#there's some plot in here somewhere maybe i hope

[justallihere]

“Was it impolite when I fucked you every night for the past week?” He asked it in a low voice right next to her ear, and was pleased when she drew in a quick little breath and shivered. “Because I was definitely staring at you then, and I seem to remember you enjoying it.” 

[artifeast]

THAT!!!!!!!!! EPISODE!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[citrusrei]

a lil' something sweet

Farmhand! Joel x Married! Reader

summary: After your husbands aunt passes away, he takes on the responsibility of caring after the beloved family farm. Coming from the city after living there your whole life to moving to a huge farm in the middle of nowhere is a shock to you. But what shocks you even more is the comfort you find from the live-in farmhand, Joel Miller.

word count: 25.5k

warnings/tags: 18+ only. MINORS DNI. no outbreak AU. non canon Joel. country side on a farm type shit. Joel is a lonely man. Kinda creepy but in a sexy way. heavy petting. thigh riding. Joel finishes in his pants. Infidelity (oops). joel's possessive but not in a toxic way (outloud). unprotected p-in-v sex. creampies. slight breeding kink if you squint right. age gap. reader is mid to late 20's and joel is pushin' 50. petnames (baby, baby doll, baby girl, darlin', ya know). readers husband is a real dick. slight fatshaming (we hate the husband). joel makes it better. lots of soft touches and kisses. fluffy, angsty, smutty. happy ending. (no y/n, reader is AFAB. minimal physical descriptions)

a/n: this was fun to write cause desperate, needy joel is my absolute favorite thing. also the word count makes me go brrr cause wdym it's so long?? and while we don't usuallyyy fuck with infidelity, it was warranted here. please pay attention to the warnings if you don't like any of what is mentioned, don't read it. thank u all tho and i hope u enjoy it ~

this was a long mf time coming

-

You were never a fan of the countryside. Being somewhere so far from civilization terrified you. What do you mean the nearest big grocery store was over an hour away… in each direction? So, when your husband told you his Aunt Karla had passed, and that he’d be taking care of the family farm, you began to panic. You were sympathetic of course and consoled him as best you could, but leaving the city? Hell, you'd even considered divorce; it was that serious. Not really, but almost.

The drive was long and tiring. You’d rented a moving truck and packed all your belongings from your hometown and drove the seven hours it took to reach his aunt's farm. Anxiety set in almost immediately as the tall buildings and fast-food restaurants on every other corner disappeared. Trees and fields and wildflowers surrounded your view as the long and narrow highway seemed to go on forever. Your husband, Luke, decided to make a few pit stops for gas or bathroom breaks, even a quick fuck in the front seat on the side of the road- which, you weren’t really all that into.

Seven grueling hours later, the farm came into view. It was a lot larger than what you thought it was going to be. The two-story farm home sat in the middle of the plot of land, surrounded by lots of trees. A big, peeling red barn sat to the left and to the right, at least two or three horses roamed in a fenced area. What was Luke thinking? You had never stepped foot on a farm in your life besides maybe an elementary school field trip 20 years ago. How did he think you’d be able to handle a barn full of animals?

Luke parked the moving van in front of the house which sat on a hill. Concrete stairs led up to the front door and you sighed, dreading the trips back and forth. Luke gave you a pointed look before sighing himself.

“Listen… we’re doing my family a favor by taking over the farm. And it's not going to be forever. Just a couple years and then when Nick gets back from the Marines, he said he’d take it and then we’ll head back to the city, okay?” Luke says in annoyance, mentioning his brother. You nod, grabbing your purse from the front seat and heading up the stairs to check the house out.

Stepping inside felt surreal, like you’d gone into a different decade as you gazed at all the antique furniture, hutches with fine China, and flowered wallpaper. You couldn’t help but let out a deep breath as you set your purse down, walking into the kitchen. It was nice and quaint, and honestly it made you feel some semblance of comfort as you took in the marble counter tops and Chicken themed decorations.

You loved to cook and bake, and as you saw the built-in pasta maker on the counter and the bread oven on the far wall, you had a thought that maybe you could do this. Maybe you could make this work.

After a moment, Luke steps inside as you wander around the house, noting the three bedrooms and the two and a half baths the home has to offer. He huffs out heavily, setting down three boxes stacked on one another. “Uh, honey? Are you going to help or what?” he asks, a bit of bite to his tone.

“Sorry, I was just checking everything out. The master bedroom is nice! But it’s kinda stuffy in here. Where do I turn the AC on?” You ask curiously only to be met with a scowl. Your eyebrows knit in confusion as you wait for him to answer.

“Jesus… This house was made in like, 1803. There’s no air conditioning, babe. If it’s stuffy, open the windows.” Luke says as he turns around, heading back to the truck.

You throw your head back in frustration. No grocery stores nearby, no air conditioning, all these damn animals, and of course Luke being an asshole about it all. You’d been quiet about this whole thing since Luke told you, not asked, but told you he’d taken over his aunt's farm. You didn’t want to complain or make it seem like an inconvenience when he was grieving. But it was. You weren’t cut out for this life and that was okay. Unfortunately, you loved your husband and told yourself to at least give it a shot. That was a decision you were beginning to regret.

“Come on! I’m doing all the work here!” Luke yells from the truck, bringing you from your thoughts. You close your eyes for a moment longer before heading down the steps to help him. Maybe he’ll be in a better mood once you’re done setting everything up. At least you could only hope.

A few hours pass and you have most of your belongings unpacked. You’d left a lot of stuff back at your apartment in the city since your sister was going to take over your lease while you were away. All that was left to be taken care of was the bedroom stuff.

Your eyes settle on the cuckoo clock as it chimes, 6pm already. You excuse yourself from unpacking as you head downstairs to start working on dinner. Luke groans about how he’s had to do all the work all day, but lets you go downstairs to cook. Nodding, you head down the steps into the kitchen, figuring out where to start.

After Karla passed, a lot of the stuff she had was packed and separated between family members, but they left the kitchen alone. You opened the fridge, deciding to start there. It was still full of stuff, and you began to make a mental note of what ingredients you saw. A couple fresh eggs, milk, butter, some different meats and veggies. After checking the rest of the kitchen, you came up with the idea of breakfast for dinner. Waffles, eggs, and bacon.

As you got to work, you didn’t notice the back porch door swing wide open. And you definitely didn’t notice the man that came in through it. He sets a basket of farm fresh eggs on the counter, bringing you from your thoughts as you whisk together the batter.

Your eyes widen as you jump with a yelp, clutching your chest as the man stares at you with a blank expression. He doesn’t offer his hand or anything, he just stares and says, “Joel.”

