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taegularities · 10 months ago

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entertainer | jjk (m)

Summary: Growing singer Jeon Jungkook is as charismatic as he is self-absored – that is, until he meets you. Caught in a web of secrets, he finds a riddle in you he urges to solve; even ready to turn the spotlight towards you until nothing remains… but regret.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: strangers to lovers (or something); angst, bits of fluff, smut!! ➳ warnings: do not fall for this jk i repeat do not f– 🚨 he's kinda hot though; (not so) silent yearning, flirting, a shit ton of sexual tension, sexual fantasies, some jealousy from his side, he is very VERY attracted to her, mystery, oc is a big question mark, full jk pov!, difficult past(s), (mention of) sexual harassment, mentioned past death of a side character, crying, fear, manipulation, confrontation and fighting, aggression, cursing, cocky and selfish kook, overthinking, secrets and revelations, explicit sexual content: kissing, fingering, teasing, drunk shenanigans, sooo much lust, big dick jk, dom jk, oc is odd, oral (f. receiving), spit stuff, handjob, manhandling, orgasm delay, lip ring…, light choking, bit of hair pulling, a spank or two, coming on oc, some cum tasting mmmh, ass stuff, protected sex, rough sex, various positions, masturbation; as always THE ENDING!! lmk if i forgot something!! ➳ wc: 32.4k ➳ a/n: MHMMM, it's finally time!! i experimented with the trope a little; def not a professional when it comes to this genre, but i tried my best. both oc and jk are odd in this one, and you might be on either's side and hate either of them, i can't say :'D very curious tho, so come and drop a message to lmk what you think. let it aaaall out :P <3

➳ listen to the Entertainer playlist! 🖤

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST | WIPs

Jungkook has always wanted an audience to perceive him.

Not just to perceive him, in fact. To worship him.

Jungkook doesn’t consider himself a bad person. Spoiled, a little selfish, but not necessarily bad. He enjoys attention, no matter how temporary or who the giver of it. Feasts on it like an incubus.

What’s wrong with that? Nothing.

Or.

Maybe there is. Maybe he’s coming on too strong.

Because you’re not part of his audience, sitting over there, middle row, middle spot, with your eyes lowered to the notebook. And when you do look up, there’s nothing but indifference in your eyes.

It irks him. Maybe he is a little narcissistic, and maybe he can’t quite deny it after all — but as part of his future team, you should at least fake a smile, right? Display a certain amount of enthusiasm, the joy of working with aspiring artists.

But no.

You’re occupied, scribbling into your notebook. Jungkook, cognisant of the fact that he hasn’t issued much of significance today, understands that you cannot be taking notes of his words. And he also understands that… if that is true…

You’re not granting him as much fascination as he’s used to.

General admiration thrown into the same bucket as his unwavering talent — that he’s well aware of — might just be the reason he climbed up so high in no time. Sometimes, gentle livestreams and vlogs do the trick — locals have found reasons to adore him already.

At times, a good song and strong vocals aren’t necessary to woo people.

Jungkook, however, is insatiable — that’s what keeps him pondering at times. That it’s just the locals, and on an international scale, there’s still much to achieve.

But he’s not a quitter, he’s a conqueror.

And he’ll reach that mind-boggling status of a well-known, global icon, name flowing as naturally through the seam of people’s lips as a still-lying, tranquil lake.

Jungkook knows it’s cocky of him to praise himself to the skies and to rely on his resolute hopes so much. He knows life backfires sometimes, and that endeavours don’t always pay off. He only started as an insignificant city boy, too.

Survived the cruelty of elementary and middle school; shared a room with his brother, relying on him until he grew and learned to finally rule over high school; every single soul at his beck and call. Then, trudged through college before any of where he’s standing even existed.

But he’s here now. And people acknowledge it.

Except you.

And it throws him off his balance. Which is probably why he shortens the end of his speech, close to slurring distracted syllables before he realises he’s forgotten a prepared sentence or two.

No matter; the relevant and main message should have been delivered by now.

So he leans back in a chair in the back, flashing a captivating smile and waits for the applause. Somewhat proud when the praise needs a moment to cease for his manager to reclaim the mic, freeing the metaphorical stage, much in the form of a simple pult, for the CEO of the company.

Taehyung is savvy of how to regain control over a stage; Jungkook doesn’t know whether he fucked up his final remarks, but Taehyung summarises his ideas well. But the clapping does say a lot.

And between those raising their hands to appreciate Jungkook’s speech, you were, too. He knows because he looked directly at you; still is. And when your eyes drift to his, the two of you hold each other’s gazes for at least a couple seconds longer than the others.

And your smile, while present, is somewhat tight-lipped, a bit awkward but confident, too. Odd, as well; hard to explain, but as though you know what you want. As though you have your priorities set straight and cannot be swayed by anything the world might throw at you.

He doesn’t have a word for it. Poised? Self-reliant? Fearless? Can a single look even say this much or is he being delusional?

But this can’t be true, honestly. Nobody is this unperturbed or passive. He’ll find out.

Your stare aligns with his a couple more times over the next minutes, staying there before continuing the journey over the crowd. Jungkook’s eyebrows twitch just a little whenever your eyes pierce into his, so tantalising and deep, big sweet ires, but so conniving at the same time.

He doesn’t know your name, but he’s sure that it defines intrigue. And maybe, just perhaps, it might serve as the synonym for drop fucking dead gorgeous, too.

When Taehyung leads you to Jungkook’s stuffy studio, the latter hears your voice through the open door several seconds before you come in. Or actually, it’s not quite his studio.

More like a collective office that a couple of the newcomers use. Jungkook has been part of this crew a little longer, but he needs the additional success, more prosperity; he’s been told to yield more results to earn his very own four walls. Carrying his signature flavour.

But it’s okay. For now, this suffices…

The stench of coffee and the sound of the AC. The pot and plants that always rest in some corner of the room, courtesy of Taehyung who insists on some colour in the grey-white, small room. Jungkook has gotten used to it all.

Which is why it’s strange, seeing your splendour enter the small space, delighted by whatever Taehyung might be explaining. Your grin is the widest Jungkook has seen since yesterday.

He didn’t get to meet you properly yet, so he can’t say where your humour lies. Nobody introduced you, despite your new position as his very own, personal work partner. A second manager, here to guide and aid him when Taehyung can’t; and apparently, you’ve found some charm in Taehyung that you didn’t see in Jungkook during the stupid meeting.

Not that Jungkook would ever dare to doubt his friend’s appeal, but you’ve stormed into his life like a present, and so silently, too; and he wanted to be the one to open it. To reveal it.

Not Taehyung. Even if it’s his job.

Okay. Calm down. Jungkook sighs. That again.

A motherly blanket of praises and fatherly pats of pride. That’s what’s gotten his head so riled up. He was coddled too much as a child. Made felt special. That’s over now, Jeon, you’re in an industry filled to the brim with competition.

Chill chill chill.

But now?

With that alluring smile staring up at Taehyung, only hints of it left when your eyes move to Jungkook. Fuck.

But Jungkook’s stance remains steadfast and self-assured when he greets, “Hi there. Welcome at last, huh?”

Jungkook notices when your mind snaps out of the conversation with Taehyung and into the one he started; a gentle hand frees your face off your hair to enable a proper view to it. The other is still dug deep in the pocket of your leather jacket, covering parts of the white top underneath.

Semi-long, silver earrings rest right below your ear, against your neck when you tilt your head a little; your expression so respectful and inviting when you smile. Jungkook inhales you in that one split moment, details stinging into the eye without much effort.

And perhaps he’d observe more, appreciate your stunning, obvious beauty and elegance further; but time passes as it does before you finally utter your very first sentence to him, “Hi. Didn’t think I’d ever be saying this, but… thank you for having me.”

That’s sweet.

Your words are reminiscent of the adoration his fans grant him, but your expression is as cool as a refreshing autumn wind. The perfect balance, possibly.

Jungkook gestures to a small couch in the back, right next to the door, but you raise a rejecting hand, claiming, “Been sitting all day observing Taehyung. Need to walk a bit.”

And you do. Deliver a last farewell nod to Taehyung who waves a little, gripping the handle and locking you in the room with the younger man nearly drooling over you.

The hand hidden in the jacket before has emerged, arms loosely folded as you take in the interior of the studio, allowing no more insight into your thoughts than, “Nice.”

Jungkook hums in distracted agreement, standing at the wall, watching you roam around the humble space in small steps. It’s odd, being in here with you; the atmosphere fizzles, a little less like electricity, just a bit more than carbonic acid.

But the moment was to arrive anyway; you’ll be a close link to Jungkook from now on. Of course you need to familiarise yourself with his space, too. So far, you seem to have an opinion on it already.

“Easy to trigger claustrophobia, but,” you walk through the open door to the darker recording room, tapping the mic for a moment, “cosy, too. Very cool equipment.”

“Yeah. I agree.” Pause, eyes dropping to your fingers grazing the stand of the mic. Then, “I would’ve come to you today… or yesterday for that matter, but things were so chaotic and—”

“Oh, don’t worry,” you assure, waving his concerns off, “I could see people rushing around and preparing the moment I got here. I’m probably not the main concern right now among everybody.”

“Nah, that’s not it. We have a great team here.” You step out again, hands folding behind your back until you’re leaning against the wall opposite of him, mirroring his stance. “I’m sorry you arrived at such a stressful time, though.”

“Not your fault. I decided so myself fully knowing you were in the middle of something.”

Ah. So you’ve seen his interviews, read the news. You came here with sufficient knowledge about him, alright.

“Really though,” you continue, blinking slowly, “I’m just glad to be here at all.”

Ah. Yes — about that.

“What brought you to our company anyway?” Jungkook asks, coating his voice in sugar to decrease the risk of unintentional and prying rudeness. “I mean — it’s been a while since somebody joined the main team, is all.”

“Oh. What brought me here…” You slide down the wall just a few inches, staring at your feet before you meet his eyes again. Something flashes in them for a miniscule second, albeit too brief to be caught and analysed. Then, you say, “Sentiments?”

Jungkook gathers words of confusion the moment you utter yours, a question already on his tongue. Has he been here long enough to evoke sentiments in his followers? Or do you veil a whole different connection to this company than he might understand?

Who knows. It doesn’t feel too deep, at least, when you speak again, elaborating when his eyes reveal his bedazzlement before he can, “I mean, I like your work.”

Okay. So much he interpreted; and he must admit — the feeling of pride is a thoroughly unique one.

“I think you’ve been deserving of your growth, and I just,” you speak, shrugging your shoulders, digging one heel into the solid ground, “I could never stop thinking of what I’d say or do if I was here or how I’d try to help, even though I’m not a true musical genius like you.”

This is so excitingly new.

How poised you remain as you talk about your fascination for him; how carefully you choose your words. He’s met fans before, but he doesn’t think any of them has ever practised such control over themselves.

And harbouring such emotions for a tiny little celebrity like him while simultaneously treating him like a human being is an art you’ve well mastered. Despite Jungkook’s urge to feel loved and worshipped to a dependent degree, you’re an incredibly attractive change in pace.

Ugh.

Dependent degree.

Although, he does wonder what you’d be like if you fawned over him.

Jungkook contains the fantasy; suppresses his sigh.

“So,” he starts, “you’re here because you’re a fan.”

“Mmmh. Kind of. My friends started it and then pulled me into this. Honestly, at first I couldn’t imagine ever getting into your stuff.”

Your gaze moved down to your trainers a mere moment ago; whether to hide your expression or give into a habit, Jungkook can’t say. But the honesty surprises him; even stings a little as he voices, “Oh?”

Your head shoots up, lips forming a circle before you imitate, “Oh. Wait. That was… pretty rude.” You seek confirmation or denial in Jungkook’s eyes, and when his slightly wrinkled forehead, tight-lipped smile reveals the answer, you immediately opt for an apology, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“How did you mean it then?”

“Just that.” You fiddle in your position, bringing your digits to waist level. Then, you laugh; a rhythmic sound. “Okay, don’t hate me, but. I was one to judge a book by its cover, and you had this young adult too-confident-too-sly something about you. But your music’s surprisingly sentimental.”

Jungkook halts for a moment, moving his head to side-eye you; producing a hoarse Uhhh before he admits, “I’m not sure whether you’re complimenting me or fully destroying me.”

Another lovely laugh. “I am complimenting you. To be fully transparent, I was probably, uh, biased? Because my friend. They have a knack for usually pulling very questionable men, so I probably just didn’t entirely trust their intuition.”

“Fair enough. I guess?” Jungkook matches the softness of your giggle, nodding towards you, “And now you do?”

“Mmmh, well, we’ll see.”

Jungkook must be stupid. Of course you won’t be able to deduce much from the first meeting yet; perhaps the flirting needs to slow down for just now. You seem the patient kind; much like now, letting the quick silence prevail without much struggle.

No sign of awkwardness surrounds your aura; only a hint of… suspicion? Flashing into your eyes when you let them move through the room again, freezing right next to Jungkook’s head. You’re not looking at him, but at something past him; but you don’t question nor voice anything.

Merely return to his stare with a smile, and he uses the moment to pour some courteous manners into the mix, asking, “Do you want something to drink? Coffee, water? A Red Bull?”

But you immediately raise a hand, shaking your head, “Oh, it’s okay. I’ve already got caffeine flowing there instead of blood,” you slide a finger along your arm, indicating a vein under your layers, “I just mainly came to say hi and to introduce myself. And to ask if I can help anyhow.”

“Ah… well, uh,” Jungkook halts mid-sentence, throwing a look around as though he’s searching for something to appear before he concludes, “don’t think so. I was in the middle of some production work, but don’t think I need much.”

“I see. Okay! Then I’ll leave yo—”

“But,” Jungkook intervenes immediately, adamant on keeping you around. Maybe he can wrap up work earlier today? Bring you home? Probably not — not on Taehyung’s watch. “Maybe you can tell me what you think once I’m done?

“Of course. It’d be my pleasure.”

“Would have an excuse for your company, too, then.”

The laugh that follows is so subtle that Jungkook barely hears it. It doesn’t leave your throat, stuck in there, just a tiny sound reminiscent of amused bafflement.

Jungkook knows his way around words — understands what his utterances and implications usually apply. But somehow, not too many people have been the calmer ones in the room; aside from his superiors at work, not having the upper hand is new to him.

So you set a fuse loose in him; destroy a nerve in his brain, changing up his communication habits. Because he certainly did not mean to say this out loud. And not in such a sense either.

He adds quickly, “I mean, it gets lonely here.”

“Right…” you concur, albeit weakly and with somewhat… entertained mystery in your eyes? He can’t say. It’s as though you’re wearing your face as a mask, undecipherable. “I get it. Even though your studio is cosy enough to enjoy your own company at times, right?”

“Not mine. But we’ll work on that.”

He cards his fingers through his hair, aware that he is probably more than an open book right now; his usual perfect poker face does not work with you.

Why?

Weird.

“Got a couple things here that are mine, though. Yoongi and the others allowed me,” he adds.

“Ah… Like…”

Surprisingly enough, you take another look through the tiny room, possibly trying to detect something you didn’t see before. Regarding details. Then, you settle next to his head once again… and once Jungkook moves his eyes off you for the first time since you came in, he sees what you see.

Which is to say, nothing much out of the ordinary. In fact, the most trivial thing in the room.

“Like that?” you voice, pushing yourself off the wall to near his relaxed body. The scent of your perfume wafts through the room before you’re close enough; tenderly grazing his senses. “What’s that?”

Focus.

Your finger points to the object next to him, hanging at a nail at the wall; dark blue with white letters on it. Pretty mundane, pretty basic design.

“Just… a cap I bought back in college.”

You read out the name, pronouncing it perfectly, yet slowing down as if you’re learning a new foreign term. The sudden inquiry is strange, too: you don’t seem as truly curious about it as your question did; perhaps you’re playing for some time with him, too?

He wouldn’t hate it if you did.

“Do you know that one?” he questions.

You nod; a main hint as to why you wanted to know, yet indicating that the knowledge wasn’t of much significance. You say, “Isn’t it a popular one? I had a few friends who went there.”

“Hm… yeah, I mean. I guess it’s a known one. I got a degree there in broadcasting and entertainment like… four years ago.”

You exhale a barely audible puff of air before you whisper-murmur the most infinitesimal, petite, “Damn,” underscored with one indecipherable tilt of your head. He can’t see your eyes too well, so the reaction remains as transparent as you have been thus far.

Until he raises a thick eyebrow, confusion hidden in a somewhat relaxed yet awkward smile as he wonders, “What?”

“Hm? Oh, nothing, just. It’s impressive how much you’ve achieved in just four years, right?”

“…Well. If you say it like that, it does sound pretty neat.”

The bubble of pride expands alongside his ego; right beneath his chest. Somehow, the feeling changes his posture, makes him feel bigger.

Perhaps you notice what your praise elicits; perhaps you’ve already fathomed his persona that he usually doesn’t dare to reveal this fast. But whatever he conceals with his fans, lies in front of you with an open access.

You make it easy to feel comfortable; he doesn’t need to know you too long to acknowledge this much.

“I graduated not too long ago, too. Three years?”

“Oh… then look at you,” Jungkook compliments, using the moment as an excuse to examine you further; head to toe and back. Your legs are crossed, upper body and face confident, but the position somehow delicate. Hm. “You’re quite awesome, too, don’t you think?”

“I mean— took a while to get here.”

“Right. So what have you been doing during this time since graduation?”

Whatever distraction you have found in the cap seems to break as you silently forage your brain for a response; possibly attempting not to divulge too much. And your answer is accordingly hesitant, though never dubious.

“Saving up? Preparing for life, I guess. And waiting for a good opportunity.”

For what? Do you usually keep your statements in fragments?

He prods, “To do what?”

“Well, to do,” you gesture to the wall in front of you, albeit clearly hinting to the situation, “this. Hoping to change everyone’s lives around here.”

You smile wide, the joke obvious as can be, but Jungkook can’t help but think that you might not be too far off. Unique minds alter brain chemistries; there’s something unforgettable and magnetising about them, and Jungkook steadfastly believes his intuition that you might just be one of them.

For the first time ever, he murmurs your name, delighted by how easily it melts on his tongue. It falls out breathier than he intended to, but when you tilt your head, the intrigue in your pupils inexplicably matches his tone.

He adds to your name, eyelids drooping just a bit, “So… you’ll turn out a long awaited surprise, huh?”

And you, against all expectations, lean in for just a minimal, not too inconsequential moment, hands back in your jacket. It’s a playful, harmless motion as you move back on your heels, then steady yourself again, bodies and faces still far away. You could’ve just as well given him a pat on his shoulder.

But there’s something in the way you look at him, tempted and ominous at the same time. He can’t say what you’re thinking because every feature in your face implies something different.

Even more so confusing what methods for success you came into this company with when you finally say, no pretext or further clarifications, “I really do hope so.”

“Do you come here a lot?”

Everywhere he goes, the lights are bright.

The white walls in the rooms of the company building reflect the sun in the summer and maintain a sense of optimism in the winter. They’re what Jungkook imagines waiting halls before Heaven to look like.

Then the fluorescent vibrancy in his apartment. And the sunlit sky, albeit cold in this winter, giving way to the planetary system’s star through the floating, parting clouds.

Even this modern art museum with its complex design, winding staircases, glass walls and high ceiling. It lets through an abundance of light, unaware of the balance Jungkook usually craves.

Dark and light — a healthy mix.

It’s why he cherishes the comfort of the recording studio so much. Its dim walls and the silence, so unlike the hallways outside of it. Or why he prefers his apartment unlit, often merely allowing the few lava lamps to illuminate his rooms.

But again… it’s only a balance he usually craves.

Today, he doesn’t mind the brilliance.

Because you’re part of it.

Clad in a beige long-sleeved cotton top, slight turtleneck included. It doesn’t fully cover your neck, still revealing a mole similar to his. It’s tucked into your light brown skirt; your legs are covered in sheer tights, crossed. A gentle hand holds the strap of your bag. Light academia at its finest; somewhat soothing, and somewhat radiant.

You look at him with an initially neutral expression, surprised that someone spoke to you, but more relaxed when you realise it’s him.

“Oh,” you voice; the faintest autumn-tinted smile tugs at your lips. “Hey! I, uh…” Your gaze flits to the painting in front of you, then back to him. “Not at all actually. Which… surprising.”

You gesture towards him before you grant him more of your silky voice, asking, “Do you? Come here much?”

Your eyes are indecipherable to him, cheeks dusted in natural make up. All the damn time, you sport this relaxed, unbreakable mask, and he can’t quite guess what you might be thinking about.

It’s so easy with anyone else. You’re like a scene from BBC’s Sherlock, embodying Irene Adler’s mystery.

But maybe your guard can be broken, too.

“Not really,” he admits, “only when pretty people are around.”

A weak attempt, but it makes your eyebrow cock in amusement. He knows you are, because the hint of mischief that scurries over your face resembles his own.

“Ah, and you happen to know when pretty people are around. Or did you follow me here?” you, however, ask.

It’s an obvious inquiry, but weirdly enough, he didn’t expect it. You exhibit the first sign of a proper, humane emotion. Delivering three quick blinks, voice quiet, suspicion swims in your eyes, slightly irritated.

Or even… scared?

You can’t truly be.

So he backtracks, slightly angling his head. He sighs — hiding how much his lungs crave a breath of air. He doesn’t want to scare you off just yet.

“No,” he defends, “of course not. I was just joking.”

“So… I’m not pretty?”

Oh. Oh?

Perhaps he misinterpreted your expression. Perhaps you’re merely a good actress; messing with him as he is with you. The smirk suggests this much, at least.

Perplexed, he holds his breath before letting out a choked laugh; the head tilt and click of his tongue carry a sliver of scolding before he admits, “That’s pretty frustrating, I won’t lie.”

“I’m just kidding, too. It’s a big exhibition. I expected a familiar face here.”

Why is there something so devilish about you?

He can’t say; maybe he doesn’t need to. Maybe it’s enough to join the game, to be just as cocky and see how you react.

Perhaps he’s being selfish and too certain of himself, and in the worst case, he might just be imagining the tension buzzing between you like sparks off an electric fence. But does he have anything to lose, really?

Barely ever.

“Then,” he begins, “is it a good face?”

“All the art around us and you want me to admire you, huh?”

“…The art won’t be mad if you do.”

Jungkook is bold, he’ll admit. He hasn’t always been — he remembers a time spent in the back of classes, preferring to eat lunch alone. Did college tug him out of his shell? Was it senior year?

Then again — did that one kill the timidness in his heart or rather the last shred of humanity?

Maybe his cold matches yours, too. Is that why he feels so drawn to you?

Because you’re as bold as him; you don’t sugarcoat words and thoughts. And Jungkook appreciates the honesty, the ingredient to actual success — even if it’s achingly direct.

Like now.

You uncross your legs; your hips move in an elegant curve, and Jungkook attempts his best to keep his eyes off the arcs of your body. Focuses as you say, “You shouldn’t be flirting with a coworker, Mister Jeon.”

“Wait. I thought we were warming up to each other. Don’t demote me from Jungkook to Mister Jeon now.” You chuckle; that’s something, right? “Besides, I was just conversing. We need to spend all our time together now, so better get along, right?”

Right. Right; of course he’s right.

But… what is that?

It lingers for the faintest of moments, just a glimpse of an unspoken feeling, gone with the next blink. In this crowd of unsuspecting visitors you’re the closest to him physically, but your thoughts are miles and centuries away.

“Maybe you’re right,” you still say, as if whooshing away all unwelcome sentiments, “then I should not… dodge your conversation, right?”

“Sure.”

“Behave, though.”

He’s so confused — but not deep in this enough to question it. So he merely shrugs his shoulder before he responds, “I have been. I can converse, alright.”

“Right.”

“Like… first of all,” he steps closer, raising a hand, gesturing for you to walk on as new admirers of the modern piece approach, “tell me, have we met before? Feels like I’ve seen you somewhere.”

You halt in your steps, but immediately resume to the stroll when a stranger nearly bumps into you. “You’re doing it again.”

He’s honestly not. The aura surrounding you like an ominous fog is omnipresent and eerie, yet… you carry a sense of familiarity. But you’re a presence too distinct to ever forget.

Which doesn’t help his case.

“Yeah,” he still agrees before potentially embarrassing himself, kissing his teeth, “sorry. I’ll stop.”

“Why are you the textbook definition of a fuckboy, honestly.”

“Fuckbo—”

“Nevermind.”

If he wasn’t well acquainted with this little game, he would’ve missed your subtle, nearly veiled intent to tease. But he’s done this a million times before — hence, catches the faint twitch of your gorgeous lips immediately.

You’re enjoying this. So he should join… right?

Yet.

You’re not being entirely insincere. In fact, he hates how he picks up on the note of truth in your velvety voice.

Trimmed nails scratch the back of his head, and he barely notices when the two of you halt in front of another piece. Distracted, he doesn’t bear the art any mind, instead asking, “You really think of me that way?”

You shrug a shoulder. Nonchalance a constant feature, but so natural, even somewhat gentle, that he can’t help but feel drawn to you. “A little.”

“Well, shit.”

“Don’t overthink it. Enjoy the art.”

“Sure.”

Reluctantly, he glances to the canvas. It’s a mess of hues; a random arrangement of spontaneous emotions. Resembles the masterpieces he used to create in Microsoft Paint, back when his legs would still dangle off the chair.

“Then,” he starts, nodding towards the painting, “what do you see in this?”

You hesitate. Or maybe it’s not hesitation — more like… a thinking pause. Sometimes, when Jungkook notices a whirring mind, he sees a steaming brain through a skull. Working at full blast.

But somehow, he only sees a calm ocean as he observes you gather your thoughts. Everything about you is gentle, but wrapped in dark mystery. How much mental training does it require to become this inscrutable?

When you finally speak, you’re saying similarly strange things.

“I see… colours.” Right. Stating the obvious. Jungkook chuckles, delivering a head tilt. “And am wondering how the painter got to create this at all. I mean, this looks so meaningless at first, doesn’t it?”

“And it’s not, yeah?”

“We’re fast to think that. Most of the time, there must have been a trigger, or a thought about something, no matter how small. Something might have been bothering him. This is—” A soft hand gestures towards the painting. “Such a chaotic mind.”

Interesting…

“Is this what you usually think about all day?” Jungkook wonders.

You scoff. “I’m just a person, too. I think about a lot of random things.”

“Ohhh. Like what?”

“Like… seeing all the green in this exhibit made me realise how this colour makes me cry.”

Jungkook takes a haphazard look around. Now that you say it — there’s no hint of a nature theme, but the abundance of green is striking now. It’s as calm as you. No wonder you’d immerse yourself in a showcase such as this.

You continue, as if tracing and reading his mind like an open novel, “It’s soothing, right? And unique. These earthly things sometimes make me feel like not all of us are deserving of seeing such beauty. Like it should be reserved for those who earn it.”

Earn it? How?

Jungkook can’t see your thoughts as clearly as you’re apparently capable of doing, but he has an inkling of what you might mean. Truly dazzling souls merit the stunning bloom of the world, right?

And then…

If that’s what it is.

He wonders — do you think he deserves to see the colour green? Or is it already over if he has to ask? Perhaps, should he be perceiving it as grey right now? He doesn’t know.

He doesn’t know how you think of him — doesn’t know anything about you at all. You’re a tough nut to crack.

“Hmm… that’s a way to think about it,” he says.

“Only because it’s the same for people. And I’ve had this thought about humans a lot… I…” You hesitate, blink, and then grant him your stare. “I knew someone who was the colour green. Not everyone deserved them, either.”

Poetic minds carry a certain pain in their eyes.

He’s been seeing it in yours. He just doesn’t know how to handle it. So he doesn’t.

Instead, he asks, “What else are you thinking about?”

“Uhmmm,” you voice, straightening your back a little, as if waking up from a dream — nightmare? “I’ve been thinking about trying that, too. Painting, I mean. It doesn’t have to mean anything or be good. Just a great way to capture something that resonates with what I feel.”

Every word you’ve uttered today was otherworldly. You didn’t talk like that when you were in his office, or at the meeting. Your soul is somewhat free-floating here, and he doesn’t understand why.

And it’s a behaviour he usually strays away from. The vulnerable ones can be dangerous.

But somehow… you’re too strong of a magnet.

One who shrugs all the mystery away — and he sighs in despair. Maybe it’s not time to find out what you feel just yet. What resonates with you — even though he’s dying to hear it.

He inquires, “Are you always this open?”

“No. Not at all.” Of course not. Rhetoric question — he knows this much. “But I like thinking out loud sometimes.”

“I’m glad to be a sounding board then.”

“Yeah. I was also thinking how I appreciate that I met you here.” Pause. Oh? What a surprise. Out of the blue, too. Strokes his ego, though. And then, unexpectedly again, “You wanna go to the museum restaurant?”

Jungkook has barely seen half of the exhibition yet. But just for today, he couldn’t care less.

Perhaps it’s enough for now, sitting in this overpriced restaurant, watching you from afar as you inspect your nails calmly. You’re not busy on your phone like the rest of the crowd — entertained by the same media that he’s part of.

Maybe he can be a bigger part of their lives one day — be the one flitting over their screens, the one they adore. The one they worship.

But you don’t seem to indulge in those mind-numbing devices for now. You might be an addition to his team, but privately, you float in your own world. Distracted by the thoughts you won’t disclose.

Your hands retreat, arms crossing on the table and lips curling into a smile once he strolls back to you. Satisfied, he informs you, “One cake with the coffee. As the lady suggested.”

“Oh,” you make, “don’t you want one?”

“I do.”

“So…” You stall, and he waits until it clicks, your head tilting in understanding. “Are we sharing?”

Jungkook lifts a thumb, pointing over his shoulder, back to the register, “Those chocolate cakes are sweet as heck. I’ve got a sweet tooth, but believe that it’ll be enough for the two of us.”

You laugh — a sweet, disarming chuckle before you breathe an, “Alright.”

Jungkook doesn’t know you well enough to feel any skip in his heart; yet, you stir something else in his mind. It’s always people like you who intrigue him the most — those who veil themselves in a coat of secrets.

He sighs.

“That was fast,” you note, eyes at a point behind him.

And he understands when the waitress arrives a couple moments later, two perfectly prepared lattes and a mouth-watering chocolate fudge slice. You thank her with a gentle smile, tuck a hair behind your ear, fingertips grazing the dangling earring.

And he watches.

Watches as you nod towards him, urging him, “Start then.”

Observes your smile as he signals you to start instead. And he gazes at you as your delicate digits reach for the fork, tearing off a piece, wrapping your lips around the utensil.

And then… God.

He feels his guts twist; hears all background noise fade; blood rushing away from his head, through his body as you slowly relish the sweetness and then drag your tongue over the fork. Licking away the leftover chocolate.

Jungkook swears it happens in slow motion. And witnessing your elegance at snail's pace… makes him sick.

When your eyelashes flutter, gape lifting to meet his, the sounds around him come alive again — as does he. He averts his stare from your mouth, covered in the same colour as the coffee, but you notice.

You see him looking. And it makes you… smile? Shit.

But you don’t boast your effect; only digress as you say, “Well… tastes as fancy as it looks. Try it.”

You’re as relaxed with him as you can be. But you always are; with everyone. He craves that bit that’s only reserved for him — then again, maybe he’s too zealous too fast. He hasn’t known you for long.

But making you smile must be an achievement. If only… you didn’t think of him like…

He nods, and then leans over the table ever-so-slightly. His knees brush against yours, a soft but deliberate move. He places an elbow on the table, grasping the fork, close to you. If he lifted his hand, he could touch your cheek.

He wishes he could.

His eyes meet yours through his bangs, the cake’s taste irrelevant to your presence. And when his ego doesn’t let him relax, he finally asks, almost as if insulted, “Do you actually perceive me as a fuckboy?”

The question catches you off guard. You hesitate, furrowing your eyebrows, and then giggle before questioning back, “Jungkook… it’s bothering you this much? Mmmh. How would you like to be perceived?”

“Just. As a decent guy who wants to get to know you. And I know you know.” You blink, but he doesn’t buy it. So he elaborates, “I’ve been trying to make clear that I find you lovely. And somewhat attractive.”

People usually display a flicker of glimmer in their eyes upon hearing such praise. But you don’t quite budge; in fact, your eyes remain the same, if not a little darker. Why?

Yet, you cock an eyebrow, sporting a teasing, playful tone, “Somewhat, hm?”

He shakes his head, clicks his tongue. “You’re pretty and I think you know,” he blurts, “and I don’t want to screw up right away.”

Is it the habit of never failing? The urge to solve an enigma? The chance to dive into you until you’re bared to him? Why are you so interesting to him?

You’re just a person.

Maybe it’s just the unsettling need to discover what you’re hiding — it won’t let him rest in peace. There’s something about you that screams to him to unravel. Makes him want you more.

He doesn’t know what it is. Doesn’t know if you’re even from the same world as him — even though you seem to have crossed his realm before. No matter what it is; Jungkook merely understands for now that he wants to take off your layers.

