his waistband, hand massaging his hard cock through his pants. “Do you want to cum in your pants, in my hand, in my mouth, or—?”
“Fuck, in you, please,” Jeongguk begs, eyes glassy from your ministrations. “But can we go back to dry humping for a while? Kinda like the friction on my sweatpants,” he breathes.
“Like this?” You move your hand up and down his cock, dragging the material of his sweatpants with it, paying special attention to the head. With every rub of the sweatpants against his head, a bead of precum comes out, with Jeongguk throwing his head back in silent pleasure. “Yeah, fuuck, that feels good.”
“But babe, want you, on top,” he demands, making grabby hands at you. “Was serious when I said I wanted you to cum first,” he continues, sighs in content when you oblige, resuming your position on top of him and lining your clothed crotch with his. He starts dragging your hips against his, building the pleasure up the faster he goes. “Want to fuck your swollen pussy, dripping with cum. Oh, I’ll slide right in, no problem, so wet, warm … fuuuck.”
The grip Jeongguk has on your hips is bruising, you have no choice but to let your body be manhandled by him. Slowly but surely, the band inside your stomach begins to tighten as your hold on his shoulders does as well. You’re so close, just one more move to tip you over the edge. When Jeongguk sucks one of your nipples into his mouth, the band inside you snaps and you come with a jerk of your hips and a whine from your throat.
Jeongguk slows down his move, taking care not to cum before being inside you, before stopping altogether and wrapping his arms around you to bring the both of you into a sitting position. Your limbs feel like jelly, still trying to come down from your high, when Jeongguk pecks your cheek before carefully lying you back down on the bed with your face down. He then maneuvers himself behind you, lifting your hips off the bed. You’re starting to have an idea what position he wants you in when he spreads your knees and slowly peels back your pants and panties to reveal your bare ass and pussy.
He takes his time caressing the globe of your ass, inching his fingers towards your pussy lips before spreading them apart, tearing a low whine from your chest. You guess he’s admiring the way cum still drips out of your cunt, because he’s silent, immobile for almost a minute.
“Gguk…” you whisper out. “You gonna fuck me or not?”
Jeongguk scrambles to get his pants off. “Fuck, yes, of course, baby, you just look so beautiful like this, I want to stare all day long,” he breathes, lining up his dick with your entrance.
God, I’m so thankful you’re mine, is his last warning before he slides home in one thrust.
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Later, when you’re both freshly showered and cuddling on Jeongguk’s bed—with blue bed sheets this time, because you forced him to change the sheets as the grey ones smelled gross after your activities—you ask him a question.
“Are you still jealous of Yoongi?”
There’s a three second pause before Jeongguk’s answer comes. “Maybe a tiny bit,” he says, nearly connecting his thumb and forefinger together in a ‘tiny’ motion. “Of his boxing skills only. Amazing how he could still move like that with an injured shoulder. I want to be like that too.”
“You want to injure your shoulder?”
He gives you a flat look. You giggle.
“His shoulder is actually healed, you know, so he’s still actively boxing until now. He trains the boxing club at my campus whenever our coach can't, that’s where I know him from and how I’d gotten the job at his cafe.”
Jeongguk purses his lips. “So he lied to me.”
“Hmm,” you agree. “I figured it was to ‘teach you a lesson’, that’s why I asked him not to hurt you before your fight. Did you, though? Learn your lesson?”
“What? To not be jealous of him?”
You pinch his waist. “To knock your ego down a peg and stop feeling insecure whenever I interact with other men?”
“Baby, the guy had a nickname for you. My insecurities were valid!”
“You mean the ‘Kiddo’ one?” you ask. Jeongguk nods. “He calls Jimin Kiddo. He calls Eunbi Kiddo. He calls you Kiddo. He calls everyone younger than him, Kiddo.”
More silence ensues.
“So … my jealousy was for nothing?”
“Yes! What I’ve been saying!”
Jeongguk giggles. Then he kisses you. Then he giggles again, while still kissing you.
“How about an apology?” he offers.
“In what form?” you challenge.
“Round three?”
“No.”
Well, at least he’s not jealous anymore.
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a/n: thank you for reading!! please let me know what you think of this, i literally almost cried in the process of writing it and when i finally finished it :') and yes this started because of that one mint jeongguk in memories 2020/2021, i think? the one with him in a black sleeveless and a pair of sunglasses, hahah. wish he'd dye his hair mint again (he looks rly good in it ugh)
→ request is open for my 1k folls celebration!
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