As your heart settles, you nod slowly. “Your name is Joel?

Joel nods too, his eyes leaving yours as he sees Luke enter the room.

“Honey, what’s the matter, why did you yell? Oh! You’ve met Joel.” Luke smiles, “Babe, this is Joel Miller. He’s the farm hand. He takes care of the animals and stuff, cleans the farm up, gathers… eggs. He’s worked for my aunt forever.” Luke continues as his eyes glance down at the basket Joel brought in.

“Nice to meet you, Joel. Sorry, I was really concentrated on making this waffle batter I didn’t even hear you come in.” You say softly, a small smile on your lips.

“’S okay. I can be kinda quiet sometimes. I’ll holler next time I drop the eggs off.” Joel speaks. His voice is gruff and low. Somehow nostalgic, or at least that’s what you thought as your chest fills with a familiar feeling. Your eyes traveled to his as you smiled, taking in the features of this stranger.

He was older. Maybe in his early 50’s or late 40’s. He had a broad nose with a scar on the bridge. His chocolate brown eyes seem tired, but kind; inviting. His hair was dark and graying and as your eyes traveled lower, you noticed how his arms seemed to bulge under the dirtied, navy-blue shirt he was in. ‘Handsome’ was the first word to pop into your mind. You cleared your throat and looked at Luke who seemed annoyed about something. What’s new?

“Well, see you folks later. It was nice meetin’ you, sweetheart.” Joel says as he makes his leave. You watch him go before turning back to the batter, trying to finish everything up. Once dinner time finally arrives, Luke ends up complaining the entirety of the meal about how waffles are breakfast food and having them for dinner is like a crime against humanity. You think it’s funny how he eats them anyways.

The first night here sucks. It’s incredibly hot as the thick quilt on his aunt's bed sticks to your skin. Sweat beads from your forehead as you toss and turn, dripping down your neck and back. Deciding you can’t do it anymore, you throw the comforter off you and stomp downstairs, irritated by every little thing from today. The long drive, the car sex, Luke’s attitude, the heat. You head through the kitchen to the back porch, and you finally get relief in the form of the cool night breeze. You feel your sweat dry against your skin, leaving you sticky but honestly, you couldn’t care less right now. The breeze has a nip to it, signaling summers soon-to-be end, and you couldn’t wait.

Your eyes close, savoring the fresh air against your cheeks. You don’t know how much time passes but you only open them when you hear the sound of a guitar in the wind. Looking around the backyard, you notice a small guest house down the hill. It had to be Joel’s. The porch light is on, the front door open, and before you can even think, you begin to walk towards it.

The tiny home isn’t far away from the main house, but a good enough distance that you realize you probably should have put shoes on. Gravel digs into your heels, but it doesn’t hurt. The guitar becomes louder as you approach, a melancholic tune strummed from the strings. As you reach the house, doubt fills your mind. You probably shouldn’t even be here just showing up like some creep. But you also figure you’ve come this far… Plus, it’d be nice to get to know him in some capacity considering he works here on the farm you’ll be living on. Or that’s what you tell yourself.

You step quietly onto the wood porch, savoring the cool night air and the sadness of his guitar. Now that you’re closer, you can hear Joel humming too. An unsure smile etches on to your face as you walk into the doorway, working up the courage before knocking on the wood.

“Hey… sorry to bother you.” You say softly, not wanting to alarm him.

Joel looks up to you in surprise, his fingers stop against the neck of his guitar. “Oh, well, hi there. What can I do for you?”

“Oh! Nothing. I was… I was just on the back porch trying to cool off and I heard a guitar. Figured this is where you stay, and I thought I’d come and say hi. Maybe listen to you play for a bit?” You say nervously. You almost feel embarrassed. You don’t even know this man.

Joel looks a bit confused at first before nodding to the couch next to his rocking chair he’s sitting in. You pad into the house with little steps before sitting down. Your body flushes with nerves as you look at him, like you’re waiting for something to happen.

Joel doesn’t say anything. He just begins to play again, a different song this time. You settle into the plaid couch as he strums, the cool air from the front door being open blows in and you shiver. Your eyes widen as you realize you’re in your ivory, silk nightie and embarrassment floods your cheeks for real this time. Joel probably thinks you’re insane, or maybe he thinks you’re wanting to seduce him. Which, no, of course you weren't; you’re married! Red flushes against your cheeks and you subconsciously pull your nightgown down, trying to cover your knees.

Joel plays for a while before speaking. He clears his throat, hesitating a moment, “So… you know who George Jones is?” He asks. You shake your head, a smile on your lips. “No, can’t say I do. Who is he?”

He smiles softly too, at least you think it’s a smile. “He was a country singer… Old country singer from way before you were even a twinkle in your mama’s eyes. Has a lot of sad songs, which I like to play, I guess. But uh… 'was just wondering if you knew his music. I'll play one of his songs for you.” You nod curiously, adjusting your body to give him your full attention.

The song starts off slow, his fingers moving expertly along the frets of the guitar, rough voice singing low.

“He said, ‘I’ll love you till I die’. She said, ‘You’ll forget in time’. As the years went slowly by, she still preyed upon his mind.”

Your eyes widen at the lyric's, realizing Joel was probably right. This was a sad song. You weren’t expecting him to sing either. But you didn’t mind it. It was really nice actually. It was so melodic and entrancing, you don't take notice of the dust of pink that kissed the apples of your cheeks.

You sit and listen to him perform through this song that breaks your heart and he finally gets to the chorus.

“He stopped loving her today. They placed a wreath upon his door. And soon they’ll carry him away. He stopped loving her today.”

You suck a breath quick breath, feeling your vision blur as he finishes the song. By the time it's over, your head rests in your palms against the arm of the couch, watching Joel intently as tears pool in your eyes. Joel stops, placing his hand against the strings as he looks at you, his own eyes widening at the shimmer in yours.

“Wait-what’s wrong, darli-”

“He died?” You exclaim emotionally, a tear slipping out. “That song is about a man who loves this woman even though they’re not together anymore but only stops ‘cause he dies? And she goes to his funeral?” Your eyes close as you sit up. Those welled up tears falling against your cheeks. “That’s so sad."

Joel chuckles softly, setting his guitar against the end table. “I did tell you I like to play them sad songs, did I not?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think it was sad like that. Like, maybe it was about a man losing his horse. Or selling his tractor for a new one. Not about loving his soulmate and then dying!” You cry.

“’m sorry, darlin’. Didn’t mean to make you cry. Just thought you might like it.” He says apologetically, passing you his handkerchief from his pocket.