Wants to be the colour green for you.

“Ah—” you voice.

“In fact, I’m not supposed to hang out here with you.”

“…How come?”

“I should be with Tae,” he admits. Maybe he’s revealing more to you than he should — maybe he should adjust to your level of secrecy and wait. But this is frustrating him. “He dragged me here, so I could get inspiration from all sides.”

You listen; perhaps not quite loving the idea of seeing him in such a way?

Fuck. Maybe it really was a mistake. No turning back now, though.

“He said artists find motivation in art, too, and I do like to paint, so…” He looks at his cup, still left to be tried from, and then stares up from the cream leaf that the barista formed in his coffee. “I didn’t wanna come here, though. I already have an idea of what I want to do.”

“And…” you start, still not addressing the issue on hand; choosing to talk about something else for now, “he doesn’t like what you’ve come up with?”

“I don’t know. He doesn’t know about it yet.”

You take a sip of your coffee, softly smacking your lips once to relish the taste. You’re living proof that subtle gestures can make a mind race. Then you say, “Maybe you should introduce it to him then.”

“I will. Just… mmh, need a better grasp on it.” He throws a nod towards you. “I can’t wait to show you either.”

Another sip of the seething liquid.

If the gentle hint of him being bent on your presence flatters you anyhow — stirs anything in you at all — you don’t let it show. Are you, by chance, used to being swarmed from all sides?

Are his advances kindergarten to you?

You don’t budge as he waits for you to respond, setting the cup back on your saucer before you inquire, “Where is Taehyung, anyway then?”

“Uh, I’m sure he’s going around admiring the art?” Jungkook guesses, head reflexively moving to the side, as if his friend and co-worker could materialise out of thin air. “He enjoys it even more than I do.”

“And you separated from him because…”

Because Jungkook ascended a spiral staircase. Because he turned right and halted in front of the second instead of the first room. Because he recognised the familiar curves and edges, as intriguing as ever, from this far distance.

And told Taehyung to continue without him; that Jungkook was going to explore a different corner of the museum.

He tilts his head; his left eyebrow raises just a twitch, fingertips tapping the hot surface of the coffee cup. And then, charisma gathered in the middle of his pupils, he tells you—

“Because I found you.”

There it is.

The slightest of reactions.

Your eyes widen barely an inch, but he sees it. How your lips part a bit, even though you should’ve expected his answer after the conversations hitherto shared. Hm…

“So you did follow me,” you say.

He can’t say if you’re joking or not. But all of a sudden, he wonders if he’s creeped you out. He opted for flirting so clearly, but… maybe you interpreted it vastly differently.

But he keeps himself relaxed; not faltering now when you aren’t either. Answers, “If you want to call it that. I call it finding you and then sticking with you. You’re interesting, Miss Manager.”

You smile.

Genuinely, thoroughly, wholeheartedly.

The beam reveals more than any word could’ve today — that humanity slumbers somewhere in the crevices of your heart. Your eyes suggest it as much as your stance on art did.

Whatever might have scarred you in life, behind all that ache, you hide a delicate soul.

Green, green, green.

And your cryptic worry, uttered a moment later, doesn’t bring him down from his sense of victory. No. Not now.

“Yeah?” You cross your legs, letting out a breathy sigh. “Then I sincerely hope that doesn’t change.”

[6:43PM] Jeon Jungkook: i’ve been thinking about something. and of you

For a bedroom as sparsely decorated and light-coloured as Jungkook’s, he should be surrounded by a brilliant glow. And usually, he is.

The windows occupy half of the wall, the bedsheets a perfect white; had he texted you a couple hours prior, he would’ve found himself in the gleam of a pale blue late winter sky. But if he’d tapped your name on his device earlier, he would’ve indulged in a whole different mood, too.

Wouldn’t have given into fatigued, delirious fantasies. Daydreaming about the curves of your lips and about the single strands of hair kissing your cheeks. Or the way you love exposing your neck, as if to taunt him.

It’s right there, but you can’t touch it, Jeon.

And…

And the mounds of your chest, slivers of it visible whenever you put on those heaven sent dresses. Their cuts are almost as deep as the ones damaging Jungkook’s brain. And not much for the sake of his sanity, the thirst isn’t quenched just yet.

Crossed legs badly hidden under your see-through tights. The movement of your hips when you walk into his studio, placing yet another gruesome schedule onto his desk. Your scent when you lean into him, pointing to another meeting he barely recalls.

You… you…

If Jungkook hadn’t already cleaned up the sloppy mess previously covering his knuckles, trickling down his thighs, he’d possibly give into the urge to sneak his fingers back to where he craves them to linger.

No, you made that mess.

Of his sheets, of him. And you never needed to be here in the first place.

Jungkook is no fool — unlike many of his friends, he doesn’t deny the way his body winds. He knows what he wants; and right now, he hungers for you. Wants you to eliminate the drought on his tongue; wants you to replace it with some taste instead.

“Fuuuuck.”

The word drags into the emptiness of the room, filling the silence that someone else should be lifting. But you’re not here, and you’re not answering. Not yet, at least. Has it been seconds or minutes?

Too long, is all he knows.

His digits are cleaned thoroughly, but he can’t shake the persisting feeling of sheer, dirty lust as they reach his phone again. Lighting up the screen, then curling inwards in frustration.

He repeats the desperate attempt of manifestation a couple times until he throws the device aside, nearly missing the mid-air vibrations, indicating the long-awaited message. Jungkook’s heart falls out of his ribcage and squeezes his guts; your name elicits far more than it should.

And he feels just a little guilty.

Because he doesn’t deny himself any pleasure — so he knows this isn’t love. This isn’t starving for emotionality. Not for sentiments. What you pull out might be his ugliest, beastliest side; his mind is filled with images of you that he shouldn’t be having.

You’re so respected. So tender and kind. Intriguing, a riddle, but inhabiting secrets probably far darker than his thoughts. So he feels odd about the wanton desire; feels guilty.

But just for a bit. Just a little.

The message you sent back is too humble, too innocent. Sometimes he reckons you’re aware of your power, and sometimes he assumes you think of yourself as… ordinary.

But you’re not. And he wants to show you.

Just one touch, please.

“Fuck, shut up, you creep,” Jungkook whispers to himself, scolding his treacherous mind before he reads again.

[6:52PM] You: Oh? Why would you be thinking about me? Of all people?

Should he wait? You did, too.

Or should he make as crystal clear as he can muster that he’s been waiting for you?

Screw it.

[6:53PM] Jeon Jungkook: what else should I be thinking of?

Your next response is immediate — you’re online. Waiting for him to answer.

Good.

[6:53PM] You: Your music?

[6:53PM] Jeon Jungkook: my music doesn’t talk to me as much as you do these days

He smirks. Keeps the beam plastered to his face until the waiting becomes a little too long. Message on read, you leave the chat room empty of you and full of a nervy Jungkook. He opts out of it the same second, keen on patience before it fades again, bit by bit.

Because then, the thoughts flood in.

Are you rolling your eyes? Throwing the phone into a corner of your couch? Has he fucked up before anything could start?

But it’s been going so well. You talk to him every single day. Ever since the museum, the two of you have been orbiting each other; partly due to work, partly because he’s caught you smiling, too.

Your words are too sickeningly often accompanied by a soft touch of yours against his shoulders; against his arms. Sometimes, you brush his back, his eyes wide awake, the smile timid yet crushingly losing against your confident gaze.

All this must mean something.

“Nah. Fuck it,” he mutters again, sighing over his own constant use of curses. “Come back.”

[6:55PM] Jeon Jungkook: actually… I did come up with one tune. It’s just a skeleton of a song tbh, but I need a sounding board.

It takes another one minute for you to come back, and Jungkook angles his legs, relying on the movements of his body to ease the impatience. But then—

[6:56PM] You: Oh, and? [6:56PM] You: Sorry, I had to step away for a sec

Sigh of relief. Even though embarrassment annoyingly adds itself to the mix, an uninvited guest.

[6:57PM] Jeon Jungkook: …do you wanna come to the studio?

[6:57PM] You: Right now? It’s like… [6:57PM] You: 7pm

Unconsciously, Jungkook shrugs his shoulders, unbothered to the bone, just craving, craving, craving…

[6:57PM] Jeon Jungkook: a true artist never rests. [6:57PM] Jeon Jungkook: and I’d rather die than stop hustling for my passion

As the next message appears at the bottom of the screen, Jungkook can’t help but bite into his lower lip with a certain pride. He nods as if he caught his prey, trapping it between his fangs.

[6:58PM] You: 😂LOL. now that, I admire, mister Jeon :) [6:58PM] You: I’ll finish my wine and be on my way

Oh.

Are you tipsy? Maybe he’s reading too much into it, but the emoji seems so unlike you; yet, you somehow manage to capture the core of what and who you are in the rest of the message. Six coherent words. That’s all it takes.

Goddamn.

You’re so thoroughly you.

[6:59PM] Jeon Jungkook: wait. really?

And that’s it. You disappear.

Perhaps you’re joking; perhaps you’re messing with him. The sun has already set; and he doesn’t think he’s ever stayed with you much longer than dusk before.

If he met you in the evening, or on other nights, would you make more sense than you usually do? Are you the type to unravel when the world quiets down? Or the one to blend with the darkness more, drawing back further?

If there’s pure truth in what you just said, devoid of all mockery you could revert to… he might find out. And it seems you’re in the right mood today, earnest with your intentions when he feels his phone vibrate against his thick thigh again, making him flinch.

[7:11PM] You: Yes? I’m already dressed. Get your ass up

Oh shit.

Despite your order, his limbs still shut down. His muscles and bones melt into the bed, a fleeting image of your sly smirk crossing his mind and an assured voice surrounding his eardrums.

And if he didn’t overthink each of your movements; didn’t fantasise about the possible rise and fall of your voice, he would’ve discarded his phone and gotten dressed a lot earlier.

How embarrassing.

The fact that his mind doesn’t want to categorise this as a crush, no matter how much he asks. That his body responds to you like that, superficial and intrigued.

Embarrassing. He should focus on more important things.

Yet, he can’t be bothered with the intruding sentiment, shame shoved aside and trampled under his feet as his car turns into a parking lot, perfectly in front of the building’s entrance. Your form is crystal clear in the dark; not even the shadows and lack of light can hide your silhouette.

The radar sensor beeps when he creeps too close to the hood of the car behind him, and he mumbles a curse, averting his eyes from your unmoving self to focus on proper parking. Letting the roaring engine die.

Your shoulders are slightly raised when he approaches you at the door. One hand is stuffed in the pocket of your thin, baby pink coat, the other curled into a fist, possibly resisting the urge to enter the building and combat the cold.

You could’ve waited inside, too. Unless…

Maybe you’re excited to see him, too.

You smile, lips reaching far up; he tries his hardest to believe he’s right. Takes the gesture as a good omen, and the hair pulled up in a loose bun as a sign of hurry. You look domestic, comfortable in your skin, no matter who’s around.

But somewhere between the comfort and the softness, there’s that everlingering intrigue, too. And… some timidness. Showing in the crossed legs his eyes drift over, up to the short skirt barely visible underneath the coat.

And your face… so natural. More than usual. Mascara only? He doesn’t know.

All he knows is that he needs to say something.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” you throw back, tilting your head in tease, “where were you? Took you long enough to get here.”

He steps closer; fiddling with his jacket’s pocket, fishing for the keys. And his proximity changes something about you so subtly, a miniscule movement. Hand digging deeper into your coat.

You’re on guard for some reason. And he can’t help but admit he’s on guard with you, too, albeit in a less physical and more mental way. The unfathomable, dichotomous sensation of wanting you near, wanting you far is killing him.

What are you hiding?

If he could, he’d speak it out loud.

“I had to freshen up,” he finally responds, “I honestly didn’t expect you to say yes.”

Your body might be in protection mode, but your voice is as composed, even somewhat amused, as always, “Well.” You shrug your shoulders. “I don’t see why. But I’m here now, and honestly… a little cold?” Nodding towards the door, “Should we go inside?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

He sniffles, fishing for the chip to unlock the door. For an ephemeral second right before walking inside, your breath lingers incredibly close to his own, grazing his lip ring. “Don’t forget to dress warm this season.”

Near enough for his fingers to succumb to the impulse and sidle to you, skimming your thigh so featherlightly. He thinks he hears the sharp inhale you suck in. His skin tickles, the shiver icy on his body. He watches you smirk, lowering your head; his fingertips insist on the vicinity just for the tiniest seconds before he says,

“Okay. Let's go inside before you catch a cold, silly.”

But the bitter frost permeates the hallways of the company in the same ruthless manner. Perhaps somebody’s still lingering around in the daunting dark. Revising steps in the mirrored practice rooms or hovering above lyrics and tunes, neck bent and back tired.

But the building isn’t heated; and it shows in your rather quick steps, an arm wrapped around your chest to rub the layers above your arm. The guarded demeanour doesn’t match your usual confidence; aside from the hollow hallways, it seems that you’re scared of more than just the cold.

He doesn’t point it out. And he doesn’t stare for too long.

If he did, you might realise.

Instead, he saunters to the elevator with you in tow, delighted about the light that never changes in the small rectangular space. You let your hand drop to your purse, lazily toying with its zip, and turn your head to observe the closing doors.

And Jungkook observes you.

The glow of your cheeks in the bright beam, half of your face devoid of the hair tucked behind your ear. As you breathe in, your lips split a fraction, and their gentle, soft curves mesmerise him for a moment too long.

It’s difficult and cruel, being around you. Haunting, agonising, aggravating.

And when your eyes align with his again, sparkling a little in line with your tender smile, Jungkook realises that he’s been holding his breath. Because it escapes between the seam of his mouth in a sudden push, his knees nearly buckling.

He resists the urge to bite into his fist, instead disguising his thoughts when he covers his mouth, teeth digging into his plump, lower lips.

“So,” he quickly adds, leaving no space for you to question his eccentricity, but you initiate another convo in the same tiny second, “It’s…”

You pause, withholding your statement in order to listen to his. But he shakes his head, lifting a hand to sign for you to continue. So you say, “It’s a little scary here at night.”

Okay. Not that tough of a topic.

“Right?” he confirms. “I always imagine getting here and hearing a hum that’s not really there.”

“Uh…” You blink in disbelief, lifting your eyebrows, but when he shrugs your confusion away, your hesitation marker turns into a chuckle. “Why the hell would you say that?”

“It’s just something I imagine. It’s terrifying, but my mind goes places, and I never ask it to.”

“Well, it’s a mean thing of your mind to do.” The ding of the elevator distracts you, and when you step out, your thoughts remain at an afar spot. Kept inside your pretty little head until you whisper, “And? Have you ever heard it, then?”

“Hm? The hum?” You nod, and he suppresses the snicker your curious, cocked eyebrow nearly elicits. “No. Only myself. Humming helps me control my breathing, so I do it to practise.”

“Weird. It’s so different from how I’d imagine you.”

Huh. Seems he’s not the only one sketching your entire being to keep himself awake at night.

“How would you?” he asks.

“As a rockstar?”

“Oh?” That’s new. “As a future RnB slash pop sensation I find this officially peculiar. Why a rockstar?”

You cock an eyebrow; either digesting the confident prophecy or pondering his question. The crooked smile matches his own signature smirk a little, and you puff out a breath before your sombre yet sparkling eyes wander an inch further down, right to his mouth.

Your eyelashes are endless, on their way to brush those delicate apples of your cheeks — in reality, it’s an impossible fantasy written in novels and poems, but it’s exactly how it looks. Exactly how much your curious gaze drops.

Only, the tingling sensation in his chest soon subsides, freeing a path to the realisation that he’s yet again misunderstanding. Because you’re not drawn by his lips, but rather considering a response.

He sighs in subtle disappointment when you point to the shiny metal encircling his lower lip, telling him, “Gotta be the piercing.”

“Ah. Ahhh. Well. First off, this is a very stereotypical assumption.” You shrug your shoulders in amusement, watching him cram for his chip until he halts in front of his studio, keeping you in his vision. “And secondly.”

The lock of the door clicks as he swipes the chip across the reader, defined knuckles paling a bit when he pushes the handle down. He raises his chin by a fraction, pulling out the most-assured smile, and asks, “Do you like it?”

And you, composed as ever, respond, “It suits you. I always wonder how comfortable these are, though.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, like. Do they have a metal taste? Do you ever get hyper aware of them and then get annoyed and want them off? Are they… cold?”

He laughs. There’s something endearing about how your voice quietens further the more your curiosity grows. You’re not quite looking at him, pupils focused on a random spot, hands expressive as you vocalise your thoughts.

“Let’s see,” he mutters, jacket thrown over a chair, “sometimes and, again, sometimes. It feels a bit cold right now because it’s cold outside. I mean…”

He rubs the chill off his tattooed arm, fingers diving under the short sleeves of his white, oversized t-shirt. Attempts never faltering, he leans into you in intrigue, parting his lips before running his tongue over the jewellery.

“Do you just. Wanna touch it and find out for yourself?”

You blink, frozen in place.

The room isn’t too spacious; Jungkook will get his very own studio, name tag and all once he reaches a clear peak. For once, he’s glad about the crowded room, girded by a guitar on the wall, chairs standing side by side, a little couch leaning against the back of the wall.

As ever, he can’t decipher your mood; as ever, you’re still quick to answer, “I… no. It’s okay.”

Why don’t you want him?

Goddamn it.

“Okay,” he simply utters, shrugging his vexation away. “Let’s get started then.”

The excitement in his tone dips, seemingly aloof, but as he walks into the dark square of silence, reaching for the headphones he placed right here mere hours ago, wordless curses dangle off the tip of his tongue.

He makes sure you don’t see the clench of his jaw or the fast and steady fall of his ego, but you’re shoving back the chair and adjusting anyway. Crossing tight-clad legs as you place your coat on your lap, throwing your mane to one side to free that damned neck.

It must be on purpose.

He waits for you to settle, the headphones on the table in front of you enveloping your head. They look way too big on you, and Jungkook can’t decide whether to tut at his anguish or swoon at your stellar being.

Jungkook uses his headphones to communicate through the glass, raising a thumb to ask, “Ready?” You nod, matching his gestures with your own. “Be honest, how professional do I look?”

Carding the fine hair back, he pushes a hand into the pocket of his pants, taking a stand in front of the boom microphone. He mimes a typical grimace of an immersed artist, letting out an immediate, sweet chuckle that you chime in joyfully.

You lean in, long earrings brushing your jaw, pressing down the button for the talkback mic to assure through the intercom, “You look like a born star.”

He rolls his eyes, playfully clicking his tongue, “Ahhh, that’s a nice yet basic thing to say, but. I’ll take it.”

“Why did you go in there anyway? Weren’t you just going to show me a song?”

“Adlibs, baby. I’m still missing those.” He adjusts the headphones again, clearing his throat, almost in position. “But I didn’t warm up my voice, so I’ll need to re-record them anyway.”

“And still you’re straining your voice because…?”

“We’re here to impress you, so let me.”

Your finger lifts off the button, but the movement of your lips suggests to him undoubtedly what your teasing self might be mumbling.

Oh damn. Sorry then, boss.

You raise your hands in defeat until you detect his beguiled smile, raising your eyebrows in a clear question that he answers with two words; a simple title of a song, not as glorious as the tune itself but hopefully as memorable.

Eyes scurrying across the now opened laptop screen, you search for the instrumental until you stumble upon it. 3:54 minutes of what Jungkook prays to be blasted everywhere in a couple week’s time before the big concert, chiming in his ears.

The initial guitar riff drowns the room in a mixture of intriguing anticipation and uncurbed sentiments immediately. Jungkook’s eyes dart to your face, attempting to decode a reaction. And when you notice, hands on the headphones, you nod approvingly.

Most of his vocals are already recorded to perfection; a silky voice laments about a lost time with purity. Jungkook largely listens in, searching for wonky bits or moments to be re-tackled. Of course, he will need to discuss the details with Taehyung tomorrow, but whenever the passion burns the hottest, he can’t help but add an adlib here and there.

As he sings, his eyes reflexively close, and for a couple dozen seconds, the melodic current pulls him towards a bigger ocean; the sense of freedom and possibility is astonishing. There’s a certain ardour he feels towards music that nothing will ever be able to elicit.

Do you feel the same?

As somebody spending day in, day out surrounded by musicians, does that phenomenon make your heart surge, too?

Maybe.

When he looks at you again, it’s at least something fervent he detects in your gaze. A bit like the longing he feels. Intense fondness, or perhaps, even zoning out — until you’re barely blinking anymore.

Your features relax a little more as the song proceeds, bit by bit, the calmest when the ending notes arrive. Jungkook observes you; freezes at his spot. The change from the built-up chorus to the suddenly calm ending, instruments dying, are as forgotten as the last touches… because you, behind the glass, are much more interesting.

Just staring. Looking at the screen, its brightness reflecting in your pupils. When you blink again, most of the preceding smile is gone, something indecipherable in your eyes.

He doesn’t know whether you actually enjoyed the entire thing or became consumed by memories he doesn’t know of. Some the song might have drawn out but shouldn’t have. There’s… a past in your stare.

He knows because much like the vast existing humanity, he’s been tending to faraway memories for years, too.

And he wants to know about yours.

Gently, Jungkook grasps the headphones covering his ears, the mane victim to the impact before his fingers fix it again. He frees his eyes off his strands, never directing them away from you, and when he opens the door to the small room you drifted off in, you look up.

Your emerging smile is unsuspecting and polite as always, and you deliver a tilt of your head. Jungkook could sign the previous oddness off as just this, or a sinking into arts just as he does sometimes.

But what’s enough is enough; brushing questions off his mind has become tedious.

So he rolls back the second chair next to you to take a seat, placing his arm on the one of the furniture before folding his fingers; leaning in, asking, “You okay?”

You react with a soft nod, a tender hum, “Yeah! I was listening.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course.”

“You zoned out.”

“Which is a good thing, I promise.”

Jungkook looks for a moment. Waits for you to break or admit that the truth you display might not be as pure as you think; waits for his instinct to wind up correct.

But when you do nothing of that sort, eyes a resolute and solid statement, he sighs. Tongues at the lip ring for a moment before he clears his throat and questions, “Good thing, yeah? What else do you think?”

“It… goes deep,” you confess, an impressed declaration in your expressions, “what are you talking about in that one? I mean, I know, but… it sounds so personal.”

“More or less? I’ve spent most of the last few years dedicating myself to this job. The training, the late night sessions, the failure and lost time. I wanted to depict those hardships.” He nods, emphasising his points. “I want this song to help me look back one day…”

He shrugs his shoulders, thumbs slowly circling around each other, “And comfort my older self that despite the hectic life, things are okay.”

“I see.”

Your tone is neutral, but your chest rises and falls a little too slowly. Your sorrow is quiet. He closes the distance further, nudging your arm, “Hey. Did you not like it?”

“I did,” you defend, honesty and reassurance in your voice, “I do. You have an amazing voice, come on, what’s not to like. And the sound is incredible. Should you manage to release it, it will be celebrated a lot.”

“I will manage to release it,” he says with furrowed eyebrows, resisting the urge to touch your elbow again, but settling on simply calling your name instead, “you’re part of my team. Let’s be optimistic.”

“I am. Teamwork makes the dream work. Etcetera.”

“Right,” Jungkook breathes, word close to a yawn. He throws his body back in the cushioned chair, manspreading as much as the space allows; stretches his arms until his muscles crack. “Ahhh… I really want this to be good.”

His gaze falls to the darkening laptop, soon giving way to pitch darkness, potentially to some screensaver. The title of the song remains still in the opened audio file, and he smacks his lips, blinking only when you voice an approving, “Mhmmm.”

His head darts to you the moment you deliver a subtle nod towards the computer, deducting, “You really strive to be big.”

Well, yeah. That’s been the plan. Always, always.

“Shouldn’t I?” he argues. “It’s a dream.”

“It’s good to have dreams.”

“That’s right. Mine is to… Stand on a bigger stage. I think I’ve reached a solid group, but I think if I keep working hard and with the right team, I can make it?”

“This determined, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he responds with a hint of obvious self-evidence, slight confusion shadowing his mind — have you never wanted something so badly? “The audience’s eyes glued to me. Don’t you have a dream?”

Another deep inhale of air, chest working hard, as if you’re breathing out fatigue. He prepares for another vague answer that might leave him guessing; and albeit clearly seeing the usual curtain veiling your true thoughts, what you say next makes his ears perk up.

“Honestly. I’ll allow dreams again once I’ve moved on. That’s all I want.”

What?

Did you actually want to say that? Was it on purpose? A slip of the tongue?

Because it seems so unlike you. Reveals too much. He doesn’t think you’ve exposed your innermost thoughts like this before, even if still not quite transparent.

“…From what?” The previously relinquished distance dies when he inches closer again, digits sneaking close to your knee. A fingertip floats over your tights. “Hey. Is something bothering you?”

“Ugh,” you say; the sliver of sadness seamlessly transitions into an expression of nonchalance when you wave your concerns off so quickly. “Young adult stuff.”

Nevertheless, you speak on. The biggest development in this friendship between the two of you yet. “I once had a friend that moved away. We were pretty close, and now she’s far away. Which sucks.”

“I’m sorry.”

That’s it.

Jungkook offers to listen, but he doesn’t necessarily deem himself the most expressive guy when it comes to emotions like these; even if he so deeply wishes to read your thoughts. Music is different; speaking to an audience is, too. Articulating gratitude isn’t as difficult as extinguishing someone else’s grief.

And while not quite confronted with anguish, he houses demons that still haunt his nights; he can barely obliterate them.

Maybe he doesn’t need to.

Maybe he can comfort you in the only way he’s ever known. The stupid, selfish way; offering relief and distraction in the most sinful manner.

“Listen…” Jungkook starts, but in all honesty — there isn’t much to say.

Only to crave. To look.

At the curve of your lips. The distance between them. The bare wrist needing to be held, tired eyes wanting to replace the sorrow with something else.

Is he an asshole for wanting to annihilate your heavy breaths of dejection and replace them with sighs of his name instead?

He doesn’t know. He barely hears his thoughts. Only the blood rushing to his ears, and then away from his head, down his body.

Fuck.

The levitating finger drops an inch; you gasp almost inaudibly when the tip touches your knee, skin separated by the tights only. Jungkook loves fashion choices like these, but hates the hurdle right now.

His warm palm opens, placing right above your knee, approaching the meat of your thigh. He knows you’re not breathing because he can’t hear the exhales; and when his eyes, hooded and possibly insane, flit up to you, he recognises the change in your pupils.

You gulp; and then finally push out some air again. Your hand moves to his inked wrist, touching lightly, unsure what to do. But when you don’t resist, his other arm lifts, touch moving to your face, holding it.

The world spins, moving like an earthquake as his mouth draws nearer. You let out a miniscule sound that punches him in the guts; sweet and pure.

He wants to shatter and wreck you so bad; wants you to feel the same poison you’ve fed him. Irresistible, deadly.

But just as the metal of his jewellery grazes your lips, the softness and warmth radiating towards him, your breath shakes. Your face budges enough for his upper lip to feel a brush against yours, but that’s all he gets.

Because you retreat without giving in. And he doesn’t know why.

He clenches his jaw. God fucking hell. What’s your problem?

The sense of failure overwhelms him. Failure. Failure.

That’s not the term his mind should conjure. He knows the moral compass hides somewhere in his dark heart; he knows. Yet, he can never give into it. Is he a bad person? He doesn’t know.

Control was never his domain, after all.

But he keeps those intrusive thoughts inside, intending to not scare you off more than he already might have. So he accepts the dodging of the kiss, moving back, immediately leaving you safe from his touch.

And then, he says, “Uhm— I’m sorry.”

You don’t answer, still catching your breath, back to the heavy sighs that he was going to help shove back. Once again, he tries, “Honestly, I apologise, I just…”

“No, no. Please, don’t be sorry,” you reassure, slightly touching his shoulder. A wave of relief washes over him. “I’m just. Not in the right mindset for it yet. But I’m flattered, really.”

“Okay.” He nods. His eyes drop to his fingers; he still feels your heat on his skin, basks in it for a moment. But when the awkward silence lingers, he suggests, “Then. Let’s call it a night and I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Yeah, sounds good. I’m definitely getting tired.”

“Me too.”

Jungkook rises from his seat, still unable to wrap his head around what happens — or almost happened. Maybe another time. Grabbing your coat from behind you, he helps you into it, avoiding your eyes, trying not to showcase his frustration.

Uncertain what to say, he reverts back to small talk, stating, “Thanks for still coming so late. You really do like the song, yeah?”

“Jungkook… it’s honestly very good.”

You smile; there’s something about your honesty. About the way you say his name. And how hopeful you truly seem for him. How much you seem to mean it when you say—

“If there’s anyone who can manage to wrap the world around their finger, it’ll be you, Jungkook.”

“Alright. I think I have an answer to your question now.”

You down the sip of red wine with a delicate smack of your lips, blinking at the change in topic. The evening has followed a pleasant pace so far, conversations well balanced; even though you still carry a sense of caution that Jungkook sees no reason behind.

Perhaps it’s the fact that after weeks of subtle, flirty undertones and advancing attempts you’ve taken the seat on his couch as he’s imagined for so long now. Maybe he still exudes something that screams for caution; maybe that’s just who you are.

Jungkook, for one, is just glad to receive any kind of recognition from you. But he’d be a fool to not insert all his effort into tonight, from the food to the type of drinks and conversations. He knows where he needs to be and he wants you to want it, too.

“What question?” you ask.

It’s just.

Despite the lightness with which you carry your talks, some of your movements feel off, detached from your body. Not quite matching the grace your face portrays; just that one hint. The one hiding in your fingers, tapping the dark screen of the phone resting on your thigh.

As if you’re waiting for a call or something to happen that Jungkook isn’t aware of. Who knows. Nothing has happened in the last hour, so this might be an unconscious gesture reasoned in nothing but an absent or distracted mind.

Yeah.

You’re probably not even aware of it and he’s just overthinking it.

He takes a breath, inhaling the aroma of the almost finished wine, “What I’d do if I could spend a day in a virtual reality.”

“Wait, does the Wembley Stadium doesn’t count anymore?”

Jungkook smirks, dismissing his own prior answer with a click of his tongue. “C’mon. Does it really? You can ask literally any artist ever and that’s what they’ll say.”

You ponder his response, pursing your lips in thought, and then shrug one shoulder. Nodding along, you acknowledge, “Right. So what is it then?”

“I’d just.” He sucks air through his teeth sharply, leaning back with a signature smack of his lips. “Get into a reality in which this damn song is already finished and mixed and ready to be released.”

This song referring to the concoction of sounds he showed you earlier, yet to be concretised and burnished to what he truly envisions. It’s the only song left that shackles him to the studio; at the upcoming concert, he’ll just sing the demo version as a sneak peak if needed. What a source of stress.

But you don’t see it as much of a struggle; you’ve told him a dozen times that hard work justifies a slip-up. That the progress on his album balances out the artist’s block.

Possibly why you laugh his worry off without mocking it, merely throwing back, “I’m disappointed.”

Oh?

“Why?”

“Just because — the Wembley answer was better.”

Unexpected and sudden — much like the snicker you elicit, throwing his head back just a little. Concurring, he sighs, “Okay, okay. What about you then?” He cocks an eyebrow. “You didn’t tell me what you’d do.”

“You didn’t ask,” you remind him, already slurring your speech a bit, though still remaining a stable and solid stance, “dunno. You want the sappy or the basic answer?”

“Is the sappy one a tear-jerker? Sounds like it.”

“For sure.”

“Then the basic one. Don’t dig being sad.”

“Thought so,” you answer, and Jungkook holds back from prodding again this time, despite wondering what image he gets across, “alright. I’d do things I’m unsure of in real life. Like bungee jumping.”

“Oh? Kinda did not expect this.”

“No?”

“Just having a hard time imagining somebody as calm as you jumping off a building. Or yelling.”

You roll your eyes. “Anyway. I’d love to go, but I’m too scared of the risks. Like, rope stuff. Don’t want to be jumping for the last time.”

“Okay, yeah, but,” Jungkook starts, hesitating, “I mean, you could say that about anything. You leave your apartment and get hit by a car and then you’d be going out for the last time.”

You begin shaking your head mid-sentence, already drawing a breath, ready to disagree. Then, “That’s a bad comparison. These things are a once in a lifetime experience.”

“I’m just saying! Why hold back from things that excite you.”

“…Maybe you’re right.”

Jungkook’s proud nod and hum are reciprocated with a soft smile, fleeting when you roll your eyes back to your phone briefly. Absent-mindedly, you drag a fingertip across the device’s side as Jungkook follows your movements.

Yet, unsure what you might be harbouring in this pretty head of yours, he doesn’t ponder but asks, “What was the sappy thing?”

It’s as if you live multiple lives, hiding them in your innermost parts; because once he finishes his question, your sparkle returns, and you smirk a little, suddenly leaning forward.

Wordlessly, you fish a tissue out of the square, wooden box, puzzling him for a second until he understands right before you clarify, “For the upcoming tears.”

His titter is immediate, a reflex. You might be relaxed as a calm river, but your humour does shine through among your other million traits. He shakes his head in rejection, smile still plastered to his lips, and watches you lean back again, clearing your throat.

“Mhh, I’d say,” you muse, “I’d try to get into a simulation of Heaven. Try to meet those I miss.”

“Oh… damn.”

“Yeah.”

“…I don’t know what to say.”

But despite the dumbstruck silence, his mind does conjure prompt associations. Like when the two of you sat in his studio just two weeks ago, you engrossed in his music yet somehow dissociated from reality.

You spoke about lost and faraway people back then, too. And he didn’t ask then, either.

In the depths of his mind, he wants to believe that you’re trying to lead him somewhere, fishing for his hand but never quite reaching it. Drawing back right before pleading for help; or perhaps wanting to make him understand a thought he can’t fathom in the way you form it.

The pattern is repetitive, loud — but he knows you’ll retract the moment he does lean into you, offering his ear to your worries and thoughts.

He can’t win.

“That’s okay,” you say, making up for his lack of proper empathy, and that’s where you leave it. Not hesitating, not indicating another hint to lead to your mind.

Yet, he clears his throat quietly, licking drying lips, and asks in attempt to grip the truth, your whatever-truth, “And, who’d be there? Do you want to talk about that?”

“Mmmmh,” you hum, pondering, before you treat him with the same disappointment he’s suffered throughout the last weeks, “no. I think I’m good.”

Unbelievable, and truthfully, frustrating.

Are you playing this side of yours? Is it an act? Are two sides of you fighting within you?

“Okay,” he simply responds, clearly agitated but unsure whether you notice. You’re looking at your phone again. He sighs. “And… Do you believe in that stuff? Heaven, Hell, stuff like that.”

You shrug a bare shoulder. ��Dunno. I like to think there’s something, but then again I don’t.”

“How so?”

“The way I see it, it’s kinda simple,” you explain matter-of-factly, “some people are good enough to deserve a place in Heaven once they’re gone. And some people are terrible enough to burn for eternity.”

Coming from your sweet mouth, uttered in an equally soft tone, the sentence feels jarring. Jungkook has had these thoughts before; he’d be a hypocrite to judge you for yours, recalling moments when he wondered where he’s destined to land once he’s left this realm.

And somehow, it was never the prettier option.

Still, he utters, disguising his own past pondering, “Wow. That’s dark.”

“It’s true. There’s some serious crime in the world.”

Agreed. Perhaps, compared to the extreme sins, he can be forgiven. Right? Maybe…

“Yeah,” Jungkook accords, “then, why did you say that sometimes you don’t like believing in it?”

“I mean, if there’s actually something like Hell, and I happen to fuck up throughout life… I don’t wanna end up there.”

It’s like you’re mirroring his thoughts.

Even if he never quite thought about it to such an extent. Even though his idea of the afterlife built on what he’s already done, and not what he’s still going to do.

But your words give a subtle hope that redemption is possible. Who knows. Who really knows.

Perhaps it’s easiest to stray away from these thoughts and focus on you at this very moment. Even if it’s you triggering innermost fears; he doesn’t quite have a clue how you do it.

No matter. He’ll focus on you. Altruism might be the first step to vindication. Karma points. Karma points.

“Valid,” he says kindly, “can’t imagine you fucking up, though.”

“How would you know?”

“The company grapevine whispered a lil something about you.”

“Ahhh—”

“Good things! Other than that, I just think. Don’t know.” A small gap, well-hidden so far, grows in the back of his mind, tiptoeing to the very front of his mind. Before he’s thought it through, he blurts, “I’ll be honest with you.”

Your ears perk up, eyes suddenly wide.

What was that?

Okay. Whatever. Can’t stop his speech now, “Uhm, I’ll be honest and say that I’m not the best person I know. Like, I’m aware of that. It’s why sometimes, I don’t really understand how people can be as genuine as you.”

…Has he said too much? Or not enough? Because he could swear your face deflates, expression dimming, as if you expected something else.

And all you say is, “I understand.”

A flicker of slight panic creeps into his overthinking head, not usually a trademark of his personality. But you look dispirited, even if just for a second. He tries further.

“And from what I’ve seen, you go through life gently. The way you do anything is how you do everything, right?”

“Hmmm,” you voice again, pupils hidden until you look up. And when you do, he breathes a sigh of relief; deep and obvious, and he doesn’t care if you notice. Smiling sweetly, you tell him, “You said that really well.”

The way you say it is riddled with woe, but within a second, your eyebrows relax, mouth forming an authentic grin. Displaying real emotions suits you better than the mask of the frigid ice queen you keep plastered to your face; you look different right now.

Vulnerable.

And it makes him want you more.

Does it have something to do with the warm light he chose for this room? No. It doesn’t shine brightly enough to really illuminate your face that much. With the intensity lowered beforehand, some of your features hide in the dark when you lower your head a little.

And it’s not the decent amount of alcohol the two of you slurped.

It’s the usual, mysterious shimmer in your eyes, begging to take off more of your mental layers. The fragility behind the pretence of invincible strength. No doubt, you’re still a textbook definition of a femme fatale.

Still, there’s some sweet urge to surrender, visible in your stance. A fragrance luring him in. Warm skin close to his; calling for his fingers.

And he’s at your beck and call, ready and motivated; giving into your wanting eyes — or is that his own desire he’s confusing? — and leaning in. A little more with each tiny moment, advancing until the tips of your noses meet.

Your warmth consumes him; your breathing quickens, resulting in fitful exhales that he takes in with vigour, much drowning in his own head until you gasp and he realises—

“Sorry,” he mumbles, not yet retracting. His hand touches your knee, carefully but with intention. Waiting, he asks, “Is that okay for you?”

“…I’m not sure.”

Your answer takes a seat on his ego and weighs it down. Harsh, sudden, perhaps not unexpected but definitely breaking a string of patience within him. But consent is consent; he understands. He’s grown now.

Yet…

“Fuck,” he whispers under a faint sigh, dejected and confused.

And you hear it. Bambi-eyed, you ask, “What?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

He’d lie if he suppressed the disappointment. Working towards you for weeks was supposed to end in realising his fantasies into a palpable, actual feeling, with a side achievement of a deeper connection.

You don’t seem to want to provide it; he understands, but the agitation courses through him like a fire burning up a forest. The trees are his nerves; alight with different emotions. You’re fumbling with the soft cotton of your winter dress, and he averts his eyes.

Shutting them for a moment, he ponders his options; does he continue the awkward conversation? Or perhaps, ask you for your opinion straightforwardly? Maybe, after all this while, it wouldn’t be so stupid to swap a penny for your thoughts.

And his mouth opens, but it seems you’re faster. Crushing his questions and uncertainties when he hears you gulp, witness to another change of mind as your knee shifts forward. His eyes open rapidly, and when he looks at you again, you’ve moved closer.

Your leg touches his thigh; your eyelids half fallen, lips an inch apart and fingers hesitating, yet advancing towards him. Hope sparks and sparkles in him anew, and he suppresses the cheeky, triumphant smile.

He feels like an asshole. Oh, he feels so selfish — but he can’t be the only one. He cannot possibly be the first or last to give into deepest desires out of self-interest.

Carefully, he matches your pace, moving into your direction much like you are drawing into his. His hand lifts to your arm, and you suck in a breath as he touches your skin, your chest rising and falling deeply.

And his eyes observe. The motion drives him crazy. He wants to pilot his touch to this spot, wrap his palm around your mounds, desperate to feel your nipples perk up under his skin, your mouth fall wider.

Should he? Maybe, maybe—

Not yet.

Instead, he draws an invisible line with his fingertips, up your arm and to your shoulders until he reaches your neck. The sound you let out is so tiny he barely hears it, and you tilt your head to the other side, giving him free reign over your skin.

A spark lights up under his finger, as if he’s touched a defective bulb. He wonders if you feel the same flame when he charges for your jawline, tracing it for a moment before he moves to your seething hot cheek.

You’re burning up.

So he asks in a quiet, gravelly voice, somehow much lower than usual, “Are you okay?”

Your eyebrows are furrowed, and he starts to worry again; but maybe that’s just the same tension unleashing that he’s felt, too. The temptation runs deep; he could scream it out of his lungs and it wouldn’t be enough.

Relieved as you nod, he mimics the movement, whispering an, “Okay,” before he then dips forward, exhaling close to your neck hotly and… leaves a small kiss right there. He doesn’t know about you, but if you did that to him, he’d possibly faint.

One more kiss, and suddenly, your hand is on his knee. His head spins. Must be the alcohol. Must be you.

And you’re probably in no better state, judging the hot cheeks and the slight sway of your body. Must be the wine. Must be him.

And when his lips graze your jaw, your fingers curl in, clawing onto his knee, and his inner voice celebrates, “Jackpot.”

But not really. He’s going with the flow, exploring your preferences, but this needs to be the night of your life. His mind and ego want you to perceive it that way. So what should he do? What do you like?

Are you one to push him into the bed, holding his shoulders down? Straddling him keenly, pouncing on him, eyes rolled back?

Or do you give away all the power you usually emanate; hands bound with a tie, legs struggling between a rope, screams muffled under a gag? Do you wind and go crazy when somebody has their way with you, edging and then overstimulating, refusing a touch and then slapping your ass wound…

Should he let your siren eyes tempt him into submission or will you be the one drilled into his mattress with a hand around your neck and a trail of black mixed with tears under your eyes?

He doesn’t know. Because you’ve disguised all of you; hidden your mind behind a mask of absolute neutrality, hard to decipher. He can usually read women so easily. They lick their lower lips when they want him under them, and quiver when vice versa.

He’d oblige to either for you. So what does it matter in the end, anyway?

No, it doesn’t.

His tongue that lashes out, however, does matter. Tasting your skin as it drags over your chin and then to your mouth. Insane when he reaches your lower lip and you sigh, then back to your neck, blowing, teasing, still not kissing you… touching your thigh, moving inwards…

“What do you want me to do?” he asks.

And this time, while still a little quiet, you finally say, “More. You can do more.”

“Yeah?”

You nod as if starved, relieved when his hands leave your leg and venture further in. It’s hidden under your dress, but somehow, not seeing your full glory just yet, but observing your reactions to his movements, stirs his thoughts. If any were left, that is.

The touch to your panties is light, tender as he reaches the hem, driving a finger underneath it in exploration. You don’t say much, but he sees the zeal in your eyes, murmuring a little, “Mhm…”

And when he finally presses against the fabric slowly dampening, lightly as he rolls his digits right where your skin so incredibly softens… you moan. You moan.

It doesn’t sound the way he imagined. But it kind of does. He doesn’t remember what he imagined — doesn’t know much at all. Just that he wanted this sound to echo within his walls. For him to be the one to drag it out. Not for anybody else, but him.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Okay. What if he does… this…

Thought so.

Sometimes, human beings have a fantasy unmatched, don’t they? Able to form and reform expressions on people they know that they have never seen. For example, he can imagine what you look like when you cry. Or when you’re mad. Or…

He knew you’d press your lips together, along with your eyebrows, muffling your sound once he sought out your clit and pressed against it. And not because he’s seen other women contort their faces like this; no… it’s an entirely new sensation with you.

You don’t compare to anyone. Nobody compares to you. Nobody, ever.

Sick of watching the invisible movement under your dress, he lets his eyes wander to yours, and you notice, do as he does. Eyes hooded, staring at him as if drunk — possibly, probably drunk.

Just once, he gapes down again, trying to adjust without crushing your knees with his. Comes closer. Then looks back at you. Absolutely astonished by the coloured lips drying up. Seeing your tongue peak behind your upper teeth, pushing against them.

Then you’re blinking, several times, not rapidly, but enough to indicate that you’re losing yourself, too. And then there’s some melancholy behind your gaze; he can’t say where it derives from… you seem to be coming out of a room that you kept dark for long enough.

He can’t say whether he’s further dimming the light in that room or lightening it up — and as he advances, gauging your reactions, he inwardly hopes it’s the latter.

So inwardly. So desperately.

Patience only persists for a moment; Jungkook barely believes in it. People always break. And he does when you lean forward as he drags his finger between your pussy lips, still over the clothing. You balance your weight with your arms, holding yourself up.

And then…

You so tantalisingly, softly, quietly, whisper his name.

Okay.

The snap was expected. The sigh he lets out was expected. And the way his lips finally crash against yours, making you almost fall back onto the sofa was expected, too.

But your taste… Why did he know you’d be as sweet as a cliché, like a perfume made edible? Matches your mystery and your elegance.

And the mellow, yet wanting sounds fit every move he makes. Like the moan-sigh combination when his bold hand wraps around the bun you’ve arranged your hair into. How you breathe into the kiss when he tilts your head a little, and then proceeds to loosen up said bun.

Releases it. Lets your hair fall. Pulls you in, pausing the make-out in the process, and then diving back in with a greed he’s never been met with before.

And as he kisses you, his index finger still dips into the uncharted territory below, ruining your panties some more as he soaks them; fucking loving how you whimper as a result.

No… this is ruining him just as much.

So he draws back from your body, attempting and probably failing not to look at you like an animal glaring down at his prey, ready to devour. He’s never seen this expression himself, but one or two girls have uttered quiet, “Oh-oh,” in such moments before — do you see the danger, too?

Or is he being cocky? But it’s not his fault. You make him cocky because he can never fucking say what you think! Of course he’d need the mental praise to himself — your opinion on him is too difficult to decipher.

He’ll keep the energy up. Make you shrink in his hold.

Hands under your ass, he lifts your lower body a little, amused by your wide eyes and how you wonder, “What are you d—”

Silencing the moment he uses his palms’ position to grab the hem of your panties and pull them down your legs. Over them and then on the other side of the table. The two of you won’t need those tonight.

“What does it look like that I’m doing?” he teases, smirk effective and permanent.

He likes that about himself. Maybe you’ll do, too. If not, then you at least do like how his fingers, impatient, find their way back home again, not before lifting your dress to your hips until you’re bared to him the way he’s craved.

And he pauses.

Oh, this treasure…

“You…” he starts, moving two ring-clad fingers between your folds. Testing the waters. “I’m not letting you go anywhere tonight. You’re staying right here…” He leans forwards, body on body, whispering against your lips. “Trapped under me.”

You want to answer, he thinks. Your eyebrows relax for a second, an inebriated smile playing around your mouth. If he knows you well enough, he’d guess you’re urging to dive back into your witty remarks.

But none of it is possible just yet. Because when he caresses your pussy again, increasing the pace without being too unreasonably fast, you bite your lip. He urges you to release it with his tongue. And when you do, his finger plunges in; as deeply as it can. So easily, too.

He kisses your clavicles the moment your nails get ahold of his arms, wiggling underneath him, but still caged in. And he sees the built-up frustration; how you kept yourself at bay, but can barely do it now. How you yearn for just one or two more right touches here and there before…

But before he can, he stops. Immediately, unexpectedly for you. Once again, mean, but…

“You’ll thank me later,” he utters — and with those four measly words, something awakens in you that was hidden for just the last ten minutes.

“Oh? You… you’re confident like this.”

“Of course I am.”

“Jungkook…” you say in such frustration that he thinks you’ll beg some more. But you don’t. Instead, you shake your head and say. “Men rarely manage to…”

“This isn’t rare. I’m not giving you rare, ‘kay?”

“I…”

“How…” he readjusts your body, pulling you down the couch, shifting until his knee keeps your legs apart. “How fucking insulting.”

Do you hear any of this anymore? Because your eyes are closed again. Hands still holding on; and… and body winding in order for your cunt to shift closer to him, suddenly rubbing against his knee.

It’s all you can get at the moment since his hands are so far out of reach. And the satisfaction of knowing that you’ll strive for anything at all is cosmic.

“You’re ruining my jeans,” he mocks, clicking his tongue as if to reprimand.

“Then…” You hook a finger into one of his jeans’ loops, pulling and then releasing again. “Take them off, coward.”

You don’t have to tell him twice. They say that if you have waited for so long, what’s ten more minutes? But no more. Not another second.

So he obliges immediately as he mutters, “‘Kay,” offering a helping hand when you work on his shirt. Off and to the ground. Pants off and to the back of the couch. He already knows he’ll be finding them all scattered the next morning.

But that’s the problem of just that next-morning-self.

Boxers still on, he returns to give you another initial taste of what’s to explode. The dress moves up from your hip as he slides it over your skin, stopping right under the mounds he’s still so curious about.

He needs to keep this balanced. Rush as much as might be appropriate, but not too much to make things embarrassing. This… the way he leans down again, opening your legs, erection grinding against your pussy and offering the bare minimum… this is good enough for now…

Or maybe not. Because merely a couple seconds later, you halt mid-moan, letting out breathy words that he struggles to understand until you repeat, “Is that… all you’ll be doing tonight?”

“Hmmm, you want more?”

“I— I don’t know.” Pause, a gulp when he presses his clothed length between your cunt. “Are you going to tell me your secrets if I say yes?”

His secrets?

You must be kidding. He has been an open book to you, chasing you around; if anything, he needs to unravel your mind.

But for that, he needs to play along. So he feigns the same mystery you emanate, teasing, “What do you wanna know?”

And you don’t hesitate. “Everything.”

…Hmm…

You’ve never seemed as interested as you are now. Never dove into his thoughts and the dim heart like now. If he agreed now, would you blurt out something specific? Questions that you formed when he wasn’t paying attention?

No idea. Maybe that’s something to worry about later. Pillowtalk. The morning after talk. Just anything… just not now.

He removes the obstacles currently standing between the two of you. The cushion standing against the back of the couch, constantly falling into your face. He throws it on the ground, so you don’t have to keep swatting it away.

Then, the dress covering your body. He gives a sign of wanting to proceed, and you play along, lifting yourself, chasing his lips as your outfit follows the cushion. And then, the phone right underneath the small of your back, having snuck there, undetected until you yelp, “Oh!”

“What?”

“Cold. Don’t know how it got there.”

He fishes out the device, watching it light up, a notification at the top that he can’t decode and that he doesn’t pay any mind to. Puts it on the coffee table. Then… last but not least… the uncertain atmosphere.

He says, “You want to know everything? Then make a list. I’ll tell you if I feel like it… deal?”

“You’re so…”

“You gotta make me. No other way out, baby.”

An answer lies on your tongue, ready to disrupt the moment. He knows because you look distracted all of a sudden, possibly still thinking about the same thing you did before, dissociating as he sat next to you, wine in hand.

It’s probably about work. Or about Taehyung — God, nobody at work but Jungkook would know, but you mention that guy all the time.

But tonight is not the night to think of others. So he shakes your upcoming inquiries away, giving you no time to think about it further as he, thirsty and impatient, picks you up and off the couch.

Right into his lap. Right onto his cock.

Still a layer between the two of you, watching you grind immediately. For a moment, you put him under your spell, urging him to stay right there and not move away until he’s shot buckets of cum into his boxers.

But…

But he’d rather do it in you, with you, because of truly you.

So he wastes no second as he executes his former plan, large hands sprawling over your ass before he stands with willpower and strength. He throws you a couple inches into the air, making you adjust, and then moves.

Away from the couch, stepping onto the clothes on the floor, careful not to stumble and hurt the two of you. The way to the bedroom seems endless, and you so naked… so… so his for the night. Like what, he still needs to wait those couple square metres?

Fuck, how…

No. It must be a primal instinct that hankers him to give up already, having made it halfway through the room and almost to his bedroom when he suddenly stops. Pinning you against a random free spot at the wall, right under a silent clock.

“What are you…?”

Your voice is trembling, for some reason so incredibly small. For the first time since you lay beneath him on the couch, he sees your eyes properly, and they flit back to the couch as if you’re looking where you just departed from — and then back to him.

“What are you looking for?” he whispers. Tantalisingly, he brings his fingers to your chin, pinching it lightly as he raises your head. “Hm? I’m here. Do you want to go back? Missing the couch? Wall might not be as comfortable, huh…”

“No… that’s not a problem. I’m just… surprised by the change.”

You do look surprised. A little cheekier again as your tone rises, your head falling to the side, lips smiling as if to distract him from something bigger. As if there’s anything bigger in existence right now than you.

“It was just sudden,” you conclude.

“Is that bad?”

“Not at all. I’m just curious.”

He doesn’t need to ask what about. He sees it in this expecting gaze of yours that you want to read and decrypt his next steps. And you can have them.

Because he lets you go, making you fall silently on your feet, kissing you once before he falls to his knees. You groan when he grabs your leg, placing it on his shoulder, restless when his lips charge for your open folds.

He offers you, “Curious, huh? No need,” before kissing your clit, adding another, “Just indulge in it… no need to use your pretty brain today,” and then attaching his mouth and tongue to your dripping pussy.

Digging his large nose into you, tickling your nub, he swirls his tongue around, slurping you up like his favourite drink. Holy fuck, you taste good. He could eat you up, down you in one like a shot. Stay right here all night.

You get ahold of a patch of his hair, but don’t pull — somehow, he wishes you would. Instead, you seem to focus on your body, trying not to fall, keeping it upright. You’re winding, your leg moving, and he soon wraps an arm around your thigh to keep you from stirring too much.

And with the other, he targets your cunt, mouth moving up to make space for the digits to easily, effortlessly slide into you. You gasp, just a bit louder when the metal touches your hot sex, calling his name — and for possibly the first time, he hears you curse, “Fuck. Fuck, I’m— I’m going to pass out.”

Oh my God.

If he could lick you to unconsciousness, he’d feel shocked and proud at once. He wants to see you become weightless, wants to catch you in his arms, and then bring you to his bedroom, still delirious, and fuck your brain out of you.

He wants you so bad. He wants to fuck you so fucking badly. His cock aches, godfuckingdamn.

As he rolls his tongue, lips kissing yours, moving his head left and right as he makes out with your pussy, he almost pulls all the way through. Nearly gives into your body language, nose moving over your clit, fingers pumping in and out, breathing into your pussy hotly.

But he has other plans. He wants to see your damn tears; wants you to unleash all your desperation. So, just when your sounds change, less pauses between them, high-pitched, heavy breathing, he stops.

Draws back, watching you press your ass into the wall, head suddenly hanging low. You whisper, “No…” as he looks up in satisfaction, waiting for you to say more.

You’re out of breath, exhaling through half gritted teeth, a palm on his chest as he rises again. You declare, “I’m going to blueball you, too.”

But the adrenaline has poured buckets of confidence over Jungkook already, and he’s drenched in it as much as in your scent, cocking an eyebrow as he challenges, “You can try.”

“I’m gonna suck your dick so fucking slow.”

“Do it,” he keeps the mask up, wondering how much of the effect you saw upon gracing him with such a provocative image, “let’s see if you make it this far. Might just fuck you into space before that, you know?”

He lets out an unsteady breath, a strand of your hair swaying upon impact. His hand taps at your thigh, testing whether you’ve closed your legs again; and as he realises that you haven’t, much to his pleasure, he palms your pussy, heel of his hand pressing against your clit.

“You’re trying to set me off, because you know you can, right?” he questions, for a split moment distracted by the teeth gnawing at your lower lip. “Smart of you. You are truly smart, babe… but you’re also mine tonight. So don’t play games.”

A slap lands on your vulnerable pussy, and he understands your frustration as you open your mouth, the lower lip previously captive rolling back into place. Soft and gorgeous.

No matter the fading distance, there’s still something inexplicable in the air, as if he can’t really separate a dream from reality. As if he needs evidence that this isn’t yet another figment of his imagination; the ones he’s awoken from several times, underwear threatening to burst.

The hand just torturing your cunt wanders up your body and settles around your neck, like a chain or a necklace or a motherfucking leash. He feels home here, just like this. With your fingers on his wrist, gulping under his touch.

Pinned firmly against the wall, he looks down to where you’re dripping and he’s standing tall, gripping the ever-twitching length that is begging for more. Begging for relief. He’s doing this to himself — because his body is burning up, as if scorched by sun flares.

He’s doing this to the both of you.

The kiss underneath your ear as he leans in. And the still harmless yet sinful touch between his tip and your folds. How he holds the shaft firmly, leading the head between your pussy lips, teasing until just an inch intrudes your awaiting hole.

He moans the moment you do, moving, fucking just the first of the tip into you; scrambling his own thoughts as he says, “God, I could just slide in… you’re so, so wet.”

“What… why say this if you won’t do it?”

Guess you’ve figured him out well enough. Guess that’s the cockiness you implied when you called him a fuckboy in that stupid museum. Or how you kept a safe distance — because thinking about it, maybe Jungkook could be someone to break somebody’s heart.

No. He knows he is. But…

He shakes the thought off his brain, returning to this very moment where you’re waiting for his answer, a heart made of steel. You won’t let him hurt you; you know better than that. You could dodge him easily.

Mentally, at least. Physically, you’re under his mercy.

So he uses this weakness, muttering under his breath, “I will, I will… but not here. We can do better than here.”

Wasn’t this just a pit stop after all? What he’s seeking is still waiting in his bedroom, soft sheets spread over the cold mattress, waiting for a body to warm it up. Or two.

Already hot and bothered, Jungkook lets you go entirely; and the next minute happens in a blur, as though he’s struggling with recognising his own apartment. Suddenly self-conscious about everything and nothing at once.

With you in his grip, he walks along the dark, small corridor; then past the paintings, through the door, into a well-managed, tidy bedroom until he’s sat your ass down. It happens within the tiniest moment — he could narrate how you got here but he can barely recall it.

Dick at the same height as your mouth, he wraps his hand around it. You don’t initiate anything of what you promised, looking into his eyes with a question; he knows you want to avenge yourself and provide the same vanity, but you’d rather skip to the best part.

He wants to, too.

So he doesn’t ram his cock into your mouth, hitting the farthest spot until you gag. Instead, he relishes the image mentally and quietly, fantasising about the warmth of your spit, about the tongue swirling around.

And then… then he goes a step further and imagines the even extended pleasure if he dug into your pussy now, maximising whatever your mouth could make him feel.

Are his thoughts too straight-forward? If he spelled them out like this, one by one, would you find him weird? Too eager? Obsessed?

Maybe he should slow down. Just a bit.

Which is why he holds his shaft closer to you, still surprised when you don’t open up, hints of the past confusion alternating with your confident, mysterious, teasing self. It’s weird to witness. But your eyes are still hazy at least. You don’t seem to want to stop.

God. He can’t figure it out. Not figuring out is agitating even in this moment.

But… good energies. Good energies. All the pent-up frustration needs to be morphed into sheer craze. He can do that.

“Spit on it,” he orders.

You only hum. Something in your gaze changes again, eyelids fluttering, as if awoken from trance. But you’re willing. Immediately mimicking him as you bring a thumb to a mole on the protruding veins. Tracing them, all the way back to his balls until you touch them just lightly, but enough for him to nearly lose his shit.

“Fuck, I said,” he reprimands, though delighted by the sudden rapture, “spit on it.”

You nod as if carrying out a task given by your manager; perhaps used to the last days and weeks when he’d command you around. Ask for another meeting, or for your opinion on a song, or just to keep him company to keep him productive.

Or, to keep you close to him. Lost in thoughts. Many thoughts. And even though none of them became a reality in that room, none of the equipment shoved aside to sit you on the desk, this… this right here is more than enough.

You suck in your cheeks, collecting spit, and when you lean forward… you make such a mess. Spitting onto the tip, a string still connecting your lips and his dick, leftover saliva dripping down your chin and then on your tits.

The view is… worth diamonds.

Do you even know?

“Okay,” he utters, no real direction in his mind, no real sentence to utter. “Okay.”

But you’re equipped with ideas, immediately getting onto the trail you left, spreading the spit over his cock, down to the base. The tip and the slit glisten, traces of precum mixing with your drool, but it’s not enough to cover his length all over.

So he mutters a mental, “More,” to himself, tapping your lips until you open, sticking two of his fingers in and pressing against your tongue. Lubricating his digits, he rolls them over your tongue, far enough to nearly make you gag until he draws back.

Watching you work on him rolls a wave of satisfaction over him. He’s proud, enduring like this. Because judging from the creature you are, as if jumped out of dark mythology, he truly expected to give up way earlier.

But he remains steadfast; eager to not explode until he’s filled you up first. Drawn out your own highs.

“Sweetheart, aren’t you a good one?” Jungkook praises, helping you out with whatever his fingers gathered in your mouth. Then, grabs your wrist, pushing you away, hovering above you with a, “Turn around.”

You gulp again. Then shift back on his bed, sighing as you feel the soft silk underneath your skin, kissing and hugging your body. The sight is gorgeous, with you fleeing to the back of the mattress, obliging so easily. Prey.

And…

“Holy fuck.”

Holy fuck, how you look when you finally get into position. Ass up, upper body down. And the arms over your head? What in the world.

Okay… okay…

Wait. You’re saying something.

His knees dig into the mattress, hand unconsciously pumping his cock — he doesn’t even know when he started — as he moves closer, over your body. Kisses your shoulder, bringing his ear close to hear before, “Huh? What’d you say?”

“I’m already so spent.”

“Ah… do you want to stop?”

“No… you made me feel spent. But you’re not done, are you?”

Pause. Bright smirk. Then, “Of course not. Does it feel like it?” Another kiss to your shoulder, wet this time. “Condom or not?”

“Oh.” Seems you hadn’t even thought about this yet. Kind of nice. “I’m… I use an IUD. Have you… slept with many people lately?”

No answer yet. He thinks. Thinks back to the several weeks since he met you. Should he say it? Would you back away if he did? Years ago, there’d be no debate about it — he wouldn’t have told you. Kept it to himself.

Perhaps there’s still a part of him that’d dodge your question, but he somehow feels like you’d see through him. Hear the insincerity.

Fuck, is that selfish? Maybe. Doesn’t he already know that he is? But he’s not bad; and people are selfish.

So a second later, he truthfully admits, “Once. Two or so weeks ago. Nothing special though, just dumb, drunk shit. Some girl from a club. And I tested after.”

As soon as the sentence finishes, he wonders if you deem yourself just another one of those. But… in all honesty. She was a one night stand whose sounds, name, dirty talk did nothing to him.

All he could imagine was you. Perhaps not out of loyalty, but surely out of curiosity.

He can’t fathom his thoughts into feelings yet; he still wouldn’t describe his attitude towards you as falling in love or anything. That’d be too far stretched. But he thought about it — that maybe he liked you too much.

Yet, his heart remained empty; but his body never did. He feels bad; and still, he won’t deny whatever his skin and mind whisper to him.

Other than that, he could probably declare with quite a firm certainty that you don’t feel any different about him. You can’t be.

So maybe this is good enough for now.

“But know what?” he says, voice lower, repeating his thoughts. “Could only imagine what it’d be like if it was you. This pussy,” strokes his cock along your cunt, “and this body,” touches the small of your back, “these thoughts got me going. And you’re so much better in reality.”

“Mmmh,” is all you utter, nearly hiding your face in the pillow before you say, “maybe… maybe we can still use a condom then.”

Shit. Expected it.

But okay. Okay.

Where are the condoms again… bedside table? No. He used the last one ages ago, before he knew you. He gets up; walks to the closet; somewhere near his socks, there must be a new pack. A moment to think.

For a second, he looks back at you. You’re still the same, only with the ass having dropped again, losing balance and energy. And maybe, you’re still drunk, too — probably, because even he still feels the world spin, careful not to close his eyes for too long.

Okay. One… no, two foils out. As he turns back to you, nearing you, his head is just a little calmer than a minute again, and he wonders… were all the thoughts his own? The past half an hour or however much passed, didn’t he spiral more and more?

Did you notice? He shakes his head. Who cares?

Not him, not right now. He keeps telling himself that with a goddess waiting in front of him on all fours, he probably doesn’t need to worry about anything unless there’s a reason to. You’ve been cooperative and the night has been successful, minus the strange gazes you keep throwing at him periodically.

“Alright, baby. Up you come,” he mumbles, bringing your ass back to his crotch. His hands are already trained and incredibly skilled; doing work on the condom doesn’t take him more than a couple seconds. “I should tell you now.”

You pause. Suck in some breath, as if expecting something in particular. You agree with an unmatched thirst for knowledge, “…Tell me.”

“I don’t tend to go easy. If you need me to be, you’ll have to tell me. ‘Kay?”

“I… I can take a lot more than you think.”

Fuck. He’ll wreck your shit. “Perfect. You’re honestly a good one, huh? Such a good girl for real, no— no, you’re the best.”

Is he just saying whatever now? Perhaps he should stop boring you and get to it. Right? Please, the goddamn, blood-filled tower down there is desperately imploring him to.

He collects spit like you did before, targeting your glinting pussy, one blob right onto it. Then, he brings his fingers back to where they love to be, distributing the filth between your folds. And then, two fingers into the tightening hole.