“No, no. I did like it. You’re talented, Joel, I just… damn… that was so… sad.” You sigh as you take the handkerchief and wipe your tears before letting your hands fall into your lap. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to cry. I’ve just… had a day.”

Joel’s eyebrow quirks, “That Luke boy of yours being a brat?”

Your eyes snap to the older man and you nod slightly. “I mean, kinda. He’s just… been on one lately. I think it’s the stress of moving here so quickly. I mean, we uprooted our whole lives and moved here within a week of Karla passing. It’s been a lot for both of us.” You breathe out. You hadn’t mentioned your frustrations to anyone, but it felt good to say something. You’d been keeping it in too long for your liking.

Joel sighs knowingly, “Yeah, I can imagine. Packin’ up your life then moving to a place you’ve never been before. It’s gotta be hard.” He pauses for a moment, debating his next words, “Uh, Karla loved her nephew… But Luke would come here during the summer when he was little, and he was uh… quite the handful to say the least. Seems like he still is.” Joel reaches for his glass of what you assumed to be whiskey or bourbon based on the color, the ice in the cup long melted as the condensation trickles down the sides. You pause for a moment, watching him sip on the liquid, his Adams apple bobbing up and down. You suddenly felt parched too.

“I mean he’s stubborn, sure… but he has good moments. I wouldn’t have married him if he didn’t.” You say quietly, your voice trailing off.

Joel eyes you for a second and hums in acknowledgment. “I didn’t say he didn’t have his good moments, darlin’.”

You bite your lip after he says that. You didn’t need to justify anything to him. It was just… habit. You'd always stood up for him. Luke was a good guy. You thought so at least. Maybe others didn't.

He sets his glass down on the table next to him and looks up to the clock. It reads just past one in the morning. “Well, I don’t mean to be a bad host but it’s gettin’ late. Don’t want your husband thinkin’ you gone missing on him, huh?”

Your eyes widen as you realize the time and you stand up, adjusting your nightgown again. “No, you’re right. I lost track of time. And honestly Luke might throw a fit if he wakes up and I’m not there.” You hover around the couch for a moment longer before heading towards the door. Looking back at Joel, you notice him looking right back at you. “Thanks for playing me some music. It was a well needed peaceful moment after my day. Even if you made me cry.”

Joel let’s out an amused breath, “Yeah, well, don’t get used to no personal concerts. It was a special occasion tonight for your first night here. Alright?”

“Got it. Thanks again, Joel. I’m sure I’ll see you soon. Have a good night, okay?” You say as you wave and make your way back to the house, feeling slightly better than earlier. Joel nods at you, watching you make your way back inside before he shuts his own door, sighing to himself and shaking his head.

As you reach the house and shut the back door behind you, you realize you still had Joel’s green handkerchief, gripped in your palm. A sigh leaves your lips as you make a mental note to give it back to him tomorrow after washing it. You tuck it away in the laundry basket by the door and then head upstairs, making sure to be as quiet as possible as you slip back into bed. Luke turns in his sleep; throwing am arm over you. It’s comforting. Something he hasn’t done in a while. You smile as you begin to drift off, feeling safe in your husband's arms. As sleep beckons you, you don’t even realize how your thoughts drift back to your time with Joel. The way his fingers strummed against the guitar, and the way his low voice rasped the sad words of that George Jones song. Or the way he looked at you, his eyes locked on to yours as tears welled up, the softness his molasses-colored ones held.

About a month passes of the farm life and it’s really not so bad. Yeah, you kinda hate the smell that lingers from the barn, and you hate that damn rooster that crows every morning at 6 on the dot. But other than that, it hasn’t been too bad. You even learn there’s a local grocery store up the road a couple miles and although the prices are up charged a bit, you’re able to get your comfort bag of Hot Cheetos here and there.

Luke has been an asshole still, sadly. Especially now that he’s working remotely, and the internet out here sucks. And now that you’re not working, since you had to quit your job before moving here, there isn’t much for you to do to pass the time.

Your days consist of cleaning the house, doing laundry, napping on the green velvet couch Karla had as old soap operas play in the background. You like to walk around the property sometimes, finding that being around nature isn’t horrible. The sound of the leaves shaking with the wind and the crickets by the creek in the back have become relaxing to you. Who would have thought?

What really has been getting you by however, is baking. Karla had dozens of cookbooks from the 60’s and 70’s all filled with interesting, and sometimes disgusting recipes. In the last month you’d made maybe 10 loaves of bread, such as pumpkin, zucchini, banana, apple cinnamon, and even an olive and ham loaf… that one was a fat no. You’d made different small cakes and tarts and while they all never went to waste; Luke never tried them. Every time you’d knock on the door with a small plate of whatever you’d made, he’d scowl, turning his nose up and then look back at his computer. It was disheartening.

But today was going to be a good day. You’d pulled your latest creation out of the oven, filling the kitchen with a sweet, homey scent. You couldn’t wait to try it. Immediately, you stuck your fork into it and then into your mouth. Despite the molten filling singing your taste buds, your eyes shut in pleasure. It was fucking delicious. Beaming down at your treat, you decided to cut Luke a slice of your very first ever, homemade cherry pie. You were so proud of it. The crumb had the perfect texture, the cherry filling had the perfect amount of tart to sweet ratio, and even the lattice was perfect, a little heart placed in the middle. You knew he was probably not going to want it, but you were going to try anyways.

After climbing the steps to where he was, you tapped against the wood of the doorway, plate and pie in hand as you smiled warmly, “Hi, honey. I made this cherry pie and it’s literally the most amazing thing I’ve ever made-”

“I don’t want any.” Luke says, cutting your sentence off. You falter a moment, but you know if he tried it, he would love it. He loves cherries.

“I think you should just have a bite! I’m telling you; you’ll like it.” You offer, stepping closer to him.

Luke sighs and you know he’s about to give you an earful, “I said I don’t want any of your damn pie,” He seethes, “You offer me everything you make, and have I accepted it once?”

Your cheeks heat up as tears prick your eyes and you kind of regret even trying to ask. You want to respond and yell back but you also don’t want to argue. You don’t know where your sweet, loving husband went and it hurts. Luke turns in his computer chair and his eyes are glazed with venom as he stares you down, “So, stop asking me. I don’t want them. You shouldn’t even be eating that shit anyways, you’re getting fat.”

Luke turns back to his computer and begins to click at the keys, clearly done with the conversation. You grip the plate in your hand, biting back the tears that threaten to spill as you go to leave the room. As soon as you step out of it, Luke shuts the door behind you. Your heart clenches in your chest as the tears fall. When did he become so cold? What had you done to make him do a 180 like this? How can you fix it? Or is it even fixable?