Right before moving north, between your ass cheeks, thumb rolling over your other clenching hole.

And you tense immediately, without saying a word, taking it quietly. Then… then he finally starts.

Brings the annoying rubber to your soaked pussy, poking for a second before he gets serious and eventually dips in. The free hand raises your ass some more, and he shifts forwards, your butt backwards, helping him get in further.

He hears the reaction. Hears the almost-screech in a second, nails biting into the pillow over your head. You hold onto it for dear life as he slowly bottoms out, your sporadic breathing and high-pitched moans mingling with his own bursts of lust.

Deep creases appear between his eyebrows, lips bitten sore, and once his waist has finally connected with your ass, he takes a deep, long inhale. Watches your face disappear deeper into the pillow, sounds muffled.

Enjoys it for a moment before he starts moving slowly. Out, in. Concentrating before he might spill too early. Beads of sweat shimmer on his forehead, dampening the hanging strands of hair. You feel good. Too fucking good—

He wants to go off right away. But… focus.

“How’s that?” he asks.

“Stop… stop talking.”

Oh. Bold. But a good sign, isn’t it? If you wanted him to stop, you’d say it. So he keeps going… dares just a little more, courageous, encouraged by your cooperation. Explores your ass and what lies between the cheeks more, groaning before he says, “You stop that.”

His hand reaches for your wrists, keeping you from tearing his pillow and leading your fingers to where his touched your ass before. You keep your touch there, unmoving until he says, “Keep them apart.”

And you seem to understand. His thumb returns to your unoccupied hole as his cock impales your pussy whole, still going at a tormenting pace. Thick and soaked, he’s splitting you in two; maybe that’s why the slow plunges are such a plague. Because both of you know there could be more.

Pulling your ass cheeks apart, you remain with your face in the sheets, arms trembling as he circles your hole again. He doesn’t know if you’re into this; doesn’t know if you’ll protest. So far, he’s been pretty obvious with his intentions, and he’s sure you must understand this one, too.

And you’re not fearful; if something bothered you, you wouldn’t hesitate to voice your displeasure. So he spits one more time, right onto his thumb, using the lubrication to carefully, curiously dip the tip of his thumb into your ass.

You yelp immediately; as your hole tightens around the little bit of his thumb, your pussy narrows around his cock, too, and he nearly loses it. Nearly drools onto your back as his mouth drops open, blinking rapidly for a second.

God, your body reacts with such intensity. Still, he makes sure, “Too much?”

And you, candidly, reply, “I don’t know. I… think so.”

“Okay. Then I’ll sto—”

“No. No, wait… I want to— I want to know what it’s like.”

Thought so. He knew that underneath all the chic charade, you crave just as much as he does. And if it’s him that you long for, then what even stands between him and the rocket shooting his ego to the sky?

This feels good. Really good… not just physically. You lift his spirits.

Ready with an exhale, he dares his thumb deeper, letting more of it disappear in you. Out of all the women he’s ever been with, not more than a handful has been willing to venture into this part of sexual desire. Most of them can’t stand the discomfort, and some of them don’t feel any particular way about it.

But you lay open to him in every way possible. An open book for once; easy to read, as if calculating how you wind, planning how to sound, guiding him fearlessly.

Soon, he’s adjusting his thrusts to your moans, and you’re adjusting your moans to his thrusts. Synchronised, the two of you groan and cry out together, and he makes sure to keep you filled to the brim, reducing the pauses between the shoves bit by bit.

Until…

“Hey,” he whispers, waiting for you to react, but as he pumps into you, slowly yet balls-deep, you don’t do anything much but scream into the pillow. So he just continues, “How much do you think you can take, baby?”

“I… I’m—”

You’re attempting your best, but you’re tongue-tied. With each push, he catapults your body forwards, but your mind is long lost in the stratosphere. With gritted teeth and a rising, heavily breathing, golden chest, he leans in close to you, hand snaking under you and around your neck as he retries, “So?”

“I don’t know,” you blurt, and as you raise your head and look back at him, he sees a sight to behold — mascara underneath your eyes, lipstick smeared, a quivering chin. He’s fucking you so good; he must be, because you soon add, “Just do an—and I’ll let you know.”

“Good idea. Very good idea.”

He’s fucking you good. But it’s not all he’s got; not all he’s wanted for days and weeks.

No. If he unleashed all he’s been fabricating in his mind, he’d drench your cheeks in tears. And now that you permitted him to, he might just go ahead, right?

Right.

Which is why the next steps come easy to him, naturally, as if you pressed a button he’s been waiting to smash. A big, red one, like the ones in games urging you to not touch or you’d lose. But by God, right now, he’s not losing.

If he looked into his reflection in the dark window, he’d see a winner through and through.

A fiery rage courses through his burning veins. A face contorting when he lets you go, only to move his fingers back, wrapping them around the back of your neck. Shoving you into the mattress, ramming his cock into you, once more keeping the familiar pace and then—

And then he closes his eyes. Matches an expression to your yelps. Drives into your deepest core and picks up speed until, all of a sudden, it turns jarring.

Jungkook doesn’t get enough. He doesn’t know if he ever will; damn the approaching end of this. There shouldn’t be one; he should be capable of ruining you forever. Maybe he will be.

For now, he directs his thoughts fully on how you feel and how you sound, uncaring about the jagged breathing that burns up his chest. Leaning forward, he attempts twice until he catches your ears, nibbling at your earlobe.

At first, he doesn’t know if you register the touch, given that he’s occupying you with far crazier sensations. But then you reach out a hand, panting into the pillow, grabbing a patch of his hair.

And he, fired up and insane, leans back, gripping your wrist, removing it from his mane and pinning it to your back instead. Your face moves to the side, not muffled by the pillow anymore, and you gasp for air before you beg, “Please, I’m about to—”

That’s all you get, because he soon interrupts with a cheeky, “You can hold on for a bit longer,” pausing on purpose. He wants to see you when you come. Wants to wipe more of your make up across your face. Wants to kiss the colour of your lipstick onto his own lips.

Letting your orgasm fade, he waits, just a couple seconds, allowing you to catch your breath until your eyebrows furrow. You blink repeatedly, then looking up into his eyes, and it’s all he needs to feel his patience dissipate again.

Jungkook gets into a new position, leaving one knee deep in the mattress while angling the other leg, planting its foot on the sheets. He keeps his cock from falling out, leading the tip and the shaft back in before he resumes to fuck you wound.

Your arm is still hostage to his grip, the nails of your other hand gripping the sheet for dear life. It’s gorgeous, the view from where Jungkook looks down at his meal. Crazy how you purr and whine when he leans in, touching your swollen clit, electrifying you. And he keeps looking at you.

At the upper body waving a white flag, too weak to keep yourself upright anymore. And then, the ass in the air staying firmly at its place, his dick aiding you, the flesh of your cheeks wobbling with each thrust, like an ocean wave. Whenever it collides with his hips, the slaps resound temptingly, and Jungkook soon mimics it by letting his hand fall hard on your ass.

You mewl, calling out his name twice, the second cry half uttered, half of the Jungkook omitted. And when you catch the tiniest of your breaths, still working with drying lungs, you say, “L-let me come, please—”

“Wait,” he says again, still sadistic, still masochistic, absolutely out of his mind before an idea lights up his mind. “This isn’t it yet.”

The finger working on your nub was an evil tactic, he’s got to admit. Perhaps he led you to believe something he’s not ready to give you yet, and once you seem to realise, you let out a sob.

And he’s positively delighted once he stops. Lowers his head to look at you. Sees the dark, smeared mascara on his pillow when he digs his fingers in your hair, pulling your head back as he says, “I know. You thought we were done, right? We’re not done, though.”

“Wha—”

He lets his body fall onto the mattress, right next to you, and pulls you in, back against his chest. Hand under your tits, pressing against them, moving them up and down before pinching your nipple once.

“I said,” he repeats, probably unnecessarily, because he doesn’t think you actually demand an answer, “I’m not done. Understand?”

And as expected, you don’t nod or answer. You only push your body further into his, and he reckons that’s a mighty sufficient implication already.

As you lay sideways with a breath as heavy as his, his exhales hot against your ear, you let out sounds reminiscent of marathon runners. You’re exhausted, sweaty, and so is he — but neither of you are finished, and he’d be damned if he permitted the night to end like this.

Diligently, he throws your quivering leg over his; your impish remarks have lessened since he took over, and in turn, his own insolent emotions are reigning supremely. He leads his submerged, rock-hard, twitching cock to your battered cunt, pushing in so easily he thinks he’s dreaming.

It’s like putting a key into its lock.

“Ahh, fuck.” It’s hard to fully bottom out in this position, but he can touch you so much better now. He lets his hands explore your bare body, fondling with your tits, kissing your ear and jaw. “Hold tight. You’re doing so good for me, sweetheart.”

It’s cruel, he knows; the gentle praises as he wreaks havoc down there. He crosses your wrists against your tummy, holding them tight, and you close to him. Fucks you dumb and stupid as you wail in his arms. Moves to your clit and gives it pleasant, gentle rubs, so opposite from the rest of his ministrations.

And the pressure builds. His balls, hard as steel, prepare to shoot their load into you, his cock impossibly stiff, but… but…

You haven’t come yet. And this position won’t do. Can’t do, won’t do, he needs to see you.

So he echoes, “Won’t do,” as he gets up again, keeping the previous position short lived. Doesn’t stay away for too long before he’s on his knees, pulling your legs apart, after the briefest interruptions deep inside again before he leans into you.

And then, everything happens crazy fast.

How he keeps you from wrapping your arms around him; instead, capturing your wrists once again, raising them next to your head. How he moves to kiss you for the first time after quite a while, intertwining your tongues, moaning hard as he feels his high approach.

The fast pace changes a little as he loses his mind and focus, one of the strokes stopping as he almost pulls out, and then plunges in again. Your fingers curl in, nails sharp enough to dig into the digits that hold you, and he cries out in delight, letting a breathy chuckle fall.

He says, “Alright, yeah. Next time… we’re tying you up. Love how you whine.” He lets one hand go, gripping your face again and you move your touch to his shoulder immediately, gasping. “You always p-play the mysterious girl, huh? But you’re so pathetic right now.”

The inhibitions are out the window. The overthinking, too. Whatever he thought might make you run away from him has long exited his mind, because he’s got you right here, under his control, nearing the end.

There’s no going back. No return to his yearning, because you’ve satisfied it so thoroughly.

Time to give it all back to you. One last time before he submerges himself in all his glorious egotism.

“There we go,” he says as he watches your expressions change. You open your mouth but don’t say anything. He doesn’t know what your orgasm feels like, but he knows you’re going through it. “Let it all out. Cream my cock, I fucking dare you.”

He’s saying whatever now, he knows. But he doesn’t have the capacity to think much as creases appear on your forehead and between your eyebrows, tongue mingling with his for a short moment when he goes in for another kiss, barely succeeding.

You’re trembling, lifting your hips as much as the weight above you allows, wanting more friction, more of a touch inside your pussy, on your clit, everywhere. And then, when you do come… when he brings the stars from the sky into your eyes…

Yours roll back into your head. Throwing it back, giving him access to your neck. Lips still apart, and he uses it to push a finger into your mouth, on top of your tongue. And fuck… how your pussy constricts. How it tightens so fucking much.

He’d be lying if he said it didn’t affect him.

So much so that his head spins; and as he feels himself getting dizzy, he buries his face in the pillow next to your head before moving it to kiss your shoulder. Barely looks at you anymore; doesn’t care, it’s his high now, he wants to fucking come, and that’s it.

Finally, finally he’s gotten to this point.

Will he hate himself for these thoughts later? Is this too over the top? He doesn’t know and he doesn’t care, doesn’t care.

His thoughts are occupied, alright, don’t need another string of questions to intervene. His attention remains resolutely on his movements, vigorous, rhythmic, your sounds perfectly matching each of his strokes.

And your hands, the poor little palms, unsure where to settle. This isn’t new; across this broad back of his, every girl’s touch wanders like this. Your nails scratch the small of his back, then up his spine, across the muscles of his shoulder blades.

The fact that you’re a goner as much as him, giving yourself to him is probably the last of reassurances he needs — as if any more were required. Because still panting into your skin, eyes shut tight, he works towards the peak of his sanity, exhausted but eager as he relishes the wet tightness of your pussy; surrounding him just right, still clenching, unclenching from your orgasm.

And then—

“Ohhh, fuck,” he whispers.

His voice is shaking uncontrollably; he barely recognises it. Which… must mean this is new, right? Experience be damned, apparently you spark off phenomena nobody has ever acquainted him with before.

And oh, how you make it worse once he finally emerges again, as if catching his breath after holding it underwater for too long. Your eyes are hooded as he gets on his knees over your body, caging your hips in between his legs. Gripping one of your tits, you nibble your lower lip for a second before letting out laboured breathing, nose flaring.

It’s all he needs. All that’s left when he rips off the condom and envelops his filthy cock with his veiny hand, stroking immediately and hard. Close to the end as he rushes to ask, “Where do you want it?”

You understand what he’s asking, and nod, back to yourself when you utter mysteriously, “Anywhere but inside…” Okay. No time to ask why not — but he wouldn’t have anyway. He obliges, giving his all, one more second left before you tell him just in time, “Here.”

Your palm rubs across your skin, moving over your tits and your stomach. So he’s quick to opt away from your face and redirect his aim to where you pointed, moaning out a couple last, broken vocals before he finally spills.

Milky white, multiple blotches scattered over your skin, like a modern art painting. He’d rather draw these all day than be stuck with you in a museum restaurant, staring from afar, wishing he could reach out under the goddamn public table.

Going until he’s empty, he senses a relief unknown to him thus far, mind suddenly vacant. Once again, the ocean; he feels like the ocean. Like the water as it stills and calms after a thunderous storm. You lifted the waves of his sea high above and have now turned him into a lazy, peaceful lake.

God, he should fuck you more often; you make him a poet.

Okay. Okay, where was he?

When did he unfocus? Dizzy all of a sudden. He puffs out a breath. Then takes another look at you. Watches as you spread the sticky substance over your mounds, touching your nipple, so indecently messy.

The smirk is unintentional but inevitable, reaching far as he shakes his head at you. You smile back wordlessly, and he lets his fingertip run over his cum, too, bringing it to your lips as he asks, “Taste?”

You don’t answer. Thinking for the barest second before you scoff, stretching out your tongue before he puts the finger on it; closing your eyes, sucking it clean. He groans at the feeling; luckily, he’ll be immobile for the foreseeable future, or he’d bend you over again.

“Okay. That should be enough for now,” he breathes, letting himself fall next to you. “I promise I’m a lot more energised on other days. But…” He turns towards you, pinching your chin, bringing your face close. “God, did you take me out there. I’m beat.”

He doesn’t kiss you; only drops back, still filling his lungs with new oxygen. Pity — he still wants you, but his muscles are aching. Eyes shutting.

Then opening again when he hears you laugh, right before you say, “You don’t need to prove your endurance to me. I’ve got a pretty good idea of it now. Besides— let’s be honest. I didn’t do much.”

“Oh, you did more than enough, sweetheart,” Jungkook retorts with a snicker, giving his eyes some relief. He sighs, and then adds, “Your existence did it for me already. Wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.”

He shoves his arm under his head, the other untidily covering the two of you with the blanket; whatever. He’ll wash it tomorrow. For now, the two of you should probably get some rest. Although—

Did you say you wanted to stay? He didn’t catch it if you did. Perhaps he’s also just inattentive; suddenly remembers that he still has a long way to go socially, remembering that permission is courtesy. Selfish, selfish, selfish.

“Uhm,” he starts; this is awkward. He doesn’t do this often — not many stay overnight anyway. Strangely, he didn’t question it with you; maybe because he wants you to. “Do you want me to bring you home?”

“In all honesty, I… I don’t think you can drive tonight. We’re both not sober yet, so I’ll just leave in the morning. Need to be in the office by noon.”

“Ah? Why?”

“Meeting with Tae. I forgot that he wanted to go through a few organisational things for the upcoming concert.”

Concert preparations. Organisational things. The company.

Jungkook forgot about it all. Responsibilities still exist. Of course, he needs to be in the office tomorrow afternoon, too. This is his dream, his goal, everybody’s eyes on him, the biggest source of entertainment in the country.

Feels so stupid, forgetting you’ll leave at some point. That he can’t flip you over again all day tomorrow, that you’ll be occupied somewhere else, with someone else. Jungkook grits his teeth.

“You wanna come over again tomorrow night?” he asks.

And all of a sudden, despite the last hour, you seem lost in thoughts again. Probably tired, but he can’t help but overthink. You don’t answer immediately, keeping him on the edge, and as he thinks you’ve fallen asleep, he looks over, seeing your eyes open when you say, “Don’t know. Might have a couple things to tend to.”

Ah… okay. Sure.

Where’s your mind right now, he wonders?

Maybe circling around work. Maybe your urge to go is as little as his? All these things, they don’t sound too delightful right now, do they?

Concert preparations. Organisational things. The company. Tae.

When did you start using his nickname like this? Weird. Didn’t know the two of you were so close. Then again, does it matter? No. He shakes his head.

Shakes it slowly, making sure you don’t notice, sighing again before he breaks into a smile. It’s okay. You’re next to him. Not next to Taehyung. His friend. You’re covered in him. So he doesn’t let another’s name fog his brain, instead seeking peace and succeeding until—

“Don’t worry, another time,” you say, following up with a goosebump-inducing, “I’ll stick around until my feet tingle.”

Somewhere… at some point in his life… under probably not the best circumstances—

Wait.

THE FIC ISN'T OVER YET!! PLS READ 👇🏼

as always, tumblr hates content creators and has a 1k block limit. which is why you can read the rest of the story in this reblog hehe we're almost at the end <3

#jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #bts smut #bts fluff #bts angst #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook fic #jungkook imagine #jungkook

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zorosangell · 12 days ago

Note

Heyyy❤️❤️❤️ . Idk if ur busy w anything but could I maybe request a cute little boy challenging zoro for the reader in a dumb competition and zoro takes it seriously (bc thats just him) or whatever else you would like . Ive binged all your work and its safe to say ur probably one of the best writers on the app. Thank youu<33

⛥ﾟ・。 daises and posies

synopsis: a kid with the hots for you begins to challenge zoro, insulting his pride as a swordsman and capabilities as a partner until the mosshead finally snaps... leaving you as the only thing standing between all-out war

cw: fluffy fluff, comfort, zoro would totally have beef with a child, reader's a sweetheart, the kid is a little fart but lowkey kind of adorable

"Zoro, stop!" you exclaimed, eyes wide and frantic as you helplessly tried to hold him back, your feet dragging against the ground at his sheer strength. "He didn't mean it! He's just a kid!"

"Kid, my ass!" Zoro scoffed, brows cinched in a sharp scowl as he began to draw his sword, lunging forward. "He's about to get a grown beating!"

"Says the guy that got his butt kicked by Mihawk!"

"WHY YOU—!"

"ZORO!"

"I was there!" the young boy taunted, standing just out of Kitetsu's reach with a shit-eating smirk. "I was on the Baratie when you got your butt handed to you."

Enamored, his gaze shifted to you, hearts practically forming in his irises as he let out a dreamy sigh.

"It was the day I saw this heavenly angel for the first time..."

Confused—and slightly uncomfortable—you let out an awkward chuckle, still maintaining your hold on your furious boyfriend.

"Kid, weren't you, like, seven?"

"And three quarters."

Your brows flattened.

'Gods...'

"But I knew that you were my dream girl! You looked so pretty! Your hair was blowing in the wind, and your dress was a pretty blue!"

The boy's gaze slowly shifted to Zoro, expression turning sour.

"But this bozo was too busy losing to notice..."

"BOZO?!"

"Zoro!"

"I don't give a crap how old the kid is! He's pickin' a fight with me!"

While perusing the marketplace with your swordsman, you came across a fruit stall, where a rather oddly-mannered boy ran the register.

He instantly recognized you—though you could not do the same—and began flying off the handle with pick-up lines and and flirtations, hoping to woo you into a dinner date.

Flattered, you gave him thanks, but also politely declined.

You explained that your boyfriend didn't particularly enjoy sharing, and the mosshead introduced himself in his usual gruff way.

But the moment the boy realized Zoro was your boyfriend, things instantly went left.

He began a long-winded tirade about how Zoro was weak, and nowhere near strong enough to provide the protection an "angel" like you required.

Safe to say... that did not go over well with the swordsman.

"Since you got such a problem with me, kid, then how about we settle this right here! Steel on steel!"

"Sounds good to me!" the boy agreed, brows furrowed as he drew a wooden sword. "Try not to shatter yours this time!"

Zoro's eye twitched, a rather scary looking smile cracking across his face as he drew Enma.

"Ohhh, I am gonna put you in the ground."

"Zoro!" you hissed, snatching away the glowing, purple weapon and shoving it back in its sheath. "His weapon is a toy! You are not using haki to fight a child!"

"He started it!"

"And I'm finishing it! This whole entire thing is ridiculous!"

Stepping forward, you crouched down to the boy's level, letting out an exasperated sigh.

"As flattered as I am that you're willing to take on a billion-berry man for me, I'm afraid this isn't going to work out," you started, pointing between the both of you. "I'm not into younger guys, and as much as I hate to admit it, I kind of enjoy looking at my boyfriend's face."

A cocky grin rose to Zoro's lips, but you were quick to furrow your brow.

You hadn't forgotten what he tried to do a few second ago, and he would be dealt with next.

"So, it is with a heavy heart that I send you on your way..." you smirked, grabbing the boy's shoulders and turning him to face the spice stall. "...and toward the girl that has been staring at you all day."

A flush bloomed across his face as he met the gaze of a young girl behind the register, her large, brown eyes widening as she realized she had been caught.

"R-really?" the boy stumbled, suddenly incredibly nervous.

"Mhmm," you nodded, encouragingly. "And if you're half as romantic with her as you were with me, you'll sweep her off her feet in no time."

Glancing down at the ground, you snatched up a few wildflowers, carefully placing them in his open palm before pressing it closed.

"Just be yourself. And the rest will come naturally."

A glimmer of excitement sparkled in his eyes at the sight of the daises and posies, his mouth breaking out in an adorable, toothless grin.

"You're right! Thanks a bunch, lady!"

Quickly, he threw his arms around your neck, pulling you into a tight hug before letting go and making a beeline for the spice stall.

"Hey, girl! Did it hurt?! When you fell?!"

"Me?! What are you talking about?! Fell from where?!"

"Heaven!"

At the cheesy line, you let out a warm chuckle, unable to fight the smile rising to your lips.

'That kid's goin' places...'

"Tch. Kid's a menance," Zoro glared, crossing his arms over his chest. "Let's head to the Sunny before he comes back."

"Oh, don't think you're out of the dog house," you scoffed, grabbing his ear as you began the trek back to the ship. "I'm not over the fact that you were about to fight a nine year-old with a haki-imbued sword."

"Ow! Shit! (y/n)! That fuckin' hurts!"

"Serves you right! You're lucky I love you or I'd kick you into next week!"

#zorosangell #one piece #one piece x reader #roronoa #roronoa x reader #roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro #zoro x reader #op

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flawssy-227 · 1 month ago

Text

synopsis: Joel finds you corn. yup.

wc: 2.8k

warnings: 18++, Jackson!Joel, unspecified age gap, afab!reader, pinv, oral f!receiving, cream pie (not sorry), gratuitous use of the word baby.... think that's it

A/N: been working on this one for a minute... I know there was technically popcorn (or something) in Jackson's movie theater but whatever. sorry if the smut feels rushed, I'm trying to get better at it. as always -- I am a woman of color, so I write with women of color in mind, but reader is not described physically beyond having breasts. pls enjoy!

Like everyone in Jackson, you had your own way of contributing to the community. The garden was here before you had arrived years before, but everyone in Jackson knew it was under your tutelage that it really thrived. It was because of you The Tipsy Bison added fresh herbs to the weekly dinners that fed the town. It was because of you Jackson had fresh fruits and vegetables, things many of the residents went years without. And it was because of you they had enough grain to feed the animals. You were, in short, an absolute godsend, and Joel couldn’t believe he was yours.

He wasn’t much of a cook before the world went to shit, but he never knew how much he would miss the little things. Like lettuce. Or blueberries. Fruits and veggies. Dammit his mama would probably laugh at him now for how often he craved something fresh and healthy and not prepackaged. And it was all because of you.

Your contributions to Jackson were well known. You were a bit of a celebrity in town. A sweet, nurturing angel that Joel somehow wooed when he arrived a year ago.

It was a few months ago, you and Joel were getting ready at the crack of dawn for your respective shifts. His 8 hour patrol across the gates, and yours in the community garden. He kept stealing kisses after your morning quickie, which honestly, wasn’t that quick, he distracted you endlessly and made you both late for work.

“Joel,” you sighed, attempting to remove his wandering hand from inside your shirt. “Maria’s gonna kick your ass if you’re late for patrol—again.”

“Mm, not worried about that,” he offered smugly while reluctantly releasing his grip from your chest. You shivered a bit at the loss of warmth.

“I thought about what you asked me last night.”

Joel looked at you while you continued to button your shirt. “Yeah?”

Last night, in your post orgasm glow, you and Joel piggy backed random questions to each other. With a sheet wrapped around your chest you turned to face him.

“Maraschino cherries? Yuck.”

Joel laughed, “I love ‘em. Tommy does too. It’s perfect on a sundae, trust me, darlin’.”

“Don’t tell me you love Shirley Temple’s too.”

Joel’s eyes bulged open just a bit, and he didn’t have to say a thing before you started laughing, body pressing further into his. “Joel Miller, you are full of surprises.”

He smiled at you, lines around his eyes deepening just enough so you knew it was sincere. “Alright,” he started, “I got another one for you.”

You nodded eagerly, trying to suppress a yawn in the late hour.

“If you could have one addition to your garden, something you can’t grow currently, what would it be?”

You leaned across his chest now, head propped on your folded arms as you furrowed your brows. It was a good question, what would you want? You had gotten out of the habit of wanting more in this life. You were incredibly lucky here in Jackson. You were safe behind the walls, you had a home and friends and a boyfriend, and you were never worried about where your next meal came from. Sure, you could definitely have more… Second helpings at the food hall would be nice. Something other than grain liquor when you wanted to kick back sounded good. And well, if you were being really greedy you guess you would ask for a cure for the hellish epidemic that ravaged the world. But you had plenty, and asking for more just seemed wrong.

“I’m not sure, to be honest.” It was meant to be lighthearted, but the question sat heavy on your heart. “We have so much. Feels wrong to wish for more, you know?”

Joel took a sharp inhale and nodded his head. Eyes glassy just a touch, such a small amount that only you would notice this close up. He ran a hand through your hair, softly easing you. “I know, darlin’. I guess I was asking in case I come across something on patrol. Just think about it, okay?”

You nodded back, and peppered a small kiss against his lips as you settled further into his chest, effectively ending all questions for the night.

“Yeah… if you could find it,” you eyed your boyfriend, trying to feign nonchalance at your impending request. “I would really like some corn.”

“Corn?” Joel questioned. “If there’s one thing I can find you out on patrol for you, it’s corn? Darlin’ that is not what I expected you to say.”

You chuckled at that. “Ugh, Joel, I miss it so much. Sweet corn on the grill during summer,” you smiled. “I think it would do well in the garden. But can I tell you what I really want?”

Joel smiled at you, reaching for your hips from his place on the bed. “Of course you can.”

You reached over and rubbed his shoulders over his worn flannel. “I have this insane craving for popcorn,” you chuckled. “I never knew how much I would miss that. Buttery, salty movie theater popcorn on Friday nights with my mom.” You teared up a bit at the memory while Joel gave your hand a gentle kiss. “It’s a long shot, I know. But just keep an eye out for me.”

“Of course I will, baby.”

As the winter chill started to wane and the early tells of spring arrived, you gathered a small group of pupils to shadow you while you tended to the garden. Most of the group were young, around Ellie’s age, using a few hours a week to work in the garden as a professional skills building internship of sorts.

“Here are the herbs,” you spoke to the small group, grabbing your shears out of the apron you wore daily. “Herbs need to be trimmed to encourage growth, and in a place like this, we need as much growth as possible,” you offered with a smile.

“Every plant has different needs,” you took a second to smell the basil in front of you. “Here, Ellie, let’s try this one.”

Ellie giddily grabbed hold of your shears, earning chuckles from the other students and an eye roll from you.

“Basil loves to be cut, but you have to do it in a very specific way if you want it to flourish. Where do you think you should cut it?” you asked Ellie.

“Um, maybe right here?” Ellie asked, gesturing to a spot where two basil leaves had grown out together.

“Yes! That’s perfect, go ahead.” Watching Ellie gently cut the leaves off you kept instructing. “Basically, anywhere where there are two or three leaves growing is a good place to cut because then two more sets of leaves will grow in its place. Kinda like a hydra in Greek mythology,” you offered. “This way the plant will keep producing.”

You made your way down the herbs, allowing all the students to take turns trimming plants and offering explanations why things were done a certain way before you excused everyone for the day. You were grateful that you found a place at the end of the world where you were able to carve out little moments of peace. If it weren’t for the fact that your boyfriend and so many of your friends left early every morning for patrol, you would think you were in heaven. But regardless of what lay beyond the gates of Jackson, you were happy and content.

You were taking inventory, checking to see what crops were matured and available for this week's rotation of meals for The Bison when you noticed Joel opening the small gate that blocked off the garden from the stables.

“Hey! What are you doing here? It’s early—”

You weren’t able to finish your thought before Joel was on you, lifting you up and spinning you around with a smile that was only meant for you.

“Missed ya, darlin’.”

You hummed softly to yourself, the feeling of your man surrounding you and the feel of the sun on your skin were absolutely making your day.

“I got you something,” Joel muttered, pulling away from you softly.

You met his warm brown eyes, wondering what he possibly could have grabbed for you while he was out today.

Turning away from you and reaching into his pack, the sight made your breath hitch. It couldn’t be, could it?

The familiar green of the husks was so familiar, it couldn’t be mistaken for anything else.

“There were only these three,” Joel started. “I almost thought I was seeing things, but it’s—”

“Corn,” you finished for him. “You found me corn.”

Tears started to well in your eyes and you couldn’t help but laugh at the fact you were crying over corn of all things. A younger version of yourself would roll her eyes at you, but you couldn’t help but get emotional at the possibilities of being able to grow it. You thought about a summer barbecue at The Bison and how grilling corn would pair so well with whatever barbecue concoction they made for the 4th of July. You thought about all the kids who had never had popcorn during the weekly movie nights and how much you knew Elllie would enjoy it.

“Baby, don’t cry,” Joel urged as he wrapped you into a tighter hug.

You choked back a sob and leaned into his warmth. “You’re amazing. Thank you, Joel.”

The gentle kiss he laid on your lips caused you to let out a satisfied moan. You could feel him twitch below his waist at the sound and you tried not to laugh at his eagerness.

“You’re so easy,” you whispered against his lips.

“Darlin’, you know how your little noises affect me.”

You kissed him again, letting your tongues intertwine as you softly ran your fingers through his curls. You were pretty much alone at the entrance of the garden but the distant laughter you heard caused you to ease your lips apart, despite the obvious bulge in Joel’s pants and the heady pulse you felt in your stomach. You definitely didn’t need to get caught getting hot and heavy with Joel—not again. Took weeks for the entirety of Jackson to stop snickering at the two of you.

“Help me finish up?” you asked with a smile, knowing your man could never say no to you. “Then I can thank you, properly.”

Joel raised his eyebrows, hands still roaming absent-mindedly on your low back. “Whatever y’need, baby.”

As you made your way back to your shared home, you couldn’t stop yourself from holding Joel’s hand. You were blissfully happy and although the fact that he found three ears of corn for you to plant should’ve been shocking, it honestly wasn’t. In the past year, Joel Miller had done everything you asked of him. He went out of his way to make you happy. He treated you with respect and opened up to you, even when it felt unnatural for him. He was a good man, he was your good man. And as he unlocked the door to your home, the only thought in your head was that you wanted to show him how much you loved him.

Joel grabbed your pack from your shoulder and placed it on the bench by the front door, a small thing he did daily to make sure you were prepared for the next day. Always taking care of you. You took a deep exhale and without words, held your hand out for him to take. Joel followed you without question.

Once you were inside your bedroom you reached your hands around Joel’s neck and pulled him down for a kiss. He sighed into your mouth, shoulders relaxing at the feel of your lips.

“I love you, Joel,” you murmured into him and you felt the small smile grace his lips before he deepened the kiss. His hands moved under your shirt, lightly grazing your nipples causing your breath to hitch. He pulled off your t-shirt and immediately placed his hands back on your breasts, causing your nipples to harden as you let out a little gasp.

He smirked at your reaction and moved down to kiss in between the valley of your breasts. You scratched his head, softly encouraging him to keep going.

“Darlin’,” he sighed, “do you know how perfect you are?”

You scoffed, you were supposed to be thanking him, worshipping him, not the other way around.

His hands were moving further south, unbuttoning your jeans and slipping a finger into the slick wetness in between your thighs. “Joel,” you whined, “I’m supposed to be thanking you.”

His eyes snapped up to yours but he didn’t stop his movements. “Thankin’ me? For what?”

You moaned at the addition of an extra finger. “For being so good to me.”

He kissed you again, slowly growing intensity matching the pace of his fingers. “Mm, darlin’, you never have to thank me. I love you, sweet girl.”

Another soft moan escaped your lips, from his words or his actions, you weren’t sure. You reached your hand into his jeans, finger thumbing over his leaky tip. Joel couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have you like this, at the end of the world.

“Baby, can I taste you?”

You whimpered, lips parting at his husky voice. “Yes, Joel, please,” you practically begged.

After shedding the rest of your clothes, Joel laid down next to you on your bed, caressing your body and gazing at your form appreciatively. Kissing his way down your body, he shamelessly spread your wet folds, staring a beat too long for your comfort. You whine his name and make a move to close your legs before he makes a tsk sound. “Don’t do that. Just admirin’ the view.”

You would’ve scoffed at him, but he quickly buried his mouth in your pussy, effectively knocking every other thought out of your head. Joel knew what he was doing, and even before the world went to shit, you never had a man who loved to eat it the way Joel did. You were basically doing him a favor by letting him be down there.

“Taste so good, baby,” he groaned, the sound vibrating against your folds. Each thrust from his fingers accompanied by the expert swirl of his tongue on your clit made your nipples impossibly harder and your back arch on the bed.

You were moaning obscenely, the wet squelch from his fingers creating a filthy symphony in your bedroom. “Joel, please,” you moaned, holding his head tight to your center. Taking that as you urging him to keep going, he continued his devouring of you until you released a shudder and a whiny squeal of his name. Gently licking into you he gathered your release and let out a filthy moan before he pressed a final, soft kiss to your lower lips as you caught your breath.

“So fucking good,” you pant, pulling him up to your lips for an appreciative kiss. Joel got lost in you, mindlessly thrusting into the crevice of your thigh. Poor guy, you thought. “Baby, you’re so good at that.”

He hummed into your mouth, hips continuing his soft grind. “You taste so good, makes it easy.”

“Mm, but I wanted to thank you, and you’re doing all the work.”

He mouths at your jaw, cock now sliding against the slit on your folds, drenching him in your wetness. “Being inside you baby,” he starts, inching his girthy cock into your heat, “is thanks enough.”

Your head cocks back in a wild moan as Joel forces the last few inches of himself inside you. He sets a punishing pace, hitting a spot inside you that no one else ever would. “Feel so damn good,” he grunts.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head, unable to think straight or say a word, only strangled gasps coming from you at his thrusts. Feeling you tighten around his cock, he moves his thumb down to your clit, eyes dark and wild at the erratic bounce of your tits. “So close,” you manage to gasp out.

Joel keeps going, his pace brutal and perfect. He looks so serious, focused solely on you and your pleasure. You know he’s close, doing everything he can to make you finish first. The thought of how he does everything to make you feel satisfied does you in, and with a loud moan you cum hard, triggering Joel’s orgasm, ropes of his cum filling you up.

“Fuck,” he groaned, “didn’t mean to…”

Your hands went back to his head, gently stroking at his sweaty curls. You sighed at the wet spill of his cum leaking out of you. Definitely not ideal at the end of the world. But then again, Joel as a dad wasn’t the worst idea you’d ever had. You were pretty sure you weren't ovulating anyway. “It’s fine, Joel. Felt too good to stop,” you offer.

He kissed your lips gently, wrapping you up in his warmth. You knew whatever happened next didn’t matter, as long as Joel was by your side.

if you made it this far, leave me a comment! ty for reading

#fic: corn #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #joel miller fluff #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #jackson!joel #joel miller au #tlou fic #pedrohub #pedrostories #pedro pascal x reader

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princessbrunette · 9 months ago

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conversing with the kook drug dealer wasn’t exactly how you’d expected to spend your time at this party — but here you were, stood outside a locked bathroom door as the party ensues downstairs, waiting for your friend to finish throwing up all of her shots whilst none other than rafe cameron kept you company.

the older boy leans against the wall as you make small talk — his demeanour oddly chill. infact, more chill than you’d seen him before. you were guessing it was more of a weed night than it was coke.

you fix your hoop earring, tilting your head as you stare up at him in intrigue.

“so what do you do, rafe?” you converse sweetly and he inhales, reaching up to scratch behind his head like he was struggling with an answer.

“i told you. deal that yayo. someone’s gotta get the good shit round here—”

“no like what else do you do? for fun?”

rafe stops in his tracks for a moment, a smirk biting at the corner of his mouth at the innocent nature of your question. it wasn’t often someone asked him something like that — so whilst he wasn’t usually a fan of small talk, you were cute, and he couldn’t help but want to entertain the conversation. rafe leans against the wall some more, blowing out air and shaking his head.

“i uh, i’m boring baby i smoke, i deal i make money n’that’s about it. not much to it i’m uh… i’m afraid.”

you get all clammy and adorable over the ‘baby’ nickname, smiling and clasping your hands together like a little doll before he’d even finished talking. “oh okay!” you respond, seeming happy enough with his non-answer, and there’s even a pause — you seeming completely unphased by the gap in conversation as you continue to gaze up at him with giddy smile before the moment is interrupted by the door flying open and your friend bolting out— back towards the party.

your head whips round to watch her, probably about to ask her where on earth she was going — but your wonder is quickly remedied by her yelling out an incoherent confession regarding her heading back to grab more shots.

you let her go, deciding someone will get to her first — before you turn back and watch rafe swagger into the bathroom, quickly checking himself in the mirror before turning his body round to look back at you.

“you wanna… you wanna see how i do it?” he licks his lips, not too sure where this was going — but he knew he wasn’t ready for the interaction to end.

being the easy going person you are, you shrug with a happy smile — following him in and shutting the door. “sure!”

the two of you stand at the sink, and you watch the way the taller cameron boy fishes in his pocket, pulling out a baggie of white powder.

“i thought dealers weren’t supposed to get high on their own supply?” you pout questioningly through the mirror and he lets out a quiet chuckle at the use of the cliche saying.

“yeah uh, they’re not. but i gotta wake the hell up… n’plus i’ve got my hands on some of the best shit this side of the island. would be a crime not to sample my own goods, right?” he drawls as he prepares the line on the white marble, the movements almost second nature to him like he’d done it a bazillion times. you watch in intrigue, tilting your head. “smoked a shit tonne of weed before this so… not sure it’s gonna cancel out that mellow high. we’ll see.” he glances up at you through the mirror, talking in a knowledgable manner, leaving with you but no choice but to nod along in interest. your curiosity always did lead you to odd situations.

you watch as he cuts the powder into a thin line with his credit card before leaning over the sink and snorting it up. in the most nonjudgmental way one could muster, you blink up at him as he draws back, sniffing and wiping his nose like it pained him.

“woo, shit.” he coughs a little, shaking himself off before clearing up the residue and pocketing the baggie, moving around you to wash his hands and push his hair back in the mirror. “your friends don’t do coke?” he chats, seeming a little more amped than before, pupils dilated in his reflection.

“they do. just not around me. i dunno why.” you shrug a shoulder and he chuckles a little harder than necessary at the comment.

“yeah… you’re the innocent one huh?” he turns back to you, and you eye his pocket in interest with a hum.

“maybe i could change that. can i try some?”

surprisingly, rafe winces — wiping his hands on his pants, eyeing you.

“uh… nah, kid. you wouldn’t like it. trust me, shits not good for you.” he walks to the door, opening it and holding it open for you to walk through. you’re quickly distracted by the gentlemanly act and smile, though he mainly did it to get a look at your ass as you walk through. “why don’t you run along n’get another drink though, a’ight? you’ll know where to find me.” he briefly passes a hand over your lower back as he scooches past you in the slim hallway, looking over his shoulder as he heads off to find some clients to sell to.

you pout for a moment, feeling dismissed — but little did you know, rafe had listened to that quiet voice in his head that he usually ignores. the one that told him ‘leave that girl alone.’

#divider by me pls credit if u use ♡#hey so i hate this!#dealer!rafe #rafe cameron prompt #tw drug use

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fadedtoneverland · 2 months ago

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[12:24am] silver & sin | j.wy

cw: smut, gn!reader, bad boy!wooyoung, dom!wooyoung, wooyo has a dick piercing, woo is reckless & pushing reader’s patience

this filth came into my mind out of nowhere. remember to listen to your partner’s concerns, this is strictly fantasy!!

thinking about bad boy wooyoung… who is a little too reckless for his own good. when going into the relationship with him, you knew your life was about to make such an interesting turn.

it’s not like you could talk wooyoung out of most of the dumb shit he’s done, and you didn’t really mind that much as long as he didn’t get hurt too much. that’s what drew you to this enigma of a man in the first place.

sneaking down in the abandoned subway to spray paint some anti-capitalist mural? hell yeah. getting high off of shitty marijuana to make out in his jet black honda civic? absolutely. as long as he didn’t get hurt.

which is why you were completely against the idea of him getting his dick pierced.

your man’s already got that sexy lip ring and seductive ear studs. but down there? baby, his cock was sculpted by the gods so good, that they probably nutted from their own creation. he didn’t need anymore modifications.

“but babeeee, it would feel so good!” is what he said. you can’t lie, that sounded a little tempting.

you almost caved too. seeing your normally stoic, cold-faced boyfriend, practically groveling at your knees because he wanted to stab an extra piece of silver through his baby maker, it kinda amused you.

but you were better than that, that’s what you told yourself. you didn’t want wooyoung to deal with the healing process, and the possible infections that came with it. even though this little punk pouted, he listened to you. he didn’t want to upset his lover after all.

though after that, you guys stopped having sex for weeks.

at first, you didn’t think much of it. wooyoung claimed he was busy with planning events with his usual gang. you didn’t pry too much into it, considering you know how outgoing your man is. plus, you were also occupied with your own plans.

still, the moment wooyoung initiated some fun activities with you through neck kisses, how could you say no?

it was steamy. spicy. just the way you liked it. you both were getting soooo into it. you were all over wooyoung, straddling his lap and kissing him like crazy. he teased you for being so needy, but can he blame you? you practically went months without him inside you.

he made you keep your eyes on him the entire time, said it was for the mood. you didn’t second guess it, just gazed into those seductive, onyx eyes while he undid his pants, shoving them down just enough to free his aching erection.

“come sit on my cock, baby,” he sighed breathlessly, like he’d die without you getting fucked by him. you complied, kept your eyes on him the entire time while you sank down onto his perfect, thick cock.

only… something felt a little different this time.

as you slowly rocked your hips, little puffs of air leaving your kiss swollen lips, you couldn’t ignore the little, metallic sensation that dragged inside your inner walls. you frowned a little, and wooyoung seemed to notice, judging by how he chuckled deeply at your face.

“mmmh, took ya long enough to notice, honey.” wooyoung slurred out lustfully, bucking his hips upwards to make sure you really felt it.

you froze.

“you got your dick pierced??” you hashed out, voice strained from disbelief and pure pleasure. wooyoung’s smirk widened. the little shit.

“guilty as charged.” he smugly said, hands gripping your hips tighter.

“so this is why you’ve been putting off having sex? because you were letting it heal-!?” you choked up, feeling the prince albert drag sinfully across your velvety walls. “you— you’re fucking insane-!”

thrust.

you moaned. long and loud. that felt way too fucking good.

a triumphant smirk made its way to wooyoung’s face. “what’s the matter, doll face?” he teased, fucking into you from below.

“don’t like it?”

you glared down at him, trying to save face while getting absolutely destroyed by his cock and new silver jewelry. you can’t believe it, this fucker ignored your warnings and got the one thing you told him not to.

and the worst part? he’s fucking winning, because your hole just keeps clenching around his shaft so tightly every time the piercing brushes against that sweet spot.

wooyoung groaned loudly.

“damn, baby. you’re so fuckin’ tight—“ he moaned, shamelessly loud. “mmmnghh… might have to get m’nother one if you’re gonna be this responsive..”

and fuck. a sick little part of you hopes he does.

because this sensation was just too good to let go.

—

#ateez #ateez smut #ateez fanfic #jung wooyoung smut #wooyoung smut #wooyoung x reader #ateez drabbles #ateez timestamps #smut fanfiction #kpop fanfic #kpop bg #bambi’s timestamps

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domm1etae · 3 months ago

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imagine wooyoung standing in front of you, water dripping down his abs from the shower you’d just shared, his cock already hard and heavy in his hand as he smirks down at you. his free hand grips your jaw, thumb pressing against your bottom lip, urging you to open wider.

"look at you," he says, his voice low and teasing. "always so eager for me. this what you’ve been thinking about, huh? having my cock in your pretty little mouth?"

you nod, tongue flicking out to brush against the tip, catching the salty bead of pre-cum that’s already dripping from him. "yes, please, woo," you whisper, your voice shaky but desperate. "want you to use my mouth—want you to fuck my throat until i’m crying."

his grin turns wicked as he lazily strokes himself, letting the swollen head glide against your lips, smearing the slickness all over your mouth. "you’re so filthy," he mutters, his tone dripping with approval. "my filthy little thing. you sure you can handle it, baby? you’re already shaking."

"please," you beg, your hands gripping his thighs for support as you lean closer, lips parting further in anticipation. "need it, woo. want to make you feel good."

"yeah? want me to ruin you, huh?" he hums, his cock slapping against your cheeks before he guides it back to your lips. "open wider, baby. don’t hold back now."

you obey instantly, letting your mouth fall open as he slides in slowly, the stretch making your eyes water as he sinks deeper, filling your throat inch by inch. his groan is guttural, his hips bucking slightly as you gag around him, the sound only spurring him on.

"fuck," he rasps, his head falling back as his fingers tangle in your hair, holding you in place. "look at you, taking me so well. such a good girl for me."

your nails dig into his thighs as he sets a rhythm, thrusting into your mouth with increasing intensity. the wet, obscene sounds of him fucking your throat fill the room, mixed with his breathless groans and your muffled moans.

"shit, you’re perfect," he growls, his voice shaky as he pulls out just enough to let you breathe, only to push back in, deeper this time. "gonna make me cum so fast like this, baby. you feel so fucking good."

you hum around him, your tongue swirling around his length as he hits the back of your throat again, your eyes locked on his as tears stream down your cheeks. his hips stutter, his grip tightening in your hair as he finally spills, hot and thick down your throat, his groans echoing in your ears.

he pulls out slowly, his hand caressing your cheek as you gasp for air, a satisfied smile on his face as he watches you swallow every drop. "always knew you were made for me," he murmurs, his thumb tracing over your swollen lips with a possessive touch. "my sweet, filthy girl."

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inlovewithquestionablecharacters · 10 months ago

Note

Hello,

could you write a Hannibal fanfic, where the reader is Will‘s student ( very protective of her) and Hannibal takes a interest in her, after psych. evaluation? He starts wooing her over and Will (platonic) doesn‘t like it at all. In the end there is smut between the reader and Hannibal after a dinner party ?(Maybe Will later here‘s from Crawford about it, because Crawford went to Hannibal‘s house to get him for a case)

Hannibal x Reader: Off limits

Warnings: smut, kissing, patient x therapist, fingering, pet names, cowgirl, ridding, penetration ( p in v), no use of y/n, female reader

Words count: 4,6K (dear lord 🙃)

“I don’t know if this is a good idea Will.”

“Why not?”

“Talking to your psychiatrist about my shit? Don’t you think that crossing some kind of boundary?”

“First he's not my physiatrist, not officially anyway. And secondly I would say drinking at my house crosses more boundaries than this. That didn’t stop you though right?”

“Yeah I guess you’re right.”

“Plus you need this. Talking to someone about stuff helps.”

“Fine. You’re sure he’s okay with it right?”

A week ago Will had mentioned you to Hannibal for the first time since he’d started having his sessions. The conversation had begun because Hannibal had asked him if he had anyone in his corner that he could trust. Will had immediately thought of you. Despite being his student you had helped him through a lot of stuff and pretty soon he considered you more of a friend then a student. He worried people would accuse him of favoritism but you were one smart cookie so he didn’t really have to worry about that. You knew your shit. No one could deny that. Of course Will also worried about people spreading rumors that you were sleeping with him but when he’d shared his concerns with you you’d just shrugged.

“People are gonna say shit about us anyway Will. I’m not gonna cut our friendship because of what some idiots say about us.”

He’d known he could count on you for anything but he could tell you were dealing with a lot more shit then you’d let on. It was one of the reasons why he’d told Hannibal about you. Will wondered if maybe talking with someone you knew he trusted would put your mind at ease. So here the two of you were standing in front of Hannibal's office door. You fiddle with your fingers trying your best to call your racing mind. Will notices your fidgeting causing him to grab onto your hand. You look up at him with a small smile which he returns. You hear the door open making your head snap to look at it.

Hannibal takes in the sight before him, his eyes catching on the way Wills hand is latched onto yours. He forces his gaze to move back up to your face. His eyes soften a bit at the sight of you. You have a sort of deer in headlights look in your eyes and Hannibal can’t help but feel a bit of pity. From what Will had told him you weren’t super into the whole therapy thing but you’d accepted to talk to him because Will thought it would help. Still from the look in your eyes Hannibal could tell you were hesitant. He would have to convince you that you could trust him.

Dr. Lecter gave you a welcoming smile before stepping to the side and gesturing for you to enter. You looked at Will for a moment, a twinge of fear present on your features. Will simply gave your hand a squeeze before letting it go.

“It'll be alright. Dr. Lecter will take care of you. I’ll be here waiting for you.”

“You aren’t going to come in?”

“I’ve found that the session works best if it's just the two of us.”

You glanced at Hannibal as he spoke, trying to make up your mind about him. He placed his palm out to you, inviting you to take his hand. After a moment of hesitation you accepted his invitation, taking his hand in yours and allowing him to guide you inside. He released your palm once you were inside, turning to close the door behind you.

You watched as Will's face slowly became out of view, his boyish smile no longer able to be seen. You turned around, taking in your surroundings. You’d never done this before so you didn’t really know how it worked. Should you sit down? Or were you supposed to lay down like they showed in the movies?

Luckily for you Hannibal seemed to sense your confusion. He made his way to his chair, taking a seat before gesturing to the empty seat before him.

“Please make yourself comfortable.”

You did as he asked, making your way over to the chair. You moved a bit trying to find a comfortable position. Hannibal watched you squirm a bit, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. You were quite a sight. Will seemed to have forgotten to mention that. Not that that bothered Hannibal. In fact he welcomed the surprise.

Once you were satisfied with your position you stopped fidgeting and raised your gaze to look at Hannibal. For the first time you saw him. Really saw him. He was oddly attractive with a sort of Victorian beauty. You weren’t used to guys like that. In the FBI most of the guys were covered in scars and built like monster trucks. They needed to look tough, even if they weren’t. That was just part of the job.

But the man before you was nothing like that. With his tailored suit and perfectly combed hair he looked like a man of great importance. The sort of guy you’d call when you needed tickets into some sort of high society party. And yet he had this sort of energy to him that made you feel he wasn’t as innocent as he seemed. If anything his looks hid behind them a sort of unfiltered violence. But somehow you didn’t fear him. In fact you found yourself suddenly intrigued by a man you’d only exchanged less than a few words with.

That was about to change however. Because the moment Hannibal started talking to you it seemed like everything you’d been holding in for years just started to spill out. You told him about how you were treated in the FBI, about how no one thought you had it in you to deal with this kind of stuff. You told him about your home life and your relationship with your family. Your deepest thoughts spilled onto the floor of Hannibal's office and he didn’t seem to mind. He listened to you with so much attention and understanding that it shocked you a bit. By the end of the session you felt like someone had taken the weight of your shoulders.

Will watched you come out of the room, the sound of your laugh filling his ears as you and Hannibal finished talking. A sudden wave of anger filled Will's chest. What had Hannibal said to make you laugh in such an unfiltered manner? The thing about Will was that he was very protective of you. He saw you like a little sister so he couldn’t help but become on edge when in the span of one hour Hannibal had managed to strip away any hesitancy you had entered the session with. He was glad you seemed lighter but he also knew Hannibal and he couldn’t help but worry about his intentions with you.

“I’ll see you next week Dr. Lecter.”

“Just Hannibal is fine dear. There’s no need for these pleasantries.”

“Okay then Hannibal. Same time next week?”

“See you then dear. It was nice seeing you Will.”

Will rose from his seat giving Hannibal one final glance before making his way to you. He placed his hand on your back guiding you towards the door. Hannibal didn't miss the way Will looked at him, but the thought disappeared when he saw the smile you gave him before you left. There was no denying it now. Hannibal found himself very interested in you. If there was something about Hannibal it was that he got what he wanted. And right now what he wanted was you.

You continued to have your sessions with Hannibal. Sometimes you’d talk about the FBI and your studies. Other times you’d talk of your dreams of the future. And then there were days where you felt like you had nothing to say so you’d convince Hannibal to tell you about himself. You’d begun to enjoy your sessions. The closer the day came the more anxious you became. You found yourself contemplating what to wear to therapy. Even though you knew your feelings weren’t exactly “professional” you couldn’t get yourself to care. You’d often catch Hannibal looking at you in ways that didn’t scream professionalism. The more you talked to him the more you felt like you were becoming friends and then one day Hannibal decided to make up his mind.

You were walking around the room, a habit you’d developed during your sessions. Hannibal watched you move around the room, his eyes following the sway of your hips. You had been talking about Will and Hannibal couldn’t seem to hold his tongue any longer.

“Are you interested in Will Graham? Romantically I mean.”

“What? No way! I mean Will is great and all but I see him more like an older brother then anything. He’s been there for me you know?”

You turned to look at Hannibal, your eyes finding him. He stared up at you with a blank look.

“Why do you ask?”

“Oh you just talk alot about him is all.”

“Oh come on Hannibal. Talking about someone a lot doesn’t mean you like them. You of all people should know that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you talk about Dr Bloom a lot but you’re not….interested in her.”

Hannibal watched your brows furrow for a moment, your gaze suddenly glued to the ground.

“Unless you are and I've just read it completely wrong.”

You tried to keep your voice steady and impassive but Hannibal could see the slight disappointment in your tone. He called out your name forcing you to return your gaze to him. You glanced down at him in curiosity.

“You are right. Talking about someone doesn't mean you like them.”

You held your breath for a moment awaiting for the verbal confirmation of what you already imagined.

“I am not romantically interested in Dr. Bloom. I merely respect her as a professional.”

You let out a small sigh, trying your hardest to not show the joy you felt. Hannibal rose from his seat making his way to his desk. You watched him open one of the drawers grabbing a piece of paper. He made his way back to you standing mere inches from you. You looked at the piece of paper in his hand before grabbing it. Your eyes ran over the words scrawled out in his handwriting.

“What’s this?”

“An invitation. I’m having a dinner party on Saturday and I'd love for you to come.”

Will had told you about Hannibal's dinner parties and his custom of inviting people over for dinner but you never imagined you’d be one of these lucky few. A smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. You looked up at Hannibal catching the way his eyes narrowed in on your lips.

“Thank you. I’ll be there.”

“Wonderful. It seems our time is up. I’ll see you at the party then.”

He walked you over to the door opening it for you. You nodded your head in thanks, making your way out. Just as Hannibal was about to close the door you spun around.

“Oh um… I've never been to a dinner party. What should I wear?”

It seemed like a silly question but you wanted to fit in with Hannibal's friends. You wanted to show him you could keep up with him. Hannibal looked at you for a moment before speaking.

“Wear whatever you feel like dear. I’m sure you’ll look beautiful in anything you choose. Your presence is the only thing that matters to me.”

Your heart almost stopped at Hannibal's words. It's had been a while since someone had given you such an unfiltered and direct compliment. You were a bit taken aback. In a good way of course.

Hannibal had just revealed to you, in a short amount of words, that he found you beautiful in any way and that he enjoyed being around you. Your mouth was dry as you tried to force yourself to speak. You managed to make your brain work enough to squeak out a small ‘Thank you until Saturday’ before racing to your car.

When Saturday finally came you were practically buzzing with anxiety. You’d tried on three different outfits and settled on one you thought fit in with a dinner party, something stylish but not too flashy. The whole drive over to Hannibal's house you couldn’t seem to calm the hammering of your heart. You tried blasting music to calm yourself but it didn’t work. Fortunately your brain seemed to go into automatic mode because before you knew it you were parking in front of Hannibal's home. You stared at the house from the car window, noticing the lights peeking through the curtains. You took a deep breath in trying to dull the anxiousness you felt.

“He invited you. He wants you here. There is nothing to worry about.”

You stepped out of the car making your way to the door. You thought of knocking for a moment but you doubted he’d be able to hear it over the classical music that seeps through the door. Your finger moved to ring the doorbell, heels tapping the ground as you waited. You turned around talking in the rest of the houses on the street.

Hannibal made his way to the door tugging it open. He didn’t know who to expect, he’d invited quite a lot of people and many of them still hadn’t arrived. All thoughts seemed to leave his mind when his eyes caught onto your frame. You had your back turned to him, the backless dress you’d decided to wear allowing him to see your bare skin. He stared at you for a moment opting to bask in your beauty before calling your attention.

You spun on your heels as the music suddenly grew louder, eyes falling on hannibal. He was wearing a suit like he always was but you could tell this one was special. You were suddenly relieved by your choice of clothing.

“Good evening dear.”

“Hi.”

“You look exquisite. But then again I knew you would. Please come on in.”

You took a cautious step forward entering his home. Hannibal closed the door behind you.

“Come there are some people I want you to meet.”

He placed his palm on your back guiding you around the room. You were used to Will doing that when he was around you but it felt different with Hannibal. There was something arousing about the feeling of his bare skin on yours. You welcomed the feeling, moving across the room full of people with ease. Hannibal didn’t leave your side the entire party. Whenever he needed to do something he’d ofer his forearm to you, a silent request for you to join him. You laughed along with his friends and filled yourself up with the vast variety of food Hannibal had prepared.

As the night went on people began to leave. They’d thank Hannibal for the invitation and go on their way. Oftentimes they’d thank you for hosting as well and you simply didn’t have it in you to correct them. You understood that the way you behaved with Hannibal made it seem like you were an item and even though you knew it was wrong you felt a thrill at the thought.

You finished saying goodbye to the last few people left at the party, closing the door behind you. Once you made sure it was locked you made your way over to the kitchen. Hannibal stood before the counter, his hands working on drying a glass of wine. His head snapped up at the sound of your heels against the floor. You smiled at him, making your way to where he was.

“Need help?”

“No that's alright. There are only a few left.”

“Okay”

You turned to look at the clock seeing the time.

“It’s already that late? I should probably get going.”

You didn’t want to leave but you knew better than to overstep. Hannibal hadn't invited you to stay over. He'd invited you to the dinner party and that had already ended. Hannibal placed the glass in the cupboard before turning to look at you.

“Don’t go yet. There is something I want to show you.”

“Oh okay.”

“Go wait in the living room, I'll be there in a bit.”

You made your way over to the living room. Your feet were starting to hurt so you decided to take off your heels, leaving them by the couch. You walked around the room, making your way over to an odd looking instrument. You sat down on the bench in front of it, eyes moving over the instrument as you tried to understand what it was.

“It’s a theremin.”

Your head snapped over to where Hannibal stood. He had removed his vest and suit jacket leaving him in only his dress shirt.

“How do you play it?”

Hannibal made his way to you. You looked up at him when he stopped next to were you sat.

“May i?”

“Yeah of course.”

Hannibal moved to sit behind you. You sucked in a breath at the feeling of his chest against your back.

“It’s a difficult instrument. You must find the right pitch.”

You watched Hannibal move his hand over the empty air, a small gasp leaving your lips as sound began to come out of the instrument. Hannibal turned to look at you. His heart warmed at the smile that had spread over your face.

“Would you like to try?”

“Oh sure.”

“Give me your hand.”

You lifted your arm allowing Hannibal to grasp your hand in his own.

“Relax your fingers. And try to keep your hand steady.”

You were finding it rather difficult to stop shaking due to the closeness you had to Hannibal. Every time he spoke you could feel his hot breath on your neck and your mind couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to have his lips on your skin. Hannibal guided you hand with his. Sound filled the room once more but it wasn’t as nice sounding as when Hannibal had played himself.

“This is hard.”

“It is. The theremin requires a lot of practice. You have to be good with your hands.”

You wondered if he’d meant the innuendo or if he was simply talking and your diary mind had understood something else but you weren't about to waste your opportunity.

“You must have quite skilled hands then Hannibal.”

“I haven’t had any complaints yet.”

A small whine escaped your mouth, immediately followed by a pathetic sigh of Hannibal's name. HIs hand had found its way to your thigh, fingers drawing small shapes on the skin. Instinctively your body relaxed into his frame, your back pressing up against his chest. Hannibal's hand continued to travel down your thigh moving closer and closer to where you wanted him most. His lips found their way to your neck placing kisses to the skin. Your head moved to the side, offering up more of your neck up to him. He sucked a hickey onto you, marking you as his.

“The body is a lot like a theremin.”

Your body jolted forward as his fingers found their way to your pussy. He reached into your underwear, slender fingers moving against your folds. You reached for his thigh hands wrapping around it in desperation.

“You just have to find the right pitch to make someone-”

A moan ripped through your body as he entered his fingers into you.

“Sing.”

Your legs widened, allowing Hannibal to move with more freedom. His fingers moved into you at a slow pace. If it weren't for the pleasure he was bringing you you would almost think he was trying to torture you. Your free hand found its way to his cheek forcing him to turn to look at you. You place your forehead against his, panting as his thumb found your clit.

Hannibal watched your brows furrow as your eyes rolled back in your head for a second, your mouth falling open in a silent moan. He adored you like this. Completely wrapped around his finger. Your nose bumped against his as you moved to kiss him. His lips welcomed you with ease, mouth opening to let your tongue in. Your muscle moved against his as he continued to pleasure you with his hands. You disconnected your lips from Hannibal, a small string of spit continuing to connect him to you. You were starting to get closer to your orgasm and Hannibal could tell. Your hand latched onto his shoulder, nails digging into the skin beneath his shirt. He kept his face close to yours as he continued to work on making you cum. Your breath fanned over his nose as you struggled to keep your eyes open. Your hips bucked up into Hannibal's hand searching for the last bit of friction you needed. With a skilled move of his thumb over your clit Hannibal had you cumming on his fingers. Your body spasmed against him, head falling onto his shoulder as white flashed over your vision.

Hannibal watches your chest rise and fall rapidly as you float back to consciousness. He removes his fingers from your pussy guiding them to your lips. You open your mouth to him, sucking on his digits eagerly. Your eyes snapped open as he removed his fingers from your mouth, placing them inside his own for a moment before releasing them with a pop. You look at him dumbly, your mind completely fogged from your orgasm. Hannibal guides his hand to wrap around your face. You allow him to crash his lips onto yours, your body molding into him once again. It's then that you feel the hardness of him against you.

The feeling of his arousal sends a shock wave into your body making you come back to reality completely. You break the kiss, maneuvering your body so that you're facing Hannibal. You lift your body placing your thighs against his, forcing him to close his legs. You gaze down at him as you move to straddle him, your hand moving to his zipper. Hannibal continues to look up at you as you relive his dick of its confines. A pleased sound makes its way out of your throat at the sight of him. Your free hand moves to your pussy, tugging your soaked underwear to the side. You inch yourself down onto Hannibal's dick, watching his face scrunch up at the feeling of you. His hands find your hips, his impatience causing him to tug you down onto his dick in one go. You gasp at the stretch hands moving to grasp onto his shoulders.

“Fuck hannibal.”

“Feel so good dear. So perfect around me.”

You lift your hips slowly before bringing them back down. You try to start off slow but pretty soon your desperation gets a hold of you. Your hands move to Hannibal's neck, arms wrapping around him. Hannibal presses his face against your chest, his own arms moving to wrap around you. His hips move up, fucking into you. You try to help him as best you can but your thighs are already starting to hurt from being in this position too long. It doesn't seem like Hannibal minds though. In fact once he notices you’re giving your body up to him he seems to find some super strength because before you know it he’s ramming into you.

Your body bounces against his as he guides you up and down on his dick. You release his neck moving your hands to rest on his thighs. The new angle allows him to move against you with more ease causing him to speed up. Before you can even tell him you’re close you’re already gushing around him. Hannibal grunts as his cum paints your walls, his hand moving to rest against your chest. Your fingers move over his hair as he regains his breath, face still pressed against you.

Hannibal lifts his head allowing him to look at you. You have lipstick smeared all over your face and your hair is all tangled but your face holds a look of pure unfiltered joy. Hannibal grins up at you, his hands moving to cup your cheek before pulling you into a tender kiss. You let out a satisfied hum against his lips. He breaks the kiss, his forehead resting against yours.