Questions swirl through your mind as you pad down the stairs, feeling small and wanting to coil into yourself but as you enter the kitchen, you notice Joel has stepped in. He sets the basket of a dozen or so eggs on the counter as he does every Tuesday. His eyes glance at the pie and then up to you, concern etching into his features.

Joel doesn’t want to ask what’s wrong, just cause you two still don’t know each other that well, but it’s like he can’t help himself.

“What’s’a matter, darlin’? Everythin’ okay?” He asks, eyes set tightly on your face.

Your brows knit together as you swallow back the burn of more tears in your throat and you nod, “Yeah, I’m okay. Don’t worry.” You say as you set the pie on the counter. Joel eyes it and he can feel his stomach begin to rumble. You notice his gaze on the pie, and you can’t help but smile. Letting out a breathy laugh, you allow yourself to relax a bit in his presence. He radiates this genuine aura, and you can’t help how it attracts you to him like a moth to a flame.

“You like pie?” You ask curiously.

Joel nods, “Yes, ma’am. Cherry is my second favorite, next to pecan, of course.”

Without hesitation, you push the plate over to Joel on the other side of the counter, “Help yourself. Luke doesn’t want it.”

Joels eyes widen in confusion, “How can a man deny a woman a slice of her homemade cherry pie? He on a diet or something?” He asks as he takes the plate and fork, diving right in. You shrug at his words, not caring anymore. You watch Joel’s reaction as he takes his first bite and it’s… something.

He chews for a moment, his eyes closing as his free hand grips the counter, “Damn…” He breathes. He goes in for another bite, bigger this time. You can feel your heart jumping at his reaction. He must like it.

“It taste okay?” You ask nervously, picking at your fingernails. He looks at you dumbfounded, like you’d asked him the silliest question in the world.

“Darlin’… does it taste okay? Have you tried it yet? Jesus, girl… best damn pie I have ever had.” He says quietly, stuffing more pie into his mouth.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding and smile wider, “Don’t lie to me now, Joel.”

Joel shakes his head quickly, finishing off the big slice, his fork clanging against the plate. “Naw, I wouldn’t lie about a good pie. A damn good pie at that. I’d tell ya if it tasted anything less than decent.”

You can’t help the dumb grin on your face as he hypes your sweet treat up. It’d been a while since you got any sort of praise from anyone, and it felt nice. Your cheeks tinge with a dusty rose as you lean over, cutting the rest of the pie into slices. You save yourself one and hand Joel the rest. His eyes widen at the offer, taking the pie pan in his dirty palms.

“It’s yours. I’m really glad you enjoyed it, Joel. I’ve been baking up a storm this past month I’ve been here, and I’ve been the only one eating them. I don’t need a whole pie to myself. So, it’s all yours.” Your gaze is soft on Joel’s face, and it causes his chest to stir with something he’s not so sure of.

He clears his throat, looking back down at the delicacy he’s holding. “You sure ‘bout that? I don’t wanna be no pie thief just ‘cause you know I think it tastes good.”

A genuine laugh escapes your throat, causing his to restrict, “No, I don’t think you’re a pie thief. You’re really doing me a favor by taking it off my hands. I’m glad it’s going to someone who will enjoy it.”

Joel nods, gripping the pie pan in his hands as he looks down at it. He looks anywhere besides where you stand. “Well, ‘preciate it. You’re about as sweet as this pie is, I reckon. Luke’s got a good girl on his hands.”

Your shoulders fall as he mentions Luke and you know they shouldn’t. Even the thought of him right now fills you with intense sadness, but you push it away, nodding at his words. Joel clears his throat again, before finally looking back up to you, “Well, thank you, darlin’. I will enjoy every bit of this pie and bring the pan back when I’m done.” He turns to leave, but looks back for a moment, “And if you decide to ever try and make a pecan pie… you know where my door is.” He smiles, walking out the back door.

You find yourself reeling from the interaction and you try and convince yourself it was only because he loved your pie. It wasn’t the way his eyes closed as he savored his first taste, or the way he practically moaned in delight after every bite he took. And it definitely wasn’t the way he gripped the counter, the pie leaving him speechless, or the way you’d thought maybe that’s what his hands would look like gripped around your waist or thighs as he… your eyes widen at your thought process, and you run up the steps to jump in the shower, hoping to wash away the impure thoughts about a man who isn’t your husband. Even as you make an excuse for every thought that pops into your head about Joel, you can’t ignore the beat that drums between your legs, no matter how hard you try. No matter how hard you scrub at your skin, it’s like those images have been imprinted in your mind. Fuck.

After a long shower, a full skincare session and getting dressed in your comfiest jammies, you head back down to the kitchen to eat your slice of pie, only to be met with Luke eating it instead. His eyes wide as you walk in, mouth full of cherry filling.

“Baby, this… you outdid yourself. This is fucking good.” Luke says, a soft smile on his face. Your stomach churns as he speaks, and usually you’d be happy he was finally giving you attention. But not this time. Instead, you were pissed he ate your only slice of pie.

“Did you eat the rest of it? I need another slice. I’d skip dinner for that.” He says as he nearly runs to the fridge, searching for the remainder of the pie.

“I gave it to Joel. He brought in the eggs and said it was one of his favorites. I didn’t think you’d want it since you know, you said you didn’t.”

Luke sighs, “You gave it to Joel? The whole pie? You know I love cherries, why the hell would you do that?”

Your eyes widen in disbelief, anger filling your body. “Luke, you said yourself you didn’t want any. I didn’t want it to go to waste and that slice you just ate was mine. You didn’t even ask!”

Luke rolls his eyes, slamming the door of the fridge, “I don’t need to ask you what I can and can’t eat. Make another pie.” He says as he walks past you, mumbling something about how he can’t believe you’d give another man something before him. He was unbelievable. You grab the plate he’d left on the counter and toss it into the sink, not caring if it breaks or not. You breathe out from your nose as you rest your palms against the cool marble counters, your jaw clenched tight as your foot taps against the tile. You don’t know how much longer you can take this attitude of his.

Deciding you need a distraction; you head down to Joel’s. His door is shut, but his porch light is on. That doesn’t deter you though. As you walk on to the creaky wooden porch and knock, you can feel your anger dissipate from your body. The distance from Luke was good.

Joel opens the door only a moment later, his eyes confused but his mouth upturned into a smile. “Hey, darlin’, what are you doin’ here?”