“Sleep here tonight.”

“Okay.”

You wake the next morning to the sound of the door bell. You groan, lifting your head from Hannibal's neck to look at the time.

“Who the hell is at your house this early on a sunday?”

“Shh go back to bed. They’ll leave soon.”

You snuggle back into Hannibal allowing him to tug you closer. Sleep starts to take over your mind just as the doorbell rings again causing you to let out another groan.

“I should see who it is.”

“Yeah and tell them to fuck of while you’re at it.”

Hannibal chuckles at your words, kissing your cheek before moving to get out of bed. You lift yourself up wrapping the sheets around your bare body as you watch Hannibal tug a sweater over his head.

“Stay there dear. I’ll be right back.”

You nod at him watching him leave the room. He left the bedroom door open allowing you to hear him open the door.

“Jack, what are you doing here?”

Oh shit.

You scramble out of bed tugging on one of Hannibal's sweaters before searching the ground for your underwear. You almost fall over as you try to put it on but you manage to do so without causing an accident. You pad through the house barefoot making your way to the front door.

“Good morning. Sorry to wake you up so early but we have a case that we need help with. Will said you-”

Jack's eyes caught sight of you standing in the corner. Hannibal seemed to notice the shift in Jack's attention causing him to look in the direction he was staring at. Hannibal's eyes fell on your frame observing the way his sweater looked on you. You looked at him, your hands fiddling with each other.

“Is everything okay?”

Hannibal stuck his hand out to you inviting you to come over. You made your way to them allowing Hannibal to pull to him. He placed a kiss on your temple.

“Hi Jack.”

“Hello rookie. I didn’t know you knew Hannibal.”

“Will introduced us.”

“He knows you’re here?”

“No. Why?”

“He called me yesterday. Said you weren’t home. And that you didn’t pick up your phone.”

“Is that why you came?”

“Oh no. We have a murder we need Hannibal to help with.”

“Okay. I’ll come too.”

Jack gave you a look of surprise.

“You aren’t ready for the field, rookie.”

“And Will is?”

Jack opened his mouth to counter you but he knew better. He knew you were close with Will so he knew that Will had told him of all the shit he'd been through because of the FBI. Plus he knew you were famous for your stubbornness and he really didn’t feel like dealing with it right now.

“Fine. Go get ready. Both of you.”

With that Jack exited the house moving to grab his phone out of his pocket. He dialed Will's number. The phone rang twice before he picked up.

“I got Hannibal. We are going to the crime scene now.”

“Okay i’ll be there in a few.”

“Oh and I found your friend. You’ll never guess where.”

Will didn’t even need Jack to finish his phrase to know where you were. Anger bubbled into his body again. He’d have to have a talk with Hannibal about professional boundaries.

1K notes · View notes

bangtanintotheroom · 1 year ago

Text

Make Me Water (M)

Can you blow my mind?

Set off my whole body

If I give you my time

Can you snatch my soul from me?

🔊 water - tyla; make me - britney spears, g-eazy; the look - ali gatie, kehlani; meeting in my bedroom - silk; tonight - dxvn., daniel di angelo; slidin' - kai and more... 🔊

• Pairing: Seonghwa x (F)Reader

• Genre: Non-Idol!AU, Friends to Lovers, Smut, Fluff

• Rating: 18+

• Words: 14.4k

• Summary: The most unexpected topic comes up during a drinking session with your friends, leading to one of them making a rather bold claim. You declare that they’re full of shit and unintentionally make them determined to prove you wrong.

• Warnings/themes: drinking, swearing, explicit sexual content, discussion about inappropriate topics, Seonghwa and his bedroom eyes 😶, Y/N is in for the ride of her life, bickering, making out, body worship, teasing, edging, praise, fingering, squirting (it’s gon be real wet up in here 🗣️💦), dirty talk, oral (f. and m. receiving), multiple orgasms, creampie, multiple positions, unprotected sex (dooon’t do this), aftercare

• Notes: She's heeeeere~ I feel like I've been through the wringer working on this one, so I hope it was worth the wait! Thank you to @wooahaeproductions for beta'ing! 💖

“Alright, alright, it’s my turn now!”

Wooyoung’s exclamation made you and a couple of others look around with apprehension; nothing good came from his drunken mouth ninety percent of the time. But you humored him nonetheless by encouraging, “Go on, Woo.”

You and your group of friends had gathered at your place for the weekly hang out that involved food, drinks and conversations that could either start debates or leave everyone on the floor dying of laughter. Tonight was no exception as empty bottles of soju and beer laid across the coffee table, along with plates that once housed food that everyone brought.

Now that stomachs were full and inhibitions were lessened, in came the inappropriate discussions.

Wooyoung straightened his posture, looking like the Cheshire cat as he crowed, “What’s something you’ve always wanted to try in bed that you haven’t yet?”

Reactions varied. Some immediately looked up as they searched for an answer while others took a sudden interest in their drinking glasses. You were of the former as you scanned your brain, only for Mingi to step up to the plate first.

“You know, I’ve always wanted to have sex while driving.”

Sakura quipped over her glass with, “Like road head or full on sex?”

“Road head, I guess. Not trying to wreck my car.”

Jongho couldn’t help but scoff, “Like you would have less of a chance of crashing from that.”

Mingi waved the younger man off, clearly not wanting his fantasy to be ruined.

“Whatever. Ningning, you go now.”

“Huh?! Why me?”

“Because you’re sitting next to me, we’re going around in a circle.”

Ningning didn’t seem too pleased with his reasoning, elbowing him sharply before gathering her thoughts.

“Uh…I guess—” Her pretty face scrunched up. “—I wouldn’t mind getting tied up.”

Everyone lit up with curiosity, but it was overshadowed from Jongho nearly choking on his beer all of a sudden. Seonghwa was quick to lean over and pat his back to help out.

“Easy there.”

“I’m—” A cough. “—fine, hyung, thanks.”

Wooyoung leaned forward, eyes scrunched as he stared down Ningning.

“Eh? Bondage? Our little Ningning is into that?”

“Okay, one, don’t call me little or I’ll throw something at you. Two, I haven’t tried it yet.”

“But you want to one day.”

Knives might as well have gone into Wooyoung with the way she glared him down.

“Isn’t that the point of this game? Dumbass.”

You were quick to jump in with, “Ning, I think we need to keep you away from the soju, even though Woo deserves every word you’re hurling at him.”

“Hey!”

Ningning huffed, crossing her arms before leaning back against the couch. “Whatever. Jongho, are you alright? Sorry if I scared you.”

Jongho was under control now, although his cheeks had a slight flush to them.

“Y-Yes, Ningning…you didn’t scare me, just took me off-guard.”

She giggled, doing a complete one-eighty from her interaction with Wooyoung.

“Did I? I’ll try not to do it again, ‘kay?”

Whatever Jongho was about to reply with dwindled into a sheepish chuckle when her hand patted his.

“O-Okay.”

“Anyways—” The attention was back on Wooyoung again, thanks to his obnoxious call. “—since you’re back in action, it’s your turn now.”

“Huh?! Oh…”

The way the poor kid deflated had you about to pipe up to defend him, only for Seonghwa to beat you to it.

“Wooyoung, take it down a notch, will you?”

The offender placed a hand on his chest as if he was falsely accused of a crime. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was around a bunch of wet blankets. Look, if he wants to skip, fine. Don’t need him choking to death.”

Just as Seonghwa was about to scold again, Jongho waved a hand to ease the tension.

“Hyung, it’s fine.”

“Are you sure? Don’t let him pressure you.”

The younger man gave his elder a toothy grin in reassurance.

“Yes.”

“You heard him, mom, let him answer!”

Seonghwa sighed in defeat, shaking his head as he got comfortable in his spot next to you again. You leaned in to whisper, “There’s no winning against Woo when he’s drunk, I thought you knew that by now.”

Your friend chuckled lowly, bumping your thigh with his hand.

“Thank you for the reminder. Say it a little earlier next time, yes?”

A giggle escaped, from both his quip and the light touch.

“Yes, Hwa.”

Remembering that Jongho was about to answer now, you tuned out of your brief conversation with the man beside you and back to the group.

“I always…”

Hesitation spread over Jongho’s face as he trailed off; whatever he wanted to say must have been too much for his introverted self to admit. But Wooyoung was quick to encourage him by saying, “Come on, Jongho, spit it out! This is a no judgment zone.”

The younger man gave his friend a look of gratitude before taking a deep breath. “Okay, okay. Um…I’ve always been curious about…”

With his teeth coming on full display and his full cheeks reddening further, he unloaded.

“Squirting?”

Between Mingi spitting out his beer, Wooyoung screeching in surprise at the mess that landed on him, Sakura and Ningning gasping and your jaw dropping, the room went in an uproar.

“Yah, you got beer on me!”

“Serves you right for starting this in the first place.”

“Huh?! Jongho, are you for real?”

“Yes! What’s wrong, i-is it too much?”

Sakura waved her hands in placation, continuing, “No, it’s not! I’m just surprised to hear that from you, of all people.”

He was quick to straighten up, eyes narrowing in defense. “What is that supposed to mean?!”

“You seem so…clean-cut?”

“Yeah, not like someone who wants their mattress turned into a water bed.”

Jongho snapped at Mingi’s confusion with, “I’m not talking about a whole geyser, that’s fake! Just a little bit, you know?”

The tall man still looked unconvinced, full lips pursed.

“Okay, but, is it even possible?”

“Yeah, I heard it’s not easy to do—” Wooyoung had the nerve to wiggle his fingers in the air. “—gotta have the magic touch.”

Of course, the troublemaker himself glanced at you, Sakura and Ningning before questioning, “Unless either of you lovely ladies have experience in that area?”

Ningning shook her head swiftly. “Never.”

Sakura lifted her chin. “Nope.”

Which left you to end the interrogation with, “No, and it won’t ever happen.”

Wooyoung backed off, humming in curiosity. Just when it seemed that he was going to move on to the next victim, a voice next to you spoke.

“I’ve seen it happen before.”

Every eye in the room landed on Seonghwa, looking as casual as ever despite his controversial statement.

“Eh? What do you mean?”

He looked at Jongho casually while lifting his glass to his lips. “I’ve made someone squirt before.”

Sheer chaos erupted all at once. While everyone else talked over each other, you gawked at your friend. You did not expect something like that to come out of Seonghwa, of all people.

Seonghwa, who kept a close eye on your group during every outing.

Seonghwa, who stayed up until 3 AM playing Animal Crossing.

Prim, proper and pretty Seonghwa, who just admitted to causing an obscene act in the bedroom.

“How?!”

“Patience and knowing what they like. You also have to make sure they’re comfortable or you won’t get anywhere.”

It was ironic to see how fixated Wooyoung was on the topic, seeing as he was the one who started this game out of sheer debauchery, inquiring, “Was it planned? Or did it just happen out of nowhere?”

“It was unexpected but intriguing. We were just doing the usual and I could feel something different. Before I realized it, there was a huge mess.”

You could have sworn you heard a hint of smugness in his tone.

“Damn…from fingering or fucking?”

A tilt of his lips.

“Both.”

Wooyoung sat back, looking more than impressed at his friend’s prowess. But you weren’t on board like the others were. Squirting always seemed like something that was exaggerated by people who didn’t have much to brag about in the bedroom. Therefore, you couldn’t help but interrupt the questioning.

“You sure they didn’t pee on you?”

Seonghwa turned his head, looking unimpressed with your snark. “I’m pretty sure.”

Your brow lifted.

“It only happened that one time?”

“Yes.”

You shrugged your shoulders.

“Maybe you just got lucky.”

The ‘oooh’ echoing from your friends only amplified the taken aback expression on Seonghwa’s face.

“I think she’s calling you bad in bed, Hwa.”

“No, I’m not! I’m just skeptical, is all. Anyways—” You shot a placating smile to everyone. “—why don’t we move on to the next victim?”

Wooyoung cackled, “Now you’re speaking my language, Y/N! Sakura, you better answer with something to upstage hyung!”

“Wooyoung-ah, don’t put so much pressure on me!”

Following her whine, the group focused their full attention on the young woman, especially you as you pushed the previous topic to the back of your head. But while you were laser-focused on every single person who went next, you were unaware of the constant glances Seonghwa would shoot at the side of your head, something brewing deep in his dark eyes.

After the tumultuous discussions finally dimmed, you retreated into the kitchen to begin washing the pile of dishes from dinner. Despite the multiple offers of help, you turned them down. You could use some peace and quiet for a moment.

The dull thrum of conversation in the background was all the noise you needed as you began working on whatever was in the sink. But then you felt someone coming up to stand to your right once you got two plates in.

You didn’t even need to look up to know who was butting in.

“Do you not know the meaning of relax?”

Seonghwa hummed playfully, reaching for one of the soaped-up dishes in your sink. “No, not really.”

A huff left as you allowed him to help. No point wasting energy in saying no.

You scrubbed each one as well as you could before passing them off to your friend to rinse. Even though you knew he should have been kicking back in the living room with the others, his assistance was appreciated. You greatly underestimated how hard dried tteokbokki sauce was to get off.

“So what are they talking about now? How to recreate positions from porn?”

Seonghwa chuckled at your quip. “No, they’re laser-focused on the game.”

“Good. I still can’t believe we even had that conversation earlier.”

“You know how Wooyoung and the others get when they drink.” A pause came before he spoke lowly, “They didn’t make you feel uncomfortable, did they?”

The way concern painted his tone made you look up, seeing his face expressing the same emotion. Leave it to him to always look out for you.

“Not at all. I was taken off-guard—” You gave a reassuring smile. “—but it definitely livened up the night.”

He smiled with relief, taking another bowl from you to rinse off and dry.

“Although I have to admit, you caught me by surprise.”

“What, because of what I said?”

You hummed as you put your muscles into scrubbing a stubborn stain, “Mhm. Doesn’t seem like your kind of thing.”

Seonghwa huffed playfully, “Well, you never expressed any interest in my intimate life, so I didn’t have a reason to inform you.”

His remark made your eyes roll.

“I mean that it doesn’t seem like something your prim and proper self would be into.”

“You say that like sex isn’t meant to be the opposite of that.”

You shrugged. “I stand by what I said. Besides, you probably just got lucky with whoever she was.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Seonghwa turning his head to lift a defined brow. “What makes you say that?”

Wanting to emphasize your opinion, you paused your hands to give your friend a matter-of-fact expression.

“Because a lot of women can’t squirt. I don’t care what ‘experts’ say, it’s damn near impossible.”

To your surprise, he frowned. “Y/N, do you really think I’m lying?”

“Not lying, just taking an inch and making a mile out of it—” You went back to giving the dirty dishes attention. “—maybe if I saw it in person, it’d be a different story.”

After that, it was silent, save for the faint cheers of your friends in the living room. You figured that was the end of that conversation.

“Why bother telling you when I could just show you?”

Your fingers seemed to lose their grip on the plate, clattering into the sink loudly.

What? He did not just say that.

You turned to gawk at Seonghwa before stuttering, “H-Huh?”

He was nonplussed as he met your eyes, repeating, “I could just prove you wrong. Actions speak louder than words, no?”

Was he fucking serious? Seonghwa offering to show you how he could make you squirt?

“Hwa, you…you’re joking, right?”

“I’m not.”

Judging by the look on his face, he really wasn’t.

Feeling a heat begin to creep up the back of your neck, you tore your gaze away to grab the plate, picking it up and checking to see if it suffered any damage from your slip-up.

“Come on, be for real right now. I can’t do that.”

“You can’t let me touch you or you can’t squirt?”

You almost threw the abused dish back down as your head whipped up to fix him a flustered glare.

“Both! One, we’re friends. Two, I’ve never squirted and I never will.”

Seonghwa gave you an equally stern look, firing back, “We’re both single and it would just be between the two of us. And have you ever even tried?”

“N-No, but—”

“So how would you know?”

You pursed your lips, feeling a wave of frustration mixed with defeat overcoming you. It wasn’t fun to admit, but he had a point.

He could probably tell by the look on your face that you knew this, yet he didn’t gloat or prod you further. Seonghwa just kept watching and waiting for your next defense to come out. But it didn’t come for a while as your mind raced with thoughts, coming up with one that took you for a spin.

Would it really be so bad to say yes?

If you had to be honest, a part of you always entertained escaping the friend zone with Seonghwa. Yes, he was an incredibly good-looking man, but that could only get you so far. It was his personality that made your mind wander, as well.

There was always something so incredibly attractive about someone who looked out for you and your best interests. It wasn’t just with you, but with others as well. The amount of times he had jumped in to assist (especially with Jongho and Wooyoung) with getting them out of messes was too frequent.

But this was your friend. And friends and sex mixed together could either end up turning into something beautiful or an absolute disaster.

“Seonghwa.”

“Hm?”

You peered up at him with confusion. “Why me?”

For a moment, your friend said nothing while keeping his stare on you. But then the gentlest of smiles stretched his lips before he explained, “Why not?”

Flabbergasted. Flustered. Any word to match your current feeling was necessary.

His reason was as simple as that?

“Hwa, the TV is acting up again, can you help us?”

Sakura’s sudden shout made the two of you jump, Seonghwa turning his head to call out, “Give me a second!”

You couldn’t help but freeze when his dark eyes landed on you again, steady as if you two didn’t have an inappropriate conversation just now.

“No pressure, Y/N. Excuse me.”

And then he left you alone in the kitchen, reeling and staring at the spot he was previously in.

What the hell?

Desperate to distract yourself from what occurred, you turned to face the sink again. Cleaning up was considerably slower this time, thanks to your hands trembling. When you dropped the same butter knife for the third time, you swore under your breath and placed your palms on the edge of the counter, holding on tight. It was to try and get your nerves under control, but alas, you ended up pondering Seonghwa's offer in the meantime.

You sighed heavily, hanging your head for a moment as you reminded yourself to grab a shot before heading back to the others.

The rest of the night went smoothly with spikes of excitement, courtesy of Jongho and Ningning’s impromptu duet and Mingi’s long-winded explanation of how ants were the most useless bugs in existence. You tried your damnedest to focus on them and give your own input, but it was difficult thanks to the source of your troubles sitting right next to you.

You tried to play it cool, even though you kept stealing glances at Seonghwa, acting as nonplussed as ever. It didn’t help at all when he decided to perch his head on your lap, humming as he looked ready to fall asleep at any moment.

Bastard.

Mercy was granted when everyone decided to head out later on. You saw them out with hugs and promises to make plans for next week’s hangout, save for Seonghwa who decided to stay behind to help with the last bit of cleaning. You cursed his consideration, still feeling too shaken to be able to stay alone in the same room as him. As long as you avoided his eyes, you were okay.

When he finally decided to leave, you felt an odd mix of relief and disappointment. His offer hadn’t been brought up again since earlier, leaving you to wonder if he was fully serious or just taking the piss out of you.

“Are you alright?”

You broke out of your thoughts, seeing Seonghwa observing you with concern.

“Yeah, Hwa…I think I’m just ready for bed, that's all.”

“You do look tired. Let me get out of your hair, then.”

And so you walked him to your front door, the feeling still lingering inside your chest. You tried your best to stifle it as you unlocked the door, giving your friend a smile.

“Thanks for the help, Hwa.”

He gave you one of his gorgeous, toothy grins, making your gut flip in protest. “Of course, Y/N.”

And like always, he reached his arms out, waiting until you stepped into them to receive a tight hug.

A hug that made you a little giddy at times yet hit ten times harder tonight.

“Have a good night.”

Why did he have to whisper it like that? And so close to your head?

“You too. Get home safe.”

Reluctantly, you let him go, watching as he stepped over the threshold. But as soon as both feet passed, that ball of tension inside crawled up and out of your mouth.

“Seonghwa.”

You almost didn’t recognize your voice, trying not to mull over it too much as said man turned to look at you. Hesitation wracked you before you were able to muster a necessary question.

“Are you free this weekend?”

“I am. Why?”

Would you regret what you were about to do? Or would you be unlocking the door to something new and exciting?

There was no point in analyzing further as you gathered up every last one of your nerves to look him in the eye.

“I have a challenge for you.”

You were a fool. A horny, little fool who let her pussy take over her mind.

As badly as you wanted to blame Seonghwa for even putting this crazy idea into your head, it was absurd to try. You were the one who accepted his offer and you were the one currently driving over to his place to see if he could put his money where his mouth was.

Just the curious thoughts you had about what he might do had you gripping the steering wheel tighter.

They came to a halt when you parked and began making your way up to his apartment, trying not to look too jumpy to the doorman who always greeted you. You were no stranger to visiting, but a silly part of you became paranoid that he’d see right through and decipher the naughty reason that you were really here. But your facade remained steady until you made your way off the elevator and headed straight for one of the doors in the hallway.

You took in a deep breath, soothing your nerves a mite before ringing the doorbell. Whatever composure you mustered dwindled when Seonghwa answered a few seconds later, looking effortlessly gorgeous as ever. Yes, even in a plain white tee and gray sweats.

Damn. You probably looked basic as fuck with your simple cami and leggings on.

“Y/N.”

The pleasant smile he gave reflected on your own face as you brought a mildly shaky hand up to give a short wave.

“I made it.”

“I can see that. Come in.”

As soon as he stepped aside, you entered, sliding your shoes off as he shut the door.

“Busy day today?”

You shrugged as you pushed your footwear to the side of the welcome mat. “Busy enough. I took it easy, honestly.”

“Saving your energy for tonight?”

The tips of your ears heated up at the ever so subtle upturn of his lips. Leave it to him to be direct.

“Maybe.”

Seonghwa chuckled as you looked anywhere but at him, leaning his shoulder against the door and folding his arms across his chest. “No need to be so awkward, Y/N.”

You groaned and looked up at the ceiling before griping, “Hwa, I just came over to your apartment to see if you could get me to squirt. How can I not be awkward?”

Your friend’s humorous smile grew into a reassuring one as he returned to his full height, reaching one of his hands out to hold yours.

“You shouldn’t feel awkward because it’s just between the two of us and we’re going to have a good time.”

The touch and reassurance from him eased your nerves a little, but…

“But what if I don’t end up doing it?”

Seonghwa’s expression became a bit serious now.

“Then we’ll figure it out, if we hit that wall. Either way, no pressure—” His thumb rubbed the back of your hand. “—I just want you to enjoy yourself.”

Your heart couldn’t help but warm. Despite the fact that he brought this up in the first place, he gave you the choice to tap out whenever you wanted. But there was a bud growing inside you now. A bud that was determined to at least attempt to see his claim through.

“Thank you, Seonghwa. I, um, hope I don’t disappoint you.”

He grinned lightly, giving your palm a careful squeeze.

“I’m sure you won’t. Do you need anything right now?”

Considering that you did all your grooming and usual sex prep at home, you were ready to get straight to business.

“No, I’m good.”

Seonghwa nodded at your answer, letting go of your hand. “Alright. Just head to my room and get comfortable, I have to grab a few things first.”

Although you raised your eyebrow at whatever ‘a few things’ was, you let it slide and turned to walk towards his bedroom. Out of all the times you had been in there, heading past the door had you overcome with a different emotion this time. Well, three.

You were nervous, cautious and excited at the same time. Maybe there was a name for that somewhere out there, but you deemed it unimportant at the moment as you sat on the foot of his bed.

His room was familiar, so you couldn’t distract yourself by looking around. For now, you clasped your hands and twiddled your thumbs, watching them with mild interest. The sound of Seonghwa finally entering brought your attention away from your appendages, only for your brows to nearly raise into your hairline with the things your friend had bundled in his arms.

Two water bottles.

A bath towel.

A portable speaker.

“You’re really turning this into a whole experience, aren’t you?”

“Yes. I want to make sure you’re as relaxed as possible.”

Something clicked and you made a noise of realization. “Is that why you asked me to send you a bedroom playlist over?”

“Mhm.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly and shake your head.

“Seonghwa��it almost feels like you’re trying to seduce me.”

He giggled at the accusation, setting the stuff down on the bed before grinning mischievously.

“Is it working?”

In all honesty, it wouldn’t have taken much on his end to seduce you, but there was no way in hell you were going to say that out loud.

“I’ll give you an A for effort.”

“Hmph, good enough.”

With that, Seonghwa grabbed the speaker to start setting it up with his phone.

“Oh, I forgot to mention—” He paused and turned his head to look at you. “—you might want to use the bathroom before we start.”

His suggestion made your face scrunch in confusion. “I don’t really have to go, though…”

“Even if you don’t, it’ll give you peace of mind. Just so you know that you don’t have to go during. Trust me.”

Well, you weren’t going to keep fighting the supposed squirting expert, so you shrugged and stood up to head to the bathroom. After doing the little bit of business you had and cleaning up, you returned to Seonghwa’s room, only to be greeted by a few different things.

Familiar music entered your ears and your eyes noticed the large bath towel spread out in the middle of his bed, the dark terrycloth contrasting with the light blue comforter. Seonghwa had his back turned to you, too occupied in fussing with something at his nightstand to notice your appearance. You cleared your throat after a few seconds, capturing his attention as he looked over his shoulder.

“All done?”

You gave a nod as you walked up to him.

“Are you all put together now?”

He chuckled a little, returning your nod. “As much as I can be, yes.”

Despite his answer, there was a bout of silence between the two of you afterward. It seemed that neither of you didn’t know how to continue. Thankfully, he stepped up to the plate.

“Should we sit?”

His motioning to the foot of the bed forced you to swallow the sudden jump of nerves, moving forward to sit down, the other following suit. Your eyes remained on the carpet, tapping your bare feet on it as you came to terms with what was about to happen. It was a miracle that you could hear the music over the hammering of your heartbeat.

“You look nervous.”

You brought your eyes up to see Seonghwa giving you a sympathetic smile. It only made you clear your throat and look away with timidity.

“Can you blame me? This is an…unexpected development in our relationship.”

A quiet hum. “It definitely is.”

Both of you stayed silent, breaking when you heard him whisper, “I wasn’t sure if you’d say yes.”

You whipped your head back around, blinking at his change in tone.

“I was expecting you to curse me out completely for even bringing something like this up.”

You assumed that you were the only one internally freaking out about this, but it was clear by the way Seonghwa kept tapping his bouncing leg that he was struggling to adjust too. Endeared and relieved by his behavior, you carefully bumped your leg into his.

“Well, you seemed so sincere in your offer and knowing you, you wouldn’t risk it if you knew I was gonna flip, right?”

Your mild teasing paired with encouragement made his demeanor brighten, teeth flashing.

“Right.”

Both of you giggled, feeling a little more at ease now. It led to Seonghwa taking your hand in his now, the touch comforting as he gazed into your eyes with a seriousness.

“There’s still a chance for you to back out, Y/N. It’s your call.”

Seonghwa’s body language was pretty clear in what answer he really wanted to hear. The way he continuously brushed his thumb over your knuckles and looked deep into your eyes let you know how much he was looking forward to this experience.

And yet he still gave you full control over it.

A grateful smile couldn’t help but stretch over your lips as you completely made up your mind. Your palm turned over to still his wandering thumb, scooting closer until your knee touched his own.

Leaning in, you whispered into his ear, “Show me what you can do.”

As soon as you pulled back, you could see the shift in Seonghwa’s expression, one that was new to you but brought a thrill down your spine. With a firm nod, he brought up his free hand to hold your jaw with caution. His head came in, tilting before you closed your eyes. A second later, you felt his lips claiming yours for a kiss.

A kiss that was everything you thought of and everything you never anticipated.

You always expected him to be an expert at this. Which was probably dumb of you to assume, considering you never got anything more than a hug out of your friend, but what was the harm in wishful thinking? At least he proved you right with the way he let passion slowly drip into it and kept his hands touching you.

Your body slowly crept up in temperature as the minutes went by. By now, you were giving back as much as you could in the kiss, one of your own hands holding onto his t-shirt. The urge to venture underneath kept striking, yet you didn’t want to get ahead of yourself without asking. You reluctantly pulled your lips off of Seonghwa’s, only enough to whisper, “Can I take your shirt off, Hwa?”

He was quick to give a nod of approval, sitting back before taking your hand and moving it to brush against the hem. Before you could lose your nerve, you took hold with both hands, waiting for your friend to lift his arms and sliding the fabric up carefully. You tossed it to the floor as soon as it was off, breath catching at what was in front of you now.

This wasn’t the first time you had seen Seonghwa shirtless, but the current circumstances made the sight more tantalizing than usual. Although you had noticed the light definition of his lean torso prior to today, knowing that you were about to have free reign made the urge to touch him even stronger. With a burst of want, your fingers began exploring his warm skin, watching and listening as he reacted to your touch.

The barely audible hums and sighs falling from his lips were eventually silenced when he leaned in for another kiss, the intensity turned up a notch this time. Feeling your friend groan into your mouth whenever you brushed a sensitive spot was a privilege you never thought you would get.

And one you didn’t want to give up any time soon.

But then Seonghwa was pulling away, making you nearly choke on the whine you had to hold back. Your disappointment was swiftly alleviated when you saw his hands go for the bottom of your shirt now. His brow raised as he questioned softly, “May I?”

Your response was an encouraging nod. Repeating his motions from earlier as the roles were reversed, you tried to ignore the anxious, little voice in your head as your clothing came off and ended up on the bedroom floor. It was also a result of spending nearly an hour deciding on what underwear to don, which in the grand scheme of things, was stupid. But you wanted to at least leave him with a good impression.

Which may be what you’re getting, judging by the smallest tilt of his mouth as he looked you over.

“What?”

“Would I sound arrogant if I asked if this was for me?”

Your nerves eased as you giggled and gave his leg a light kick.

“You would…but I’d let it slide.”

“Would you?”

“Mhm—” The attention made you push your chest out a bit. “—figured I’d wear my good stuff for a special occasion.”

Seonghwa chuckled lowly, glancing at the motion before returning to your face. “Well, I feel very grateful right now.”

His words solidified that you made an excellent choice today.

While you were mentally patting yourself on the back, he began leaning in again, only for his lips to land on your jawline. The sensation brought a pleasant shiver down your spine, increasing when he started moving lower. Brushing over your pulse point made it come stronger this time.

You tipped your head back to give your friend more room to work with, getting lost in the sensations. The feelings gave way to a gentle warmth that crept up on you the longer Seonghwa kept kissing, spiking into a small fire every time he hit a sensitive spot or threw a bit of teeth into the mix. When the heat needed an escape, you’d let out gentle noises to let him know how he was making you feel. He’d show his gratitude with a hum on your skin or the softest of chuckles.

“You know—” A scrape along your jugular. “—I always thought you were gorgeous.”

Whoa. The sudden words made you fall out of your haze a bit as you stammered, “R-Really?”

“Mhm—“ Another kiss on your neck. “—so pretty.”

An unmistakable heat built up in your cheeks, taking his compliment to heart. To have someone that looked like Seonghwa saying that would have your ego riding a high for the next few days.

But for now, you’d focus on the way his lips started carefully trailing down to the swells of your breasts, occasionally brushing against the lace hiding the rest of them. You couldn’t help but watch the top of his head, ebony bangs swaying and tickling your sensitive skin as he continued with his kisses. Soon enough, the desire for more came.

“Hwa.”

The soft call made him stop and bring his head up to give you his attention. With a slight push of your chest, you encouraged, “Take it off.”

Seonghwa gave your bra a quick glance before returning his gaze to give a nod, sitting up to reach around your torso. You felt his hand fumble for a moment until the band around your ribs loosened. He went for your straps now, sliding the garment down delicately, eyes fixated on your skin as it was exposed.

The way he was staring had you feeling a mix of self-consciousness and assurance. Having one of your close friends seeing you in such a state was nerve-wracking, but the budding heat in his expression let you know that he liked what he saw. And if you were unsure about that, he was quick to remedy it by leaning down to pull a nipple into his mouth.

A small hiss left your lips at the sensation, head tipping back as Seonghwa began carefully sucking. Just when you were really enjoying it, he pulled off to ask, “Did you like that?”

It took a second to gain your voice before answering, “I did.”

Your friend’s mouth quirked at your affirmation, pleased to find something else that made you tick. He dove back in, returning his attention to the stiff bud with more pressure. A few sighs escaped as your eyes fluttered closed to enjoy it further. How quickly Seonghwa caught on to your body was mind-boggling. Whenever you were about to ask for more, he’d bring a hand up to tweak and play with the neglected side.

He continued to play with your breasts a little longer, leaving no inch untouched before he pulled off. The loss of the touch had your fingers tightening on the comforter, only easing up when he spoke, “We should get more comfortable.”

With a motion of his hand towards the head of the bed, you turned and crawled up to rest your head on the pillows. Seonghwa was quick to follow, watching as he ended up on top of you. He stopped when he was level with your chest, planting a few kisses before slowly trailing them down your torso. That and the little nips he’d throw in between made you melt into the comforter.

You couldn’t help but want to watch him in action at one point. Your stare must have been heavy as he eventually caught you.