“Do you have any more pie?” You ask. Your question takes him off guard, but he nods, stepping aside to let you in.

“I got a few slices left. Gotta be honest with you; I had one or two more when I got back in an hour ago.” He says sheepishly, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. You turn to face him, your eyes looking into his. Joel feels his chest fill with that same thing he felt earlier. Something he still couldn’t place.

“Luke ate mine. I… I really wanted a slice, but I gave you the rest. He’s mad at me ‘cause I gave it to you.” You say as your shoulders fall. Joel laughs, his eyes crinkling at the sight of your slight pout. He thought it was cute.

“Mad, huh? Over a pie? Can’t say I blame him though. It is pretty damn good.” Joel heads into another room for a moment, which you assume is the kitchen because he comes back to the living room with a big slice of your cherry pie in one hand and a glass of milk in the other. “Sit.” he says, nodding to his couch.

You sit in the same spot you sat in the last time you were here, resting back against the cushions as Joel places the food on a TV tray and sets it in front of you. The little action has your heart racing. Something as simple as getting served a slice of pie sends your heart into a tizzy and you sigh, digging into the dessert. It was damn good.

Joel sits in his rocking chair, just like last time, but doesn’t say anything. He lets you eat in silence and once you’re done, he takes care of it too.

You don’t want to leave yet, and as you pull your knees up to your chest, you hope he doesn’t ask you to. Joel returns a moment later, a glass of water for you and a glass of that same amber liquid for him. He smiles, handing you the glass, “You look comfy.”

Your cheeks tint a shade of pink, and you take the glass from him, “I am comfy. This couch is nice.”

“Hope so. I’ve had it for probably 15-20 years. It’s well-loved for sure.” Joel says, sitting back in his rocking chair and sighing. Your eyebrows quirk as you rest your cheek against your knees.

“Man, you’ve really been here for a long time then, huh?”

Joel nods, looking at you getting comfy on his couch. There goes that feeling he can’t place. “Yeah, ‘bout 25 years at this point. I was 25 at the time I started here actually. Karla didn’t even own the place yet, it was her daddy’s. Once he passed, she took over and I stayed. She tried to convince me to stay, but she didn’t have to do that. This was my home at that point too.” He pauses, sipping his drink. “She was a good friend. Wasn’t too much older than me.” You listen intently as Joel speaks, not knowing any of this.

You nod, “Wow, I had no clue. Karla seemed like a good woman.”

“She was. Had her issues as we all do. But I enjoyed her company. But… here I am 25 years later. No kids, no wife. Just all these damn cows and chickens and horses. Don’t tell Estrella I said that.” Joel says, mentioning one of the cows in the barn. You laugh, telling him a quick ‘of course not’.

A comfortable silence falls between you two for a while. It’s only then you notice that Joel’s record player is going, playing some soft country song in the background. You breathe out, your eyes growing heavy. Your mind drifts back to Joel’s words. No wife, no kids. He’s been alone the last 25 years?

“So… You said you don’t have a wife or any kids? Any particular reason?” As you ask this, regret fills your body. It’s probably a sensitive subject for Joel. God, you are such an idiot-

“Not really. Just… never found the time.” Oh.

You nod again as he speaks, waiting for him to continue. “I wanted to at one point. It’s kinda hard to date when the only people around you are a lesbian or… furry. Don’t get me wrong… I’d find myself up at Jimmy’s old bar and maybe meet a girl, take her home for the night… but it never went further. You kinda lose track of time after a while. Then 25 years pass and you’re pushin’ 50 and it’s like… damn. Where’d the time go?”

Your heart breaks as you hear his words, but you can also understand. Time does move quickly and if you don’t pay attention, you lose it.

“Hmm… well, don’t give up hope. You never know what could happen.” You say with a soft smile. Joel laughs again and you can’t say that you hate it. It’s nice.

“What?” You laugh along with him, “You don’t know what could happen! You could always try a dating site. They have that farmers only website which might be really good for you.”

This makes Joel laugh louder, “Sweetheart… a dating website? I don’t even have a smartphone, how do you think I’d manage that? And while it’s nice you got this sort of hope for me; I don’t mind being alone. Easier this way.” He trails off, both of your laughs dying down. You stare at Joel for a long time. Every fiber of your being screams to touch him or hug him… kiss him. There’s something about him that makes you just long for him. To take care of him. To show him what it’s like to be loved.

You try and pull yourself from your thoughts and as you go to say something, you hear your name being called from the house. Luke. Your eyes close as your stomach drops, not wanting to face reality. You sigh as you stand up and stretch, smiling anxiously at Joel who stands with you. He looks into your eyes, his sad, deep baby browns piercing at you and it takes your breath away. Not realizing it, you reach for him. You pull him against your body as you hug him. He freezes in your embrace, not sure if he should hug you back. But after a moment of contemplation, he throws caution to the wind and wraps his arms around you, holding you tight against him like he didn’t want you to go away. Like he wanted to keep you here with him. Safe in his arms.

The hug was too brief for your liking. Joel steps back first, holding you at arm's length in front of him. Luke calls your name again and you groan. You look up to Joel once more and smile. “Thank you for the nice conversation today… and the pie. I really did outdo myself, huh?”

Joel smiles back and nods, “Darlin, you put your whole damn foot into it. I can’t wait to eat another slice tomorrow. Or before bed. Who knows.”

You laugh before stepping towards the door, casting Joel a quick look and then heading back up to the house.

You feel so light and giddy from the conversation with Joel, you don’t even mind the scowl on Luke’s face as you reach the porch. “Why were you at Joel’s?” He asks, following you through the back door to the kitchen.

“I had a piece of pie. Since someone ate mine.” You reply, taking your shoes off.

Luke rolls his eyes, “Jesus, cry me a river. So glad you’re so close with that old man that he’d spare a piece of his precious cherry pie for you. I mean, fuck. He’s probably loving the attention he’s getting from you. Half his age and conventionally pretty. I’m sure he’s eating that up.”

This makes you snap.

“And so, what if he is?! God forbid someone feels good from getting some attention. We’re just talking either way, so I don’t know why this is such an issue for you. It’s not like you talk to me anymore anyways.” You seethe as tears begin to well. You sigh in frustration, hating how emotional you get when angered. Luke’s eyes soften and his shoulders fall.

“No, you’re right.” He says, causing your eyes to widen. “I’ve been neglecting you. I’ve been so stressed with work; I’ve lost sight of what’s important to me and that’s you, baby.” He continues. You feel something flutter in your chest, but you can’t tell if it’s hope or disgust.