“What?”

“Nothing, I just…I’m surprised at how thorough you’re being.”

He let out an amused huff before sitting up between your legs.

“The buildup is part of it, Y/N. It’s not just about how you feel here—” He pointed between your hips before tapping your forehead. “—it’s about what’s going on up here too.”

Wow. Never did you imagine hearing that out of anyone you were about to be intimate with. His thought process relaxed you further, giving him a nod to show that you understood.

Seonghwa looked pleased with your reaction, leaning in to give you a short but sweet kiss. He pulled back to direct his eyes on your panties before peering back up to raise a thick brow.

“Should we take these off?”

The suggestion forced your bottom lip under your teeth in anticipation, lifting your hips to let him know that you were completely on board. He took a hold of the waistband and pulled down carefully until your underwear came off your legs and ended up on the floor. The new exposure had you keeping them as close together as possible (which wasn’t much, thanks to Seonghwa sitting in between). Your friend didn’t give you the chance to feel more shy, his hands laying next to your knees to gradually slide up and towards your inner thighs, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind.

With a light push, he spread your legs further apart, revealing more of your most intimate area. Your stomach flipped at the way his eyes seemed to drink you in, feeling a thumb come up to brush the apex of your thigh.

“Pretty.”

His murmur made you want to grab a pillow and hide your face from the sudden heat washing over it. But Seonghwa interrupted your modesty by hooking his hands underneath your knees to push them back all of a sudden.

“Hwa!”

“Hold these for me.”

You couldn’t tell if it was a command or a suggestion; either way, you were quick to hold the back of your knees and keep yourself spread open. All you could do was lay there and wiggle your toes as you tried not to overthink on how exposed you were to Seonghwa now.

“Y/N.”

You peered up at him, only to be greeted with a question that you never expected to leave his mouth.

“Do you like being eaten out?”

A tremble slipped through your fingers while the grip on your legs tightened. You nodded slowly while whispering, “I do.”

Seonghwa pulled in his bottom lip before biting, focusing his gaze between your legs again.

“May I?”

God yes. Which was short for ‘god yes, eat me the fuck out like you haven’t had a meal in days’, but your nerves dwindled it down to a mini smile paired with a slow nod. It seemed to be more than enough for your friend as he grinned lightly before carefully slinking down until his face hovered in front of your dripping folds.

A conflict of emotions occurred at the view. A thrill went through you at the thought of having Seonghwa put his mouth on you, yet you were also incredibly vulnerable to him now. Did you taste alright? Did you clean up enough and—

“Oh—”

Whatever worries you were going to stew on were interrupted, thanks to the tongue delicately running up your slit. The motion had your body stiffening at first, gaping down at the head between your thighs. For a moment, your brain couldn’t comprehend that it was Seonghwa who did that, but it was quick to realize when he went and did it again, making a light sound come out.

Your friend peered up at you through his bangs, deep brown eyes watching you like a hawk.

“Too much or more?”

“It…felt nice. Just, um, build it up?”

Why did you say that as if you didn’t know how you liked to be eaten out? Now Seonghwa cocked his head, looking a little cautious.

“You don’t sound very confident about that, Y/N. Don’t be afraid to tell me what you like.”

Right. Right. This was Seonghwa, not some person who was doing this out of obligation for the end goal. How would he know how to please you if you didn’t communicate?

Taking a deep breath, you informed him, “That was fine. Just…switch between that and my clit.”

He nodded, looking more satisfied with your answer.

“Okay. Just tell me if I need to do anything different, yes?”

Your mouth curled at his consideration. “Yes, Hwa.”

Seonghwa gave your inner thigh a gentle peck before going back to what he was doing. Now you could enjoy the feeling fully, less hesitant than before. By the third lick, a moan began building up at the base of your throat, releasing when you felt the lightest of pressures on your clit.

“Mnh—”

“Is that good?”

Your legs spread further. “You can do it a little harder.”

He wasted no time in following your suggestion, circling the bud with more strength to make your back arch slightly and your nails dig into your skin.

“Yeah, just like that—”

Seonghwa continued, egged on by your words. He seemed to develop a strategy when it came to pleasuring you, leaving your eyes to flutter shut as you enjoyed the bliss.

The only time your fog was interrupted was when you heard his voice husking from below, “Knew you’d always taste so good.”

A shiver wracked your body from the mixture of praise and the light flick he gave your clit. You sat back and enjoyed the feeling of your friend’s mouth as he worked you over. When you felt something prodding your entrance, your eyes flew open, head lifting to see Seonghwa meeting you with apprehension on his beautiful face. Only when you looked closer did you see that the tip of his index finger was what pressed against you.

“Can I put it in?”

Your nod was all he needed before sliding inside, your teeth clenching at the welcome spreading. He began thrusting slowly, lighting a different kind of spark inside at the added friction. You tipped your head back again, sighing pleasantly in enjoyment.

“You sound so fucking wet—”

You squeezed involuntarily around his digit, finding that he wasn’t exaggerating. Listening close, you could hear a light squelching, your ears burning from the noise.

Seonghwa continued moving against your walls, stimulating you to the point where you instructed him to add another finger in. With a bite of his lip, he obliged, carefully adding a second one that made you moan even louder than before. How you managed to still keep a hold of your legs was impressive in its own right. But you nearly let go when you felt a brush against your G-spot.

“Ah—”

“Y/N?”

You were swift in alleviating his concern with a, “Right there, Hwa—”

He was clued into what he did, starting to rub and press in that area with more pressure. To give you something else to make your head spin, you felt him start to lap and swirl around your clit again. The two sensations intertwined seamlessly, leading to a familiar knot to start forming in your gut.

Shit. Never in your wildest dreams did you imagine Seonghwa, your close friend, would make you about to come.

But just when you were about to allow the moment to take over, he removed his tongue and stilled his fingers, making your head throw back in frustration as you groaned.

“Damn—”

Seonghwa was quick to placate you, “I’m sorry, Y/N, but it’s necessary.”

You brought your head up to shoot a large pout to let him know you didn’t see eye to eye. He gave you a chuckle in return, his free hand coming up to give your tense stomach a pat.

“Believe me, I’d love nothing more than to watch you come, but I made a promise.”

His admission, followed by the peck on the back of your thigh, made your toes curl in anticipation of what he had planned. You took some time to collect yourself, trying to ignore the pang that came from denying yourself an orgasm. Once you were ready, you let Seonghwa know.

It was like a rinse and repeat cycle, the way he kept edging you, only to stop when sweet bliss was about to arrive. Thankfully, after the third time of this, he sat up in front of you.

“I think you’re ready now.”

Mouth popping open in intrigue, you inquired, “So what should I do?”

“Just go along with it until you feel like you’re going to come. It’s going to feel like you have to pee also, but don’t fight it. Just push, okay?”

Hm. Simple enough.

“Okay.”

Seonghwa smiled at your compliance, giving your thigh a gentle rub before continuing to move the hand that made your pussy its new home. It might as well have, with the way it effortlessly slid and stroked all the spots that made you quiver. A sneaky part of your brain mused on why you never thought about getting intimate with your friend sooner.

But then you were struck with a feeling that sent an unexpected shock throughout your entire system.

What was that?

And then it happened again, only to come with an unwelcome weight below your belly button.

Fuck. Was this what he was talking about?

The longer he kept going, the more that pressure became overwhelming. It was a battle to fight with your brain to let it know that you weren’t going to have an accident. But once you got it to settle down, the feeling was so close.

You had to tell him. But your first attempt at speaking was useless, mouth parting only to let out yet another moan. With the most of your strength, you strained your vocal cords to choke out, “Seonghwa—!”

“Push.”

The desire to make the intense pressure go away was only stoked by his deep command, making something in you snap. With a strained cry, your hands flew down to tug at the sheets as bolts of lightning raced up and down your body. You faintly notice the tension in your lower belly dissipating a mite as you shook underneath Seonghwa. Remembering his instructions, you push your lower muscles as much as possible, feeling a sudden heat wash down your thighs.

You wanted to look and see if anything was happening down there, but the pleasure was overwhelming, forcing you to ride it out until your senses started to return. After what felt like eons, your body calmed down a little, although your hips would occasionally jerk.

Only when Seonghwa spoke did you become aware of your surroundings again.

“You did it.”

Those three words, teeming with pride, brought your heavy head up from the pillow. You looked up to see a pleased grin on his handsome face.

“D-Did I?”

His smile only grew wider, motioning you to take a peek between your legs. There was a delay from your brain to your body, but you managed to prop yourself up on your elbows. When you caught a glimpse, your mouth couldn’t help but pop open in shock.

The sight of your friend’s fingers stuffed in your pussy was already something to behold, but the extra details surrounding it only made it better. His hand glistened in the dim light of the room, along with your inner thighs. You had to look a little harder to notice the small wet spot on the towel, though.

“I did it…”

A swell of satisfaction built up in your chest as you gazed up at Seonghwa with amazement.

“I told you you could.”

Gratification and a hint of cockiness graced his tone, making a breathless giggle escape you.

“Wow…”

Your friend hummed pleasantly, his free hand coming up to give your hip a gentle rub.

“Did it feel good?”

Good? Good?

“It felt fucking amazing.”

Seonghwa laughed at your impassioned response. “Wonderful. I wasn’t going to take anything less.”

You matched his laugh, flopping back down onto the bed as you continued to get your bearings. As the shocks slowly wore off, your brain began racing. The feeling you had experienced just now was intense yet addicting. It seemed that your body wanted more of what your friend gave you, not helped by the fact that he still had his digits inside.

Feeling a little more prepared this time, you brought your head up.

“Seonghwa.”

He lifted a brow at your call, followed by a wiggle of your hips.

“I want to do it again.”

His face relaxed into one of understanding immediately. He waited for you to get comfortable before starting to move his fingers at a steady pace. It took less time for the heat to start building back up, making your mouth part to let consistent moans out again. The sensation built up faster than before, assisted by the suggestive words Seonghwa would throw in in between. When that urge hit again, you didn’t hesitate to speak.

“H-Hwa, I’m gonna—“

Seonghwa’s jaw tightened at your warning, clearly ready to bring you to that high point again. But rather than let you lay back like before, his other hand shot up behind your neck, cupping it with a firm grip. You were lost about his intentions until he lifted, enough to have you looking down and getting an eyeful of his fingers thrusting in and out of your cunt.

Just the sight alone pushed you even closer to the edge.

“Watch yourself make a mess, Y/N.”

And your friend’s harsh words tossed you over that cliff in no time.

You moaned loudly, making sure to keep your eyes peeled despite the urge to close them again. You’re able to push a little harder this time, getting a clear view of the small stream coming out between your legs.

“Fuck, that’s it, baby—”

Your head was unable to throw back at the pleasure coursing through your body, thanks to Seonghwa’s hold. The control he had on you was unexpected yet thrilling. You somehow managed to watch his face now, your gut flipping at the way he fixated on what was happening below. His thick brows were knitted and his lips pursed in concentration while he continued to drive his fingers back and forth.

But then he glanced up at your face, directing that heat onto you with little shame.

“Good girl. Let it all out.”

Thank God he decided to let your neck go then, because his praise made whatever control you had on yourself disappear, causing you to splay out on the bed. All you could do was lay back and let him continue to work you over and over again.

At one point, you could feel his fingers slip out and cover you, rubbing back and forth to make your mess spread out. Had this been earlier, you would have been embarrassed at the way it was getting everywhere, but the fog of the strong orgasms erased your worries. Only when one of your hands flew down to grab his wrist did Seonghwa stop, leaving you to deal with the aftershocks.

Holy fuck, your thighs could not stop shaking. And you could feel every muscle below your waist twitching.

Once a sense of relief washed over you, your fingers unwrapped from Seonghwa before your arms laid next to your head. You panted harshly as you tried to get your bearings and calm your lower half (you came this close to kicking your friend in the leg). His warm hand came up and rested on your hip, rubbing with care as he soothed you with words.

“That’s it, Y/N. You did well.”

You lulled into a sense of security, eyes lidding until your lashes brushed against each other. The temptation to drift off into sleep was incredibly strong right—

“Here.”

But then one of the water bottles appeared in front of your face, making you realize how thirsty you were all of a sudden. You gave Seonghwa a raspy ‘thank you’ before taking it, sitting up and wasting no time in drinking.

“Trust me, you’ll need it if you want to keep going.”

You chuckled around your bottle, bringing it down once you were halfway finished.

“I appreciate it, the last thing I want is dehydration.”

Your friend grinned in humor, taking a moment before questioning, “How are you feeling right now?”

An answer didn’t come right away because there were too many. But for now—

“Fan-fucking-tastic.”

Seonghwa laughed, the hand still on your thigh giving a gentle squeeze. “I created a monster, didn’t I?”

“Hey, you’re the one who offered to show me. If anything, you have to take responsibility.”

“Don’t worry, I will…once you’re back in order.”

You batted pathetically at his quip, only to rest your hand on your stomach as you continued to relax. The typical post-orgasm bliss crept up, although you ignored the desire to take a nap. Especially once you noticed the state your friend was left in.

The dim light gave you a clear view of how he strained against the fabric of his sweats, washing you over with a sense of pride.

“That seems like a problem.”

Seonghwa followed your stare, only to chuckle modestly and scratch the back of his neck.

“I’ll be fine.”

Your brow furrowed at his avoidance. “You sure?”

He was quick to shoot you a grin.

“Positive. This isn’t about me, remember?”

Oh Seonghwa. Sweet, considerate Seonghwa whose actions carried over to the bedroom as well. He probably thought you were only offering out of accountability, not knowing that it was far from that. You wanted to make him feel something tonight.

“I know, but—” You propped yourself up on your elbows. “—are you not interested?”

A wary glance. “…in?”

Time to let it out.

“In me…touching you.”

As you predicted, your friend was caught off-guard, surprise on his gorgeous face. He looked away a couple of times before he could finally meet your eyes. You nearly missed him whispering lowly, “I wouldn’t say that.”

A giddiness overtook at his answer. It gave you the nerve to say something you never imagined would leave the comfort of your mind.

“Would it be bad if I admit I want to suck you off?”

The way Seonghwa jolted visibly and hitched his breath at your blunt remark was a clear enough response.

“Y/N…”

“What? It gets me going. Besides, I want to at least give you something for making me feel so good.”

You weren’t given a verbal answer for a while, Seonghwa poking his tongue in his cheek while looking at you with contemplation.

“Are you sure?”

His question was met with a cheeky smile and a nod from you. They eased his expression into something more agreeable.

“Okay. Where do you want me?”

You sat up and scooted over, moving the towel’s wet portion before pointing at your previous spot.

“Lay down.”

Seonghwa was quick to follow your order, head resting on the pillows as he watched you reach for the last bits of fabric that was holding him back from being bare. Your fingers curled under the elastic of his pants and underwear and with a glance up and a lift of his narrow hips, you began sliding the waistbands down to reveal the effects of what had been going on.

Just the sight of his flushed and stiff cock had you letting out a low yet audible ‘fuck’, ripping his clothing off his long legs before taking your spot between them. Leaning your head in towards him, you were halted when one of his hands landed and gave the back of your neck a gentle grasp. Your eyes darted up to see him shake his head.

“Sit over here.”

Seonghwa patted the space to the left of his torso, prompting you to crawl back over him to follow his instructions. You kept your legs folded underneath your body, only to feel his hand cup your ass before lifting so you were on your knees now. As if he could hear your questioning thoughts, he muttered, “I want to keep touching you.”

All it took was his fingertips brushing your inner thighs before you leaned back down to get to work. Because of the angle, you had to wrap your fingers around him in order to reach with your mouth. Channeling all of the late night thoughts you’ve had about Seonghwa, you slipped your tongue out to run along his cock, soaking in the low groan heard from above. Turning your head, you peered at him.

“Good?”

Seonghwa blew out a short breath as he nodded, grunting, “Yes…keep going.”

Feeling more confident thanks to that, you did as he wished, making sure not to miss an inch of him. Up and down strokes turned into swirls and flicks, especially whenever you were near his tip (the sound he made from being in that area had you squirming). As soon as you heard your friend quietly begging for more, you parted your lips and began sinking down, the hand still gripping your ass digging in with a fierceness that made you jump.

“Shit, Y/N.”

But you didn’t let that deter you, stopping just when he was about to hit the back of your mouth before beginning to bob. You earned more of those beautiful noises from Seonghwa, along with fingers seeking out your soaked core, stroking and rubbing to have you vibrating around his dick with moans.

“You’re so fucking good with your mouth, baby—“

All of a sudden, you found your hands unable to stay still. Your right one slid onto his stomach, feeling the way his abdominals would tense and loosen constantly. The left one went down to his thighs, carefully running your nails along the muscled expanse. At one point, you got daring and crept up to graze his balls, earning a sudden thrust that made you gag for a second.

“Fuck, ‘m sorry.”

Seonghwa’s apology was swift yet gruff, the pleasure you were giving him obscuring any gentleness behind it. You didn’t mind, shooting him a glance and a thumbs up to signal that you were okay. As soon as you felt his hips relax and a careful pat on your bottom, you continued. His reactions to both your hands and mouth working him up were less sudden yet consistent, groans and hisses more audible than the soft music playing in the background.

When you started to feel him twitch more often and hear his breathing become erratic, you had to ask yourself where you were going to go with this. He accomplished his main goal already (multiple times), so it was only natural to finish him off before going your separate ways.

…right?

Honestly, you didn’t want to stop here.

It was incredibly dangerous to admit it, but you’ve already come this far with Seonghwa. What was the harm in taking this to the highest level? That is, if he was on the same page as you…

Carefully pulling off of him, you felt a pang of guilt at the low whine he gave from the loss of your mouth.

“Hwa.”

You could see his throat bob for a moment before he brought his head up, bangs clinging to his forehead as he looked down at you with nothing but heat.

“Y-Yes?”

Sitting up, you wiped the spit off your chin as you worked up the nerve to air out your want.

“Would you mind if…uh…”

Seonghwa tilted his head as he waited for you to continue.

“If?”

A deep breath. “If we…kept going.”

He processed your implication for a bit, his dark brown eyes widening when it clicked. His mouth parted into an ‘o’ as he forced himself to sit up.

“Y/N…we don’t have to go all the way. We can stop here.”

You couldn’t help but deflate a little at his answer, wondering if he wasn’t as interested in taking this further as you were.

“O-Oh. Do you not want to…?”

Your disappointment was prevalent in your voice, causing Seonghwa’s hands to wave in appeasement.

“No no no, that’s not it at all! I just don’t want you to feel obligated.”

Obligated? Obligated?

“Seonghwa.”

Your friend straightened up at your impassive call of his name.

“There’s no obligation if I really want to sit on your dick, now is there?”

His mouth dropped, opening and closing before he admitted sheepishly, “No…there isn’t.”

A smile graced your lips as you patted his leg.

“All I need to know is if we’re on the same page.”

Seonghwa sobered up at your remark, chewing on his lower lip as he seemed to debate his answer. His eyes went to the hand on his thigh for what felt like a while. Finally, he looked back up at your face, meeting your gaze with a conviction that wasn’t there before.

“We are.”

To say your heart did a somersault would be an understatement.

“So…you want to keep going?”

He nodded firmly. “I do.”

You couldn’t help but want to egg him on, to make sure this was something he completely wanted.

“How bad?”

What you got was Seonghwa adopting an expression that you were becoming familiar with today as he took a hold of your chin, pulling you close to his face before husking, “How bad? I don’t want you to leave this bed until I have you squirting and screaming on my cock, that’s how bad.”

Fuck. This was what you got for poking the bear. Now you were rendered speechless and even more needy than before. Your reaction brought a devious smirk to his lips.

“Does that answer your question?”

You were only capable of nodding and leaning in to say, “It sure does.”

It was unclear who started it first, but the two of you ended up in a passionate kiss, hands roaming each other’s bodies in the meantime. Only when you were desperate for air did it break, Seonghwa giving your waist a squeeze before getting up to stand next to the bed.

“Lay down, Y/N.”

You quickly followed directions, spreading the towel back out to be safe and laying on your back like earlier. He grabbed one of the pillows next to your head and motioned you to lift your hips, placing it underneath to have them at a slight angle. You welcomed the extra cushion, watching as he turned and went into his nightstand to search for what you assumed were his condoms. But he didn’t produce them right away, frowning slightly when he continued to rummage around in confusion.

You appreciated his caution, but…

“We don’t have to use that.”

Seonghwa paused, giving you a dumbfounded look.

“What…? Y/N.”

The skepticism in his tone forced you to meet his wary stare with a serious one.

“Really, Seonghwa, it’s fine. I’m clean and on the pill.”

“You are? Well…I’m safe too, I haven’t been with anyone for a while now.”

That was all you needed. Reaching out, you gave his hand a careful tug.

“Then get back in this bed so you can fuck me.”

Your direct words made him swear under his breath before climbing on and over you, slotting himself between your legs as you spread them. You brought your hands up to rest on his lower back, wanting to be as close as possible. Seonghwa reached down to take a hold of his cock and line himself up with your opening. When you felt him run his tip along your sensitive skin, you hissed and bucked your hips.

“Please…”

Biting his lip, he started entering. Your immediate reaction to the intrusion was hitched breathing and a slight dig of your nails. You must have had the dumbest look on your face right now, but Seonghwa had an equally dense expression as he slid into you. Only when he was mostly sheathed did you attempt to regain composure.

“You okay?”

Seonghwa’s raspy voice gave a small boost to your ego as it was clear he was struggling to acclimate to the sensation as well.

“Peachy. You?”

He laughed shortly at your strained pep. “Just try not to move for a bit, okay?”

You let out a giggle, bringing a finger up to tap his nose.

“Yes sir.”

After the light twitch you felt him give inside, you both laid still to adjust. Something about laying in Seonghwa’s bed together with nothing but the sounds of sensual music and your breathing combined made an odd warmth build in your chest. The lips that came down to plant tiny kisses all over your jaw and neck didn’t help stifle that feeling.

Soon enough, you were ready to move on.

“You good, Hwa?”

Your friend brought his head up, looking less apprehensive than before, a heat in his dark eyes.

“Yes. You?”

A nod was all that was needed.

“How do you want it?”

Honestly? At this point, you didn’t have a preference. You just wanted to experience more of your friend’s magic touch.

With your knees pressing closer to him, you breathed, “However you like.”

Seonghwa reacted to your offer with another twitch and a clench of his jaw. Giving you a look as if to say ‘you asked for it’, he balanced himself on his elbows before pulling his hips back, quickly replacing himself with a sharp exhale. The act had you making a sound of your own as well, only becoming louder when he sunk in again.

“Seonghwa—”

His dark eyes flickered up to yours.

“Good?”

“Y-Yeah.”

Lips quirking, he continued, building up a rhythm that started sending waves of gratification throughout your body. You were glad he kept the tempo moderate, testing what made you moan and tighten your legs around him. The pillow sitting underneath you did wonders as well, allowing him to reach areas that would’ve been more difficult without it. The way he cants his hips up has you searching for breath as he was getting closer and closer to stroking against that sweet spot, having you crying out all of a sudden when he finally pressed into it.

“Fuck—”

A throaty hum sounded above you before Seonghwa responded, “You like that, baby?”

Would you ever get used to him calling you that? Probably not, as an unmistakable tremble ran through you.

“Yes, Hwa…keep doing that.”

Seonghwa was quick to honor your wish, pumping in a way that had an unmistakably lewd sound echoing from between your hips. Fuck, when’s the last time you got this wet? You didn’t have any opportunity to think further as you began to hear heavy whispers all of a sudden.

“You’re even more gorgeous like this.”

“God, Y/N— Feel so fucking good!”

“You take me so well—”

Your head was spinning with all of the stimulation and you needed an outlet for the ball of energy building up inside you, so you grabbed onto the back of his neck to tug him down into a fiery kiss. Tongues were quick to seek each other out and tangle as Seonghwa kept fucking you thoroughly. Before you could realize, the same pressure from when he was fingering you made a comeback, slowly increasing until it was becoming too much.

You tried to pull away to warn your friend, only for him to keep capturing your mouth with his. The need coming from him was adorable, but you had to let him know. When you managed to part without him diving in immediately, you swiftly muttered ‘gonna come’, hoping he heard. But when the feeling hit your breaking point and your nails scraped his skin, he still wouldn’t let up.

Just as your orgasm was about to take you over, you frantically placed one of your hands between your sweat-soaked stomachs. A push to his lower abdomen forced Seonghwa to pull out, making you spray your come all over his cock with a sharp cry. The quivers immediately take over afterward, your eyes squeezing shut as you do your best to calm your muscles down, missing the way the man above you gaped down with shock.

He had gotten so caught up in you that the sudden withdrawal caught him off-guard. Everything started sinking in the longer he stared.

You just squirted on him.

Something about watching drops of your come roll off his cock makes him go a little crazy. He’s quick to grasp himself and slide back into you, his thrusts returning with a hint of urgency. Having him stimulating your still pulsating walls pulled sharp cries from your agape mouth, fingers digging into his back muscles.

“S-Seonghwa, shit—”

“Look at you—“ A nip to your bottom lip. “—said you couldn’t do it and now you’re just gushing everywhere.”

Oh…well, he did have a point. But you simply huffed and wrapped your legs tighter around his slender waist.

“More. Go harder.”

A guttural curse left Seonghwa, who quickly did as you asked, resulting in you gripping onto his shoulders now and becoming more vocal.

“Yes yes, fuck me just like that—“

He shook his head at your encouragement, rasping, “Who would have imagined that my lovely friend would have such a filthy mouth?”

You couldn’t help but laugh breathlessly. “It happens when I get fucked well.”

And fucked well, indeed. Seonghwa kept up the pace that was making your body sing, taking the opportunity every once in a while to seize your lips into a searing kiss. You appreciated the continued thoroughness from him, meeting him with the same energy by occasionally rolling your hips up or keening your praise. The words out of your agape mouth were only halted when you felt his hand slip between your bodies to give your throbbing bud a calculated swipe or two.

“Hwa—“

Something about the way you say his name makes his hand pull away all of a sudden. But your whine of withdrawal was interrupted when you felt the Earth spinning, finding yourself perched on his lap now. The change of position had you blinking owlishly.

That and the fact that the towel he had spread out had gotten awkwardly tangled between your legs.

“Hwa, the—”

Yet he was quick to remedy it by snatching the terrycloth and tossing it to the side.

“Fuck it, that’s what the laundromat is for.”

Your hand came up to cover the giggle that wanted to escape, humored by Seonghwa’s sudden one-eighty concerning his bedding. Although your giddiness died down swiftly once you got a good look at his appearance.

You know for a fact that your brain, even at its most creative point, would never have been able to conjure a sight as breathtaking as this.

Seonghwa flushed in multiple areas, sun-kissed skin glistening in the lamp light with sweat and chest heaving as he looked up at you like a man starved. All because of you.

This was an achievement that you’d be proud of for a long time.

“Feeling good?”

There was a slight delay to his response as he blinked.

“I…of course.”

You delivered a satisfied grin.

“Good. I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

The man underneath you merely laughed and shook his head, seeing your statement as silly.

“Saying yes to me was more than enough, sweetheart.”

As if he couldn’t leave you even more sheepish, he took one of your hands and planted his lips on the back of it. The intimate touch cooled down your burst of confidence, melting into modesty now. You only loosened your hand to reach up and brush back the inky strands plastered to his forehead.

“It’s my pleasure. Seeing you like this is something that I never thought I needed.”

Seonghwa’s mouth dropped in awe at your admission and you swore you saw his cheeks become redder.

“Y/N…”

Before you could lose your stride, you leaned down, hovering above his face as you whispered, “Tell me how I can keep it up.”

What you got next was a firm grip on your hips and a low growl.

“Ride me.”

And so you do.

You hold onto the headboard and Seonghwa’s shoulder before giving him the ride of his life. You experiment with different angles, planting your feet and leaning forward at one point or using your knees to swivel your hips quickly. Whatever would make the man underneath curse or dig his fingers into your damp skin.

“So fucking good, Y/N—“

Sinking down on his cock continuously wasn’t enough after a certain point. Between the sounds of your skin clapping against his, you croaked out, “Touch me, please— Oh fuck—“

Seonghwa wasted no time in fulfilling your wish, hands roaming everywhere on your body. From cupping your bouncing breasts to pinching your stiff nipples to grabbing your ass, he made sure to be as thorough as possible. Only when he decided to start circling your clit did your rhythm falter, your upper half bowing forward.

“Oh my— Fuck, Seonghwa!”

The gravelly chuckle he let out should have been illegal. “Like that, sweetheart?”

“Y-Yes— Don’t stop.”

And so he continued stimulating you to the point that your head was starting to spin from pleasure overload. Before you realized it, you were starting to squeeze him often, the beginnings of yet another orgasm about to wash over you. You were too occupied in making all sorts of noises with your mouth to give your friend a heads up, though he didn’t seem to need it as he called you out all of a sudden.

“You keep getting tight on me—” Seonghwa’s free hand reached around to give your bottom a smack that caught you by surprise. “—go on, Y/N. Make a mess on my cock.”

Was it what he said or the spank that triggered you? There was no point in stewing over it as either one was responsible for pushing you over the edge, a whine coming out as your body stilled and shook above him.

“There you go…that’s my girl.”

Somehow you were able to hear his praise, making your stomach flip even harder than it already was. When your tremors died down, you rested your forehead on his afterward, hoping he didn’t mind being used for support. The gentle rubbing on your hips that came eased your worries. Once you got your bearings, you couldn’t help but let your eyes trail down, not at all surprised to see the mess you left on his lower stomach.

You laughed airily, “I’m just ruining your sheets.”

Seonghwa merely hummed with a lack of offense, giving you a light pat.

“It’s worth it.”

He leaned up to steal another kiss from you, gentler compared to the most recent ones. But during the lip lock, you could feel weariness take over, making you blow out a breath after breaking the contact.

“Fuck, I’m exhausted all of a sudden.”

Your friend frowned at your words, reaching up and brushing some hair out of your face. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Mhm. Just give me a minute or two.”

Your body was quick to betray you, a yawn coming out immediately after. It didn’t help that Seonghwa laughed.

“I don’t know, Y/N, you look like you’re ready for bed.”

“Ugh, I’m not! Besides, you haven't come yet, I can’t leave you hanging like that.”

Seonghwa was quick to raise a brow, looking a little more strict now.

“So? Really, if you can’t take anymore, we can stop. I’ll just take care of myself.”

You appreciated his concern, but you just weren’t having it. This was going to end with a bang. The only way to make him understand was to hold his handsome face between your hands and give him a relentless stare.

“Seonghwa, I can keep going, I promise. I’m doing this all because I want to and this is no exception. As long as you don’t mind doing most of the work for me?“

As much as he fussed over you at times, you had to alleviate his concern so he wouldn’t worry his head off completely. Now was one of those instances and the longer you kept eye contact, the more he seemed to become at ease.

“Okay.”

The sweet smile you gave him erased whatever lingered, his lips curling softly. He leaned up to give you a peck, sitting up and wrapping his arms around your waist. With a heads up, he maneuvered you onto your back, making sure to keep himself housed inside. To your surprise, Seonghwa didn’t begin moving immediately. Thinking he needed some encouragement, you linked your legs around his hips and gave a light tug.

A sharp inhale was all you received before he returned to thrusting again.

It became clear to you a short while in that he held off due to being closer than you realized. His breathing was more uneven and his kisses became borderline desperate, only making your stomach flip in delight at seeing this man in such a state.

“Y/N, I’m—”

Seonghwa’s sudden rasp caught you off-guard, noticing how his brows knitted together and he struggled to keep himself composed. To see that he was the one getting beaten with pleasure now had you wanting to give him a taste of his own medicine.

With a deceptively curious expression, you ran your nails up and down his sweat-soaked back before leaning into his ear to whisper, “Gonna come for me, Hwa?”

A thrill ran down your spine at the shudder you felt him give as he nodded quickly. Out of nowhere, a sinful idea came into your head. What you were about to say was so out of pocket, even for your usual bedroom talk, but Seonghwa just seemed to bring the worst out of you today.

And so you licked your lips and decided to husk, “Come inside me.”

You could hear your friend let out an audible gasp, hips stuttering in complete bewilderment. You were concerned that you had taken it too far, as you didn’t hear him respond for a moment. But then his forehead landed on yours and he locked his blazing irises with your own, looking borderline feral. His thrusts also took their speed up a notch, making you whine at the increase in friction.

“I’m going to fill this pussy up, make it even wetter—”

His growl made you tremble for a second, but you remained steady otherwise.

“Like you’ve always wanted to do?”

Your question made Seonghwa stare at you for a bit, broken by a throaty chuckle as he leaned in to brush his lips against the shell of your ear.

“You have no fucking idea, Y/N—“

With a nip to the skin, there were no more words exchanged as your bodies continued working together in tandem. You had to admit; there was a part of you that didn’t want this to end. You could honestly stay in this room and this bed with Seonghwa a little longer.