Luke approaches you slowly, wrapping his arms around your frame as he lowers himself to your height. He peppers your face in kisses and while you don’t stop him, you don’t necessarily enjoy it. “Baby… I’m so sorry. You can forgive me, right? I swear I’ll change my ways. I’m gonna get out earlier, help make dinner and clean up then I can hold my sexy wife on the couch while we watch that trashy TV show you like. Just like we used to in the city. That sound okay?” He smiles, looking into your eyes.

You avoid his gaze for a moment before deciding to look. You can feel your heart begin to soften for him again, even if it’s slight. Which leads you to nod, causing him to break into a huge smile.

“Thank you, my love. I don’t deserve you.” He says, leaning in to kiss your lips. His kisses are rushed and urgent and his lips are chapped but too wet. You try to ignore it as his hands slide down your waist to your ass, squeezing the pajama covered flesh. You hum against his lips as your brows knit but Luke takes this as a sign to go further. You don’t have the heart to tell him no.

He leads you upstairs to your shared bed, taking your comfy pajamas off and placing you against the mattress. The next 20 minutes are filled with over-the-top grunting and touches that are too rough and once he finishes, not caring if you did or not, you roll over and force yourself to sleep. Your mind races with thoughts of Joel. His chocolate eyes, his pouty bottom lip and the way his fucking body felt against yours this evening. It was a hug. A hug! And that one instance had you nearly foaming at the mouth for more. You don’t try to push your thoughts away this time. In fact, you welcome them. And after a while, your body begins to relax enough to finally drift off.

The next few weeks are filled with much of the same. Luke’s promise to change falls through, of course. The only thing that does change is his desire for you. It’s like all he wants to do is touch you and it drives you insane. You thank God you’re on birth control, because if you were to get pregnant with his child right now… you don’t know what you’d do. Probably keel over and wait for death.

Joel is one of the only things getting you through the days. You bake a new treat almost every day, not even bothering to ask Luke if he wants to try them anymore. Instead, you take them straight to Joel. His reactions never fail to amaze you. Cinnamon bread topped with streusel? 10/10, no complaints. Jalapeno cheddar sourdough? Sent from God himself. Pumpkin cinnamon rolls with homemade cream cheese frosting? Crafted by the hands of the divines, infused with holy nectar. And he acted that way. He was visceral in the way his body reacted to the desserts and baked goods and the pride it filled you with was something else entirely. His groans of pleasure, the way he’d lean over just slightly. The way he’d look at you and you’d swear his pupils would dilate. It just… did something to you.

It was your routine. Wake up, make something delicious, go to Joel’s and eat and talk for a while, then head home before Luke gets done with work and pretend to be a happy wife. It was exhausting in that sense. You think you were happy in some way, but not because of your husband.

You don’t even know when the dynamic changed. Maybe it was when Luke’s busy season started. And busy he was. He’d even have to go into the office for a few days at a time and since it was so out of the way, he’d just get a hotel room in the city. You found yourself looking forward to his time away from the farm. Away from you. The days where you got to be you, and where you got to pretend you weren’t tied to this piece of shit husband. Where maybe you were single and enjoying the company of a man who seemed to be genuinely interested in you.

You found yourself doing other things for Joel besides giving him sweet treats here and there. Some days you’d get up when that rooster would crow and brew a pot of coffee, bringing it to him in a thermos as Fall came in full force. Or there were days where you’d pack him a lunch and bring it to the barn or stable and even eat with him while he tended to the horses, cows and chickens. You liked it. No, you loved it. You loved the simplicity of spending time with him. He was grateful for everything you said and did, and he showed that back.

Dryer crapped out on you? Joel can fix it. Pipe burst in the kitchen sink? No worries, Joel has it. The leg on your favorite dining chair is loose? Hell, Joel would probably build you a whole new set for the table.

You two were close. And when you say close, you meant it. You talked about everything under the sun. Your hopes and dreams, your fears, even the totally irrational ones. You remember laughing until you nearly peed your pants when you found out Joel was scared of mushrooms. He defended himself by saying how they grow from decay and that’s what freaked him out the most. Plus, they tasted bad. You couldn’t argue with that. You hated mushrooms too.

He never judged you and you never judged him. It was refreshing. Easy.

It was day two of three that Luke was supposed to be away for work, and you were living the high life. You slept like a rock in your shared bed, getting to actually sleep in the middle of the king-sized mattress and not tucked away into the corner, trying not to touch him. When you thought about it, it was pretty sad because when did you grow to not want your husband anymore? But you’d save those thoughts for another morning. Today was your day.

You got up at 6 am, right on the dot when that Rooster crowed, a smile on your face and spring in your step. It was peaceful getting up so early and you’d grown to love it. As you padded down the steps in the morning darkness, the sun still yet to rise, you couldn’t help but feel the excitement of getting to hand Joel his morning coffee you were about to brew him. The way his eyes would crinkle as his hand would brush against yours as you pass him the thermos. Or his low, country drawl as he’d say “Thank you, darlin’. Much obliged.”

You knew thoughts like this while married weren’t great and you did have some sort of guilt but with the way Luke had been acting over the last few months, you honestly didn’t care that much.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee lingered in the kitchen as you filled the thermos to the brim. No cream, no sugar. Black. Extra strong. Just how Joel liked it. You closed the container, setting it on the counter before heading back upstairs to change for the cold morning and then you were on your way down the hill to Joel’s house.

His front porch light wasn’t on, which was out of the ordinary, but you knocked anyways. After waiting a few moments and no response, you decided to peek through the window only to be met with nothing. No lights turned on and the house was seemingly empty. Your shoulders slumped as you wondered where he could have been.

You walked around the property, checking the stables, the chicken coop, and there was no sign of him there. Last place to check was the barn which maybe you should have checked first, but oh well. Once you reached the weathered building, you pushed the doors open, noting a light on towards the far wall on the right. “Joel?” You called out.

You heard rustling as he stepped on the hay on the barn floor and shortly after, he appeared from the pen he was sitting in. His face lit up at the sight of you causing your breath to hitch and your stomach to flip. You matched his smile and walked towards him, meeting him halfway into the barn.

“Mornin’ darlin’. This for me?” Joel asks, pointing to the thermos.

“You know it is. Black coffee delivery for Joel.” You say with a playful smile, lifting the thermos up for him to grab. His grin widens, taking it from you. Your usual brush of the hands sends electric currents to every nerve ending in your body.

“Thank you, sweetheart. Much obliged. You always make my mornin’ coffee perfectly. Like my own lil�� star-biz or somethin’.” He says, opening the tin up and taking a big sip. You laugh at the mispronunciation but you don’t have the heart to correct him. That damn blush was clear as day. It seems to tint your cheeks permanently these days.

“God, I miss Star… biz... Overpriced. But you haven’t lived until you’ve had an iced peppermint tea and their pumpkin pepita loaf.” You say with a playful smile.

Joel rolls his eyes as he opens the thermos and sips it, “Pepita? They’re just making up words at this point.”

“Joel, a pepita is a pumpkin seed.” You grin. Joel feels that familiar bloom in his chest and he sighs as his cheeks grow hot. He mumbles something about how he knew that and how he was just trying to be funny, but you know better. Joel shuts the thermos and takes in your face for a moment. The way your eyelashes brush against your cheeks as you close your eyes to giggle and shake your head at him nearly makes him dizzy. He clears his throat, time moving normally again as he grabs your hand and pulls you to the back of the barn. “C’mere, wanna show you somethin’.”

Now, it’s your turn for your face to burn. Your heart races as his hand grips yours tightly and you’re not sure what to expect. But when he pulls you into the pen, and you see Estrella laying there, you settle down.

Joel drops your hand and squats down next to her, rubbing her back softly. The way he’s so incredibly gentle makes you smile. You squat next to him, following his hand and petting her too. “She’s so soft… been here on this farm for a few months now and this is the first time I’m really getting to pet her.”

Joel smiles too, his eyes watching your hand. “Better be soft with that damn $60 shampoo I use on her.” Joel pauses, moving back to the wood bench against the barn wall. “She’s about to give birth. Probably in a couple hours ‘er so.” He says, rubbing his tired eyes.

You look at Joel in surprise, “What? I didn’t even know she was expecting. Did you tell Luke?”

Joel nods, “Mhm. Told him when y’all got to the farm. Not surprising he didn’t say anything though. Not like he takes care of the animals. Or… anything around here.”

It’s true. Luke didn’t take care of anything around here like he told his family he would. And well, neither did you, but in some sort of way, you liked to think you took care of Joel. Luke took care of the bills though, for the most part. He paid… the electric bill, you think? The rest was pretty much paid for thanks to the house having been paid off decades ago. You sigh, deciding to sit next to Joel on the bench.

“Sorry… we’re bad farm owners, aren’t we?” You ask. Joel closes his eyes and smiles, breathing out a breathy laugh and you can’t help but smile too.

“Maybe a little. But that’s okay. ‘Least you’re pretty. Real nice to look at and such.” He slips, his brows shooting up into his hairline as he flushes.

You almost miss it. You almost miss him calling you pretty until it reregisters in your mind, and you swear you can hear your heart pounding in your ears. You don’t say anything for a good moment, not knowing what to say. Silence fills the barn, despite the sound of Estrella breathing heavily through her labor pains. Or maybe those were yours.

It’s like your body ignites, and you desperately want Joel to touch you. You don’t have the energy to fight the guilty thoughts of how you shouldn’t be thinking these things about another man that isn’t your husband. You don’t care anymore. But that doesn’t mean you’re going to act on it. You nod slowly, still not sure what to say, but you know if you don’t put some distance between the two of you; you’re gonna break.

You stand and wipe your sweaty palms on your leggings before turning at Joel and smiling softly. “I’m… I’m gonna head inside for a bit, get some laundry done. Let me know if you need any help with Estrella, okay?” You don’t wait for Joel to respond as you head towards the barn’s entrance. Desperate to get away, you pick your steps up, but Joel has other plans. You only get halfway across the barn before he grabs your hand once more and you don’t pull away.

You utter his name softly, and Joel can’t help the way it makes his heart race and his pants tighten. Your fingers feel smooth against his rough, calloused ones and he squeezes them slightly. His breath’s come in heaves and you find yours to be matching. You’re terrified to turn around, but his other hand touches your hip, urging you to face him. So, you do.

“Joel…” You say again and it’s like music to his ears. His big hand grips at your waist desperately, like he doesn’t want you to leave. Like you’ll disappear. His other hand drops your own and finds solace on the other side of your waist. His gaze is intense, but you don’t dare look away now.

“’M sorry.” He says, causing your brows to knit.

“Why?”

“For callin’ you pretty.” He speaks. You can tell he’s nervous. You can tell by the slight twitch in his hands as his fingers fight the urge to dig into your skin. Or the way his voice trembles. It makes you want him to take you right here and now.

“Why would you be sorry about that?” You ask, finding yourself slipping closer and closer into him.

“Shouldn’t be callin’ a married woman pretty. Shouldn’t be touchin’ her like this neither.” Joels hands squeeze again slightly, and you practically moan. Your lips part as that familiar ache continues to build between your legs and you don’t know how much more you can take.

“Well,” You begin, debating your next words carefully, “Maybe a married woman shouldn’t be letting a man that’s not her husband call her pretty or touch her like this… but here we are.”

Joel’s lips quirk up softly, pulling you closer to him. His firm chest presses against your breasts and the close vicinity begins to drive you crazy. You take a slow and steady breath, trying to calm your nerves but then one of Joel’s hands leaves your waist and runs up your neck to your cheek. Your eyes don’t drift from one another’s, but it doesn’t make you feel small. Not like how you’d feel under Luke’s gaze. You feel empowered. Like Joel actually wants you. Because he does.

Joel’s chest rises and falls as his hands caress your jaw, his thumb padding over the delicate skin of your cheek. You instinctively lean into it, pressing against his palm as your eyes close. Joel fights every urge to lean in and kiss you, but he won’t yet. You haven’t given him the okay.

Your hand comes up, gripping around his wrist as you hold his hand to you. You don’t want him to move it. He wasn’t going to anyway. Your eyes flutter open and see the desire written all over Joel’s face. A small puff of air escapes your mouth, and you pout.

“We shouldn’t be doing this, huh?” You ask, your voice tiny and worried.

Joel sighs too, blinking a couple of times. “No, probably not. Shouldn’t be touchin’ you like this, but, Jesus… don’t know if I can stop.” He pauses for a moment and when you don’t say anything and you don’t move, he speaks again. “Please… tell me to stop.”

Your heart lurches in your chest and you suddenly lose the ability to speak so you just shake your head instead. Your other hand rises to meet Joel’s neck, and you pull him in closer to you. You feel his breath on your lips and it smells like coffee. You catch yourself relaxing as your eyes trail down to Joel’s mouth. You’ve never wanted to kiss someone as bad as you do him.

“Please… baby girl… tell me to stop.” He asks again and you shake your head once more, this time words find you. Well, word.