Just the two of you, indulging in each other.

But your unrealistic wish was broken when you felt him stiffen suddenly, letting out a heated groan as you felt him shake above you. The strong twitching of his cock against your walls was quickly followed by a warmth that coated them. Feeling him spill inside gave you the mildest of orgasms, manifesting in the most minuscule of tremors in your lower body. You couldn’t help but let your own come out a bit at the sensation, biting your lip at the way Seonghwa groaned from the feeling.

Once he finally calmed down, he carefully slid out to roll off of you and onto his back, leaving the littlest of spaces between your bodies. Your eyes remained on him as he caught his breath, looking over his disheveled appearance with wonder.

His lightly tanned skin reddened and shining with exertion. Eyelids shut. Chest rising and falling quickly. And yet, he still looked as stunning as ever.

Not fair.

But you smiled anyways, realizing another privilege was checked off your list; seeing Park Seonghwa looking fucked out as all hell.

“All better now that you proved me wrong?”

He gave a weak laugh.

“Much better.”

Even exhaustion couldn’t dim down his sass.

You gave his side a playful swat in return, receiving a snicker. The laugh died down, leaving a comfortable silence paired with a song that you often had on repeat. You were going to give Seonghwa some room to recover, but the more you mulled over it, the more you wanted to have some type of contact with him again.

So you rolled onto your side and scooted closer, letting your leg brush against his faintly. The touch made his eyes open, head turning slowly to gaze at you. He watched you for a moment, only for a pleasant smile to come across his lips.

“Hello.”

You couldn’t hold back your grin.

“Hi.”

Seonghwa kept his eyes on yours, only to bite his lip after a bit, looking less sure than earlier.

“Thanks for…entertaining me.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at his sudden shyness. Where was the demon from before?

“My pleasure. Honestly, I wouldn’t mind doing this again with you.”

Your confession pulled rapid-fire blinking from your friend, his cheeks turning scarlet now.

“R-Really?”

“Mhm. Though you might want to get a mattress protector or something next time.”

Your suggestion eased his awe, laughing as he responded, “I will keep that in mind. Or we could try it at your place next?”

“And mess up my good sheets? No way!”

One of his brows raised. “And you think my sheets aren’t good?”

“I didn’t say that— Ugh.”

You went to give his chest a light swat, only to find its impact weaker than expected, thanks to the sudden wave of fatigue. The halfhearted attempt only made him giggle with mischief.

“Forget it, I’m too fucked out to argue with you, Hwa.”

Seonghwa laughed quietly, reaching out to pull you close and rest your head on his chest, making your heart skip.

“Then why don’t we just take it easy for a moment before cleaning up, hm?”

His offer was so tempting, although maybe you should get up right away. But the idea became enticing the longer you laid on him, melting into his warm touch.

Fuck it.

“Fine, but don’t let me fall asleep, okay?”

Not that you were completely against it.

Seonghwa hummed in understanding, the vibration felt against your cheek. Your eyelids lowered halfway, your body falling into a state of relaxation. Between the music, his steadying heartbeat and the breathing that slowly evened out, you could already guess that staying awake would have been impossible.

Before you could possibly doze off, you processed everything that had occurred since you stepped foot in this apartment today. Seonghwa had shown you a side that you never dreamed of seeing, only thought about while you were in the comfort of your own private space. And they were thoughts that you convinced yourself would never come true.

But here you were, naked in the same bed that you often sat on and watched your friend play Animal Crossing (paired with comments from you on how Tom Nook was the biggest crook).

The biggest thing that stuck with you was how Seonghwa seemed to want you just as much, shown in the way he took care of every one of your needs. His patience with figuring out what made you tick and making sure you were consistently comfortable was more than you expected. Should you have anticipated any less from him, though?

A pleasant ball of warmth started forming in your chest while the tiniest of smiles graced your lips.

No, you shouldn’t have.

2K notes · View notes

aemondsbabe · 9 months ago

Text

Oathkeeper

summary: aemond comes to winterfell to vie for favor and while cregan has his mind set on backing rhaenyra, you remain unswayed. will your indecision be his saving grace?

pairing: aemond targaryen x stark!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, brat taming, aemond is a little shit, choking, mild degradation, oral sex (f receiving), very lyanna mormont coded reader, aemond whimpers, he's down bad tbh he loves it, angst, allusions to violence but no actual violence, please no one kill me for the end lmao, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 6.1k

a/n: happy 3k laura!! i'm so happy to be a part of this collab with you and so many of my other fantastically talented writer friends! check out the full milestone celebration here and the masterlist will be here!

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

gif creds to @aemondtargaryensource

divider creds to @targaryen-dynasty

🦋my masterlist

🌟add yourself to my taglist to be notified when i post new fics!

Icy air whips around you as you stand atop one of the many high stone battlements of Winterfell, eyes scanning the horizon; the grey earth and sky seem to meld together as one as the sun sets lower and lower.

“It is our duty to hear them out, sister,” Cregan rumbles beside you, brow furrowed. Ice glimmers in your periphery when you glance over at him, the great sword strapped over your brother’s shoulder contrasts sharply against the deep black of the furs draped over his body, “If they come to us for aid, we must negotiate.”

The air around your lips turns to mist as you scoff, jaw clenched. Today, of all days, you could do without your brother’s condescending tone.

“Negotiate,” you echo, pulling the thick white fur of your cloak more snugly over your shoulders as the wind seems to pick up, “They come with hardly any notice, with two dragons, and you still believe this is a negotiation?”

“Sister –”

“To call it anything but extortion is a fool’s game, Cregan,” you keep your eyes straight ahead, focused only on the horizon, when he turns to glare at you, nostrils flared.

“Need I remind you that we are sworn to House Targaryen? That we have been for –”

“Which House Targaryen?” You swiftly counter, cutting your gaze to his with a biting scowl of your own. The wind gusts again yet you pay it no mind, hardly noticing when a shadow passes overhead.

An all encompassing roar seems to vibrate the very air around you and you whip your head up just in time to see a behemoth of a beast duck down below the clouds, followed swiftly by a smaller, though no less monstrous, one that lets out a resounding cry of its own.

“Gods be good,” you sigh, already feeling weary of this whole endeavor; you roll your eyes when you look to Cregan, only to find him positively beaming, entranced. You, however, would not be so easily wooed – of that, you were determined.

Glowering, you turn your face to the sky once more and watch as the creatures circle one another, huffing when it dawns on you that their movements strikingly resemble two riders racing on horseback, goading and taunting one another.

Shaking your head, your chest heaves with a tired groan, Seven Hells.

“I shall see you in the Great Hall when you have finished fawning,” you sigh once more before turning, leaving your brother to stand like some open-mouthed whore, gawping at the sky.

“My Prince and… my Prince,” Cregan’s voice echoes throughout the great stone hall, accompanied by the steady crackle of the enormous fireplace at its back wall, “We bid you welcome to the North, I trust your journey’s were pleasant ones.”

The tension in the air is nearly palpable as you stand beside your brother, carefully watching the two dragonriders.The one on the left, Prince Jacaerys, stares straight ahead at Cregan, as if he doesn’t trust himself to look anywhere else. His dark brows are set in a slight scowl and his gloved hand hasn’t once risen from the pommel of his sword since he dismounted his dragon, who you’ve been informed bears the name Vermax.

Your gaze, however, seems continually pulled to the right, determined to see through the cool mask of indifference Prince Aemond wears. Unlike Jacaerys, his singular lilac eye had been busy flicking all about the space, though he stood stock still with a haughty manner about him, hands clasped behind his back.

“‘Twas a fine journey, yes,” Aemond hums, looking first at Cregan and then to you; his gaze is piercing and you can’t help but wonder if the rumors among the smallfolk are true – that he’d replaced his lost eye with some sort of gemstone, “Vhagar and I were fortunate to not encounter… anything of note.”

Your eyes move quickly to Jacaerys, breaking from Aemond’s stare once you catch the pointed tone of his words, slicing through the air like daggers. His jaw clenches, though only for a second, as you silently pray that this does not end in the two men coming to blows, or worse.

“My journey was quite pleasant, my Lord Stark, thank you,” a small part of you is impressed that he seems determined not to let his emotions run amuck. He steps forward and pulls a rolled piece of parchment from the inner pocket of the thick, fur-lined cloak he wears, “I come with a message from my mother, the Queen.”

Beside him, Aemond quickly steps forward as well, producing a similar scroll, close enough to you that you’re able to just make out an image of House Targaryen’s three-headed dragon embossed on the golden wax seal. “And I come bearing a message from King Aegon, Second of His Name,” he pauses, looking between you and Cregan, glancing almost imperceptibly toward Prince Jacaerys, “Who currently sits the Iron Throne.”

“Usurper,” Jacaerys mutters under his breath, nose twitching in annoyance.

“Say that again,” Aemond’s voice is low as he whips around to face Jacaerys, all but shoving the scroll he brought into your hands.

“That is my mother’s throne,” the brunette replies, simmering with a barely contained rage as he hands over Rhaenyra’s terms to Cregan in a similar manner, “Your drunken fool of a brother has no right to it.”

Your heart thrums in your chest as they stare one another down, the hostility between them seems to suck all the air from the room and bathe it in a silence you’ve only ever felt in the crypts.

“And who would bend the knee for a whore with bastard heirs, nephew?” Aemond’s footfalls echo about the hall as he stalks around the other prince, circling him with a goading smirk, “She could not honor the oaths made to her husband, I shudder to think what would become of her promises to the realm.”

Your eyes widen and a gasp is wrenched from your throat when Jacaerys whirls around with a snarl and the sound of metal-on-metal grates through the air as both men unsheath decorated daggers from their belts; they stumble a few steps back, chests heaving as they each wait for the other to make the first move.

“Do it,” Aemond taunts, lips twisted into a wicked smile while he and Jacaerys circle one another. Raising a hand, he pulls the black leather eyepatch from his face and tosses it to the floor, clearly relishing the way the other prince falters at the sight of his uncovered face. The deep blue sapphire he reveals gleams in the light from the fire, the sight of it makes your breath hitch, “Finish what your bastard brother started, go on.”

“Cease this!” Cregan shouts, voice firm, though he may as well not have spoken at all for all the good it does – each man only sparing him a glance.

“I did not come to fight you,” the brunette huffs, scowling at his uncle while keeping a firm grip on the hilt of his dagger.

“No?” Aemond questions sardonically, “You’ve no wish to prove your might, hm? To show the realm how strong you are?”

The remark sounds like any other taunt to you, yet something about it seems to make the fire simmering within Jacaerys blaze closer to the surface – too close. You can see it coming before it happens from the way he tenses, from the miniscule twitch of his hand.

Acting quickly, you lunge for the great longsword strapped to your brother’s back and unsheath it without a second thought. Cregan reacts just as swiftly and clambers for you when you turn on your heel and rush over to where the two men glower at one another. From the corner of your eye, you see Jacaerys lunge forward but you cut off his movement as you swing Ice over your head.

Metal crashes against metal, filling the hall with a shrill clang, before the great sword slams against the stone floor with a cacophonous din. Everything comes to a sudden halt as the loud noise sends a shock through the hall.

“Enough!” The word leaves your lips as a snarl while you stare between the two men, nose twitching in annoyance, “How dare you sully our home with such feckless, asinine bickering!”

Each of the princes sheaths his dagger in silence, though you hold the sword between them still, the tip of it digging into the stone as you keep hold of the pommel. “I’ve no doubt that were those creatures outside to engage like this that they could easily rip Winterfell to pieces, stone by stone, and yet they remain peaceful! Tell me, do you have baser morals than that of a beast?” Your voice is low as you speak, every ounce of patience you had for this idiotic farce wrung from you, “Is this the kind of man House Targaryen sets upon the realm?”

“Apologies, my lady… my lord,” Jacaerys murmurs, glancing between you and Cregan before quickly staring down at the floor, his jaw set.

You give him a curt nod before training your eyes on the silver-haired prince and narrowing them expectantly; he holds your gaze for only a second before looking off into the fire with a sigh, “Apologies.”

Cregan reaches for the sword again and this time you relinquish it without a fight, turning your attention back to the two scrolls abandoned on the longtable – one carrying a gold seal, the other a black one, both bearing the three-headed dragon emblem.

Your brother sighs behind you and you can practically feel him throwing an icy glance at the two men before he joins you at the table, leaning back against the edge of it and crossing his arms over his broad chest.

“We will hear your terms,” he starts, ignoring the way your head whips around to face him, “As is our sworn duty, but there will be no violence in these halls.”

“No.”

“Sister –”

“Not tonight,” you shake your head firmly, glancing over your shoulder at the princes before leaning closer to Cregan, voice low enough that it doesn’t carry in through the hall, “‘Tis late and they are on edge as is. Any negotiations will not go peacefully tonight.”

He turns his head toward you with a soft sigh; you tilt your head just slightly when your eyes meet, communicating silently, with only a look, as you have since the two of you were small.

“Please,” you think, your gaze flicking between his blue eyes, lips set in a firm line, “Listen to me, just this once.”

Finally, after a long moment, he simply nods and looks back at the two men still standing in the hall, looking pointedly away from each other now.

“We will hear your terms in the morning,” you announce, turning to face them, your expression set and neutral, “The hour is late and I imagine the two of you are tired from your travels, the –”

“Lady Stark,” Aemond starts, stepping forward, jaw clenched with barely contained annoyance, “W–”

“We will hear your terms in the morning and that is final, my prince,” you repeat, enunciating each word firmly, leaving no room for whatever argument he was intending to make. You glance between the two men again, watching as he gives a polite, stiff nod.

Sighing tiredly, you give Cregan one last withering look before turning on your heel. “The servants will show you to your quarters,” you call over your shoulder, grabbing the gold sealed scroll from the longtable on your way to the doors without sparing the men another look.

By the grace of the Gods, you manage to have a few peaceful hours to yourself. The castle remains quiet, save for the usual bustling of various servants and guards. The crackling of the small hearth in your chambers is the only sound that accompanies you while you read over the terms Prince Aemond brought with him, which were fairly generous, all things considered.

Only one point gave you pause, perhaps King Aegon’s greatest gift – the offer of his brother’s hand. You wrinkle your nose in disgust when you read over that bit, although you had expected it. It’s no secret that you, Winterfell’s greatest prize as you’d been told time and time again since you were old enough to even somewhat comprehend the idea of marriage, are unclaimed. Of course the Greens would exploit that, the Blacks probably did as well.

Of course any other weaker Lady would take the offer.

Unconsciously, you clench your jaw as you gaze into the fire, watching the flames dance while you think over the terms set before you, etched cleanly on the parchment. You get up from your place at the desk to go see if Cregan has finished reading over Rhaenyra’s terms, quite curious to see what it is she’s offering up.

“Gods!” You exclaim when a sudden knock at your chamber door cuts through the peaceful silence of the night, startles you enough that you grab at the edge of your desk to keep the bottle of ink there from spilling. Corking it, you let out an annoyed little grumble as you stand.

“Enter!” You call out, smoothing out the silken, fur lined fabric of your evening robes, the soft blue color sparkling like seafoam in the light from the fire. Your brows pinch together in equal parts annoyance and intrigue as a certain white-haired prince saunters through the door, his lips set together in a firm line, as if deep in thought.

“Prince Aemond,” you huff, bristling when he closes the door behind him, “The hour is quite late, surely whatever you’ve come for can wait until the morning.”

He pauses at that, not moving from his place in the entryway. Confusion wells up within you when he doesn’t meet your gaze, his lilac eye blinking as his lips open just slightly – something clearly weighs quite heavily on his mind.

“I apologize for the late hour, my Lady,” he murmurs, finally looking up as he takes a few steps into your chambers, arms clasped behind his back, “But I do not think the matter can wait until morning, no. I don’t believe that would be wise.”

“Speak, then,” you nod with a sigh, resting against the arm of a small sofa by the fire. You try your best to hide your annoyance, feeling certain that whatever the Prince had come to you with is not nearly as serious as he seems to believe.

Aemond remains quiet for a few seconds more and you can practically see the wheels turning in his brain, something brewing just below the surface. “I… Did you intend to make a fool of me, Lady Stark?”

“What?”

“I’m aware that my coming, and that of my nephew, were… sudden,” he continues, leaving you utterly perplexed, which only makes you clench your jaw, already exasperated at this entire exchange, “But, had you and Lord Cregan made it clear that you had already come to an agreement, I could’ve left — been on my way to the Stormlands and saved us all the trouble.”

“Seven Hells, why must he speak in riddles,” you think, squeezing your eyes shut and pinching your brow tiredly.

“Prince Aemond, perhaps I could be of some help if you spoke your concerns more plainly,” you sigh, crossing your arms over your chest and peering at him once more, “However, I can assure you that Cregan and I have decided nothing. He and I have planned to take the evening to read over yours and Prince Jacaerys’s terms, which we will discuss in the morning.”

“Mm, then am I to believe that your lord brother plots without your knowledge, my Lady? I find that hard to believe.”

“Excuse me?”

Aemond paces, smirking as he traipses back and forth before you, acting like he can see clearly through some false plot you’ve set… if only you’d set one at all.

“I overheard them, Cregan and Jace, in the library — I cannot seem to find sleep and thus was wandering the halls,” he murmurs, quickly explaining his actions before you have time to ask, “Surely you’re aware that your brother intends to support my traitorous sister.”

His words should come as a shock, that Cregan would do something like this behind your back, and yet you can’t find it within yourself to be truly surprised. Ever since he’d become Warden of the North, he’d become… hardened, even to you. Before, he would’ve never dared do this, would’ve considered your thoughts as carefully as his own, but not anymore.

“My brother may be decided,” you start, voice clipped, “But I have yet to come to a decision.”

The prince hums yet again, something he seems to do often much to your great displeasure. He studies you for a moment, lilac eye never wavering from yours, before looking away with a tsk. “And yet, from what I overheard, he seems quite convinced that you have.”

You scoff at that and push yourself off the arm of the sofa, placing your hands on your hips as you blink at him for a moment while the corners of your lips twitch with the threat of a smirk, “I must confess, my Prince, but I do not know how to proceed. We seem to be at an impasse – I assure you of one thing and yet you cling to your belief in another.”

“So it would seem.”

His calm reply does nothing to lessen your irritation and your chest heaves with a sigh, jaw clenching. “Well, then,” you huff, no longer patient enough to keep the frustration out of your tone, “What would you have me do, hm?”

“Perhaps,” your eyes narrow at the indifference with which he speaks – an act, you’re sure of it, “It would bring me some comfort if we could come to some… agreement of our own. As your brother and my nephew seem so eager to do.”

“As I’ve said, I do not wish to discuss the matter further. ‘Tis late, my Prince, and I see no point in staying up half the night to do something that can be accomplished just as well tomorrow.”

“Mm,” he hums, pacing around you and further into your chambers, to your great annoyance. You turn, watching him as he saunters through the space, acting as if it’s his own, only to come to a stop beside your desk.

An exasperated sigh leaves your lips just as he feigns surprise at seeing the scroll he’d brought with him unfurled over the wooden surface, “But, you have read the king’s terms, no? Surely discussing them would not take long.”

“Discussing them, no,” you acquiesce, gritting your teeth, “My thoughts of accepting them, on the other hand…”

You can tell he’s only half-listening as you speak, focused on reading over the notes you’d scrawled in the margins of the document – questions of various assurances and the like… aside from one particular line which you’d hastily crossed through. A shiver goes down your spine when his eye trails up from the parchment to once again meet yours, darkened with some new sense of resolve.

“You are aware that the crown has the ability to strip you and Lord Cregan of your titles, yes? Especially if I were to inform my council of your plot against me…”

Your heart quickens at his warning, thumping meanly in your chest while you try to process his words. “All this over a simple marriage offer?” You think as your brows pinch together in a scowl; you do not take kindly to such threats.

“Over my brother’s right to the throne…,” Aemond murmurs and it’s only then you realize you must’ve spoken aloud, not hearing your own words due to the turmoil in your head, the rush of blood in your ears, “Over my family’s safety, yes. I would be willing to dole out harsher reminders as well, if need be.”

“You must understand, this is not a slight against you, nor your council,” fire rages within you as the winds outside pick up, howling throughout the castle, “I have no want to be bound to anyone –”

“Think of the station you’d have,” he cuts you off, determination seeming to well up within him the same way it does you; each of you is ready for a fight, “The power you could wield in King’s Landing, everything you could do to benefit –”

“You could not drag me from the North kicking and screaming, I have no desire to go –”

“My Lady, you are intelligent, ‘tis plain to see,” he murmurs lowly, indignation finally managing to bleed through his placid exterior while he paces about, circling you just as he did Prince Jacaerys, “Surely you realize that your talents will be wasted here, squandered to the cold, frozen waste –”

“Do you think insulting my home is the way to win me over, my Prince?”

“Mm,” his dismissive hum alights a spark within you and your hands curl to fists at your side, “No, though I suspect flattery would do no good either.”

His words are sharp, spoken with the sole purpose of cutting into you, yet all they draw is an angry huff. You can see his eye narrow in your periphery, can feel him studying you, no doubt trying to find a way to make you crack.

A part of you hopes he’ll succeed.

“So, you see, I’ve no other choice than to resort to threats,” he hums, long silken hair swaying over his shoulders as he finally comes to a stop before you, close enough that you’re forced to raise your chin to maintain eye contact.

“Should you be fool enough to try, you will not succeed in taking the North, my Prince,” you say softly, a quiet calm blanketing your fury just as snow blankets the fields outside, “Even Aegon the Conqueror could not, surely you know that.”

Something dangerous flashes in his eye at that and your eyes narrow with the knowledge that you’ve crossed some invisible boundary, gone a step too far.

He stays quiet for a moment, just long enough for the eye of the storm within you to pass, for the maelstrom to be ignited once more.

“Surely you’ve heard tale of the wrath the Conqueror brought upon Harrenhal, Lady Stark,” his voice is low when he finally speaks, though there is no softness to it; only a harshness, a finality, that would surely make anyone else grovel for forgiveness at his feet, “Reduced to a pile of ash and molten stone… even now, more than a century later, it stands as a ruin – a cursed place…”

Your jaw clenches tightly at his words, eyes narrowing as you stare into his own as if challenging him to say it, to finish his threat.

“It would be quite a shame if that same doom was brought to Winterf–”

Aemond lets out a grunt when his back thuds against the stone wall behind him, gasping and caught off guard by your sudden advance.

“Have you no shame?” Your words are biting as you snap at him; fury pours off of you in waves, your entire being concentrated down into rows of gnashing teeth, “You come into my home, unbidden. You threaten to spill blood in my hall, you feel entitled to my time and my space and my thoughts and my hand, all unbidden.”

For the first time all evening, the prince seems to have no response, not even a condescending hum. He stands frozen on the spot, held against the wall by your forearm pinned across his chest. The air feels like it evaporates from the room, leaving the two of you in some sort of bubble where the only sound is Aemond’s harsh pants. You see his angular nose twitch and his lips press firmly together as a sneer forms on his pale face.

There’s a cruel, almost savage, gleam in his eye that should scare you, that maybe actually would, were it not for the soft pink flush spilling across his cheeks and an undercurrent of something resembling shame in his gaze – the expression of a child being scolded by a parent, caught doing something they shouldn’t.

The strangeness of it brings you to heel for a second, only for the anger within you to flare up once more when he starts to open his mouth, starts to push himself off of the cool stone at his back.

“Don’t,” you huff, narrowing your eyes and pressing back against his chest. A bitter laugh bubbles up from your throat as you stare at him, surprised once more when he quickly gives in and lets you push him back, “I bet you’re quite used to getting your way, hm? You’re a prince of the realm, of course you are.”

With each passing second, your ire for him seems to be slowly replaced by a growing curiosity — Why isn’t he fighting back? What kind of game is he playing at?

“Entitled prince,” your heart quickens when his breaths start coming more harshly and his chest heaves against beneath your arm, “You hold no power here.”

Aemond’s nostrils flare and his lilac eye narrows, just as fiery and intimidating as before. Your lips part when his hands come to rest on your waist, far too delicately for the situation.

“Might I remind you,” he mutters, a rumble to his voice that hadn’t been there before, “That the crown—“

“The crown, the crown, the crown,” you lean in, nearly on your tiptoes, just a hair’s breadth away from touching your nose to his. Without considering the movement, your free hand wraps itself around his pale neck, not squeezing but merely resting there, pressing against his Adam’s apple — a reminder for him to remain silent, “Why is it that you lean so heavily on something you do not even have, my Prince?”

You can feel him swallow against the palm of your hand, once again not fighting back. Though, it’s only when you meet his half-lidded eye and see that heady, shameful spark hiding there does the truth finally hit you.

“Gods, he likes this,” your eyes widen ever so slightly at the realization, such a mighty, fearsome prince and yet he’s all but melting under your touch. The feeling is rather intoxicating and you feel a rush of power flow through you, making the hair at the nape of your neck stand on end.

“I don’t see a crown on your pretty head,” you continue leaning into the feeling, intending on leveraging his submission to whatever extent you can, “Doesn’t that bother you, Aemond? Hm? Being reduced to the second son when you could’ve been so much more…”

“V-Vhagar could—“

“Vhagar could do nothing,” your fist tightens around the column of his throat as you press yourself more tightly against him, the thin fabric of your evening robe the only thing separating you from the warm black leather of his tunic, “Not if I take my brother’s sword and go slit her great belly myself.”

He balks at that, brows furrowing as he stares at you — half in fury, half in wonder. He opens his mouth to say something but you cut him off again, not interested in hearing another half-baked threat.

“Does it bother you that I don’t find you the least bit intimidating?” You question, narrowing your eyes at him.

A grin blooms on your lips when he just barely shakes his head, the movement so subtle and so quick that you hardly catch it — though it sends lightning down your spine all the same.

“No? It doesn’t bother you, does it?” Again, he shakes his head, more firmly this time; his throat bobs beneath your grip, “Do you like it? That you can’t scare me?”

He nods — not good enough.

“Say it,” you command, tightening your grip on his neck once more.

“I… I like it…,” he answers after a long moment, his voice hardly a whisper.

“Good boy.”

He whimpers, the small sound vibrates against your hand. A shock goes through you and before you can fully register what you’re doing, you release his chest and neck and haul him toward your bed — that barely there whine enough to ignite a fire in your belly.

You can see the confusion written plainly on his face when you sit on the edge of your mattress and gaze up at him expectantly, you try not to focus on the little flip your heart does at the fact that he’d followed you so willingly, like a little puppy.

“Kneel,” you command, nearly giddy when he actually does, actually sinks to his knees before you. You lean forward and quickly tug off his eyepatch, eager to see the sapphire once more, and again, you’re shocked when he doesn’t put up a fight.

Tossing the small scrap of leather to the side, you stop for a moment and admire the glimmering gemstone, even admiring the long, thin scar that adorns his otherwise flawless face.

“You’ve been a thorn in my side all evening,” your fingers card through his hair while you speak, your voice low, hardly louder than the crackle of the logs in the fire, “Starting fights, coming to my chambers in the middle of the night for matters I said I would not be discussing, talking back… and I can think of much better uses for this mouth.”

Aemond’s breath hitches when you cup his jaw and skim a thumb over his bottom lip, grinning when he just barely follows your touch. With your free hand, you tug your robe open at the slit going up your leg, just enough to show him you’re bare beneath it.

“If… if I do this, you’ll back Aegon?” He rasps, staring up at you from his place on the floor as his hands come to rest gingerly on your thighs, “You’ll agree to his terms?”

“Of course…”

“… All of his terms?”

“All of them,” you echo breathily, sighing softly when he leans in and kisses the top of one knee, a smug grin on his lips despite the situation.

If only he didn’t make this so easy.

“Enough talking,” you grab at his pale hair and shamelessly pull him to where you need him, smirking at the little gasp that leaves his lips once he’s face to face with your center, “Show me what it is I’ve agreed to.”

For all his faults, Aemond doesn’t make you wait and quickly dives in — licking a solid line up the middle of your folds, groaning as he goes. His hands tighten around your thighs and he eagerly spreads them wider, shifting on the floor until he’s pressed closer to you.

“Oh, f-fuck!” You gasp, leaning back on an elbow, though you keep a grip on his hair and use it to drag him directly to your aching pearl, arching your back when he hungrily suckles at it. His eagerness makes the fire in your belly burn bright right away and you swallow thickly, battling against the dryness at the back of your throat.

Aemond growls against you and dutifully licks over your bud, flicks his tongue against it again and again until your head spins. Your thighs tighten around his head but he’s quick to press against them once more and hold you open, fingers digging into your supple flesh.

“Good boy,” you pant, relishing the way his eye rolls back. Biting at your bottom lip, you yank his hair once more — guiding him to your entrance. He catches on quickly and another almighty gasp is wrenched from your throat when he pushes his tongue inside you, making you shiver.

“Seven Hells!” Your hips buck against his face of their own accord when his angular nose brushes against your pearl, sending a jolt of pleasure down your spine. Your walls clench down around his tongue, pulling twin whines from the both of you.

Knowing you won’t be able to hang on for much longer, you press his face against your core and rock your hips more earnestly against his face; your eyes nearly go cross when he groans deeply against you, squeezing at your thighs hard enough to surely leave behind bruises.

“T-That’s it, that’s it,” you chant, chest heaving. It feels as if lava flows through your veins each time he presses his tongue against you, the fire inside you burning brighter by the moment.

Suddenly, he moves on his own accord and nips softly at your pearl before suckling at it once more. The sudden turn of events causes you to snap and finally slip over the edge, making fireworks explode behind your eyelids.

“A-Aemond, Gods!” You cry, harshly tugging at his hair, nearly ripping it from its roots as pleasure beats against you in waves. You’re so lost within yourself that you hardly hear him growl against you, low and heady.

You shove him away after a moment when his touches begin to border on overstimulation and lie panting on the bed, dropping to your back against the warm blankets and staring, half-lidded, at the ceiling.

You can hear the shuffle of his clothes as he pushes himself up off the floor but you don’t bother sitting up, limp still from your peak. It’s not until he speaks that you finally look up.

“I take it I’ve fully persuaded you, then?” He hums, sounding entirely too pleased with himself. Leaning up on your elbows once more, you look him over — taking in the flush on his cheeks, the way his chest thrums under the dark leather of his tunic, the evidence of his arousal pressing tightly against the ties of his trousers.

Gods, what a desperate thing — wanting so badly for validation.

“Well, I’ll still need to read over Rhaenyra’s terms…”

“But —“

“But nothing,” you snap, sitting up once more on the edge of the bed, “I must at least operate under the pretense of being fair, no? Cregan will know if I don’t come to collect the papers your nephew brought.”

Aemond nods stiffly, lips set in a thin line as he looks you over. Your heart speeds up just slightly when his lilac eye pauses at your chest, darkening at the way your robe has loosened, showcasing your cleavage.

“True,” he acquiesces, brushing a lock of hair from your shoulder, “It would be smartest for us to be careful now…”

He leans down, intending to kiss your cheek, perhaps even your lips or neck, but you put a hand up to stop him — shaking your head with a small smirk and a raised brow.

“That’ll be all.”

His brows furrow at your words, eye searching your face, “I thought —“

“I need to rest,” you cut him off, nodding to the door, “Goodnight, my Prince. I hope sleep finally finds you.”

“I…” he starts, staring at you for a second, absolutely crestfallen, before simply nodding. “Lady Stark,” he mumbles, finally turning and seeing himself out, hands clasped behind his back.

“Poor thing,” you think with a sigh as soon as your door shuts behind him, “He has no business here.”

You’re hit with a wave of deja vu as you take your place next to Cregan, each of you standing before the long table at the head of the Great Hall. Once again, the place is as silent as a crypt, the only sound being the steady crackle of the fireplace.

You stare straight ahead, focusing intently on the opposite wall while your brother addresses the two princes — exchanging morning pleasantries and worried smiles. Throughout his small speech, you can practically feel Aemond’s gaze on you, like he’s determined to sear a hole straight through you.

“I have read your terms carefully, both of them,” Cregan states, each of the scrolls laid out on the table behind you, “And I propose that House Stark honor will keep faith with its alliance to Lady Rhaenys, in memory of the oath we once swore to King Viserys.”

“Very well,” Prince Jacaerys nods, giving your brother a small, polite smile and grateful nod.

“And what say you, my Lady?” Aemond cuts in, determined to force your hand, for you to make good on your assurances from last night.

The desperation in his eye almost makes you feel bad.

With a sigh, you finally look up at him for the first time all morning, immediately noting the dark circles beneath his eye. Breaking from his intense, nearly pleading gaze, you look toward Prince Jacaerys with a small smile.

“I’m afraid I must agree with my dear brother,” your voice is cold, emotionless as it rings throughout the stony room, “House Stark will not be breaking its oath today.”

Aemond lets out a sharp, stuttering breath, as if he’d been punched in the gut and his shoulders sag in defeat.

And you almost feel bad, only for a moment.

Almost.

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