“No.” Is all you say and Joel practically groans. His hand on your hip pulls your body flush against him, fully pressed against his frame. Your eyes widen as you feel his length press against your leg and your breath catches in your throat.

“Gonna tell me to stop, now?”

You gulp.

“… No.”

Joel nods as he realizes this is happening. He leans in closer, “Okay. Can I… kiss you?”

Your eyes widen only slightly as you think it over. You want him to kiss you more than anything but once you do, it’s over. The line will have been crossed. You’ll be a cheater. But the way he’s looking at you, and the way he’s asked so nicely… you couldn’t say no.

“Yes.” You breathe.

“Okay.” He mumbles, wasting no time to press his lips against yours.

Joel is an intense man, and his kisses are no different. His movements are desperate and hungry, like he’s a man starved. He probably is. It’s been so long since he’s felt the touch of a woman. But you don’t mind it. In fact, you welcome it. He kisses you with such need it takes away and oxygen in your lungs. Like he’s been thinking about doing this forever. Maybe he has, you don’t know.

Your arms wrap around his neck as his hand at your waist holds you still, the one on your jaw trails down to your hip. He guides you backwards, your back meeting the wall of the tattered barn. You’re trapped between the two, but you have no time to think about that. You think about how perfect his lips feel against your own and how smoothly they move with yours. How natural. You don���t realize the tiny whimpers that escape your lips until Joel pulls back, grunting softly.

“Baby girl… fuckin’ hell. Those sweet noises you’re makin’ are gonna drive me crazy.” He huffs against your lips, making sure he’s not away from them for too long.

Your tongues tangle and your mind goes blank. You taste the bitter black coffee on him and it becomes addicting. You don’t even like coffee. Your head spins and reels and you find yourself slipping which you don’t mind. Joel could fuck you on this dirty barn floor and you’d thank him as you picked the hay out of your hair later. But he doesn’t want that. He doesn’t like you slipping away from him. He parts your legs with his knee, his thigh resting between them so he can prop you up. So you can’t go anywhere.

His fingers glide under your sweater, seeking the warmth of your skin. He trails his cold digits up your tummy until they reach your bra. But he doesn’t go any higher than that. The chill of his hands leaves a wake of goose bumps, causing your nipples to harden and you’re practically moaning at this point. He’s barely even touched you.

“Please… Joel, please.” You beg. “Please, fucking touch me.”

Joel keels over slightly, pressing you against the wall even harder. “Fuck… want me to touch you, baby? Where? Tell me.”

“Anywhere.” You rasp, feeling more desperate than he is at this point.

Joel laughs softly, “Uh-uh… gotta be more specific.” His fingers trail further down, tracing random shapes around your navel.

You groan, feeling helpless. You want him everywhere. You want his fingers in your mouth, or his mouth on your breasts, or his cock stuffed inside you. Fucking anything.

Joel smirks again, raising his knee up higher until he hits your core. The small bump of his thigh against your clothed pussy pulls another whimper from you and it sparks something inside Joel. “Like that, darlin’? Like when your cunt rubs up against my thigh like that?”

Words fail you again and you nod, your hips instinctively bucking against it.

“That’s it… usin’ me like that. Makin’ yourself feel good for me. Let me see you move, pretty girl.”

Joel steadies you as you begin to rock your hips against his thigh. You ignore the way your panties stick to you and the way your leggings are just soaked at this point. You’re sure if you were to look down at Joel’s jeans, you’d see evidence of it all there too.

He moves his hands again, trailing one back up to your bra and slipping underneath it. He grabs at your breasts, his grip needy and clumsy. It brings you back to reality for a moment as you giggle. “Joel… calm down. I’m not going anywhere.”

Joel’s face reddens and he slows his movements, his thumb padding over your hard nipple. “Sorry, baby girl… It’s just…” He sighs, leaning down and kissing your lips again. It’s soft and sweet and all too quick. “It’s just I don’t know if I’ll ever get this opportunity again. Don’t know if I’ll ever get to touch you like this. Like I been wantin’.”

Your heart swells as you look up to Joel, a goofy smile plastered on to your face. “Like you’ve been wanting? And how long has that been?” You ask, pulling him back down to you to smooch his lips. He sighs, closing his eyes and savoring your affection.

“Since the night you showed up to mine in that silk nightgown of yours.” Joel mumbles against your mouth, pecking you slowly and languidly. It’s almost disorienting as he does it over and over again. Finally, after a moment he stops. “You looked so fuckin’ beautiful that night. Sweaty, nervous, lil’ irritated. I wanted to kiss your lips as soon as you sat on that couch of mine. But I needed to kiss you the moment I saw them big alligator tears wellin’ up in your eyes when I sang you that George Jones song. Never seen someone so pretty cryin’ like that.” He utters, nuzzling his nose against yours.

You can’t speak. You feel like all the air has whooshed out of your lungs as you look into Joel’s eyes. They’re dilated. His eyes are usually dark but they’re almost black at this point. Your arms stay firmly planted around Joel’s neck, fingers lacing through the soft curls at the bottom. He’s nervous again. You don’t want him to be.

“Joel… you telling me you want to do this again then?” You ask, pressing a tiny kiss to the tip of his nose. He closes his eyes and sighs.

“Baby… I want to do this and so much more with you. I want whatever you want to give to me.” Another peck to your lips. “As long as it’s with you, I want it.”

“Well, what do you want right now?”

“I want to make you come.”

Your eyes widen slightly at his words, mouth going dry. His hand on your hip urges you to start moving again. To start fucking yourself against his thigh. You listen.

Your hands trail from his neck to the front of his jacket, gathering the fabric in your fists as you hold him close. Your hips start to buck once Joel pushes his knee up to the perfect height, his thigh settled in between your folds. You begin to rock back and forth, the lack of distance between you two causing the most delicious friction. Your clit presses against the fabric, and you moan softly, whimpering his name and you swear it’s like he’s heard the voice of God himself.

“Fuckin’ music to my ears. Best song I’ve ever fuckin’ heard. Don’t stop. Keep goin’, my sweet girl.” Joel says, leaning down to tangle his tongue with yours again. You moan into his mouth, your hips bucking faster as you chase that high that’s embarrassingly close. But the way he’s talking to you, the way he’s touching you so intimately, and the way your clit is pressed perfectly up against his thigh, you never stood much of a chance to begin with.

“Joel…” You whisper, your voice shaking.

“I know, baby, I know. I got you. Fuck…” He hushes back. This is clearly affecting him too. You look down at where your bodies connect and sure enough, the leg of his jeans is soaked, but to the right, just where his groin sits, another wet patch is forming. It’s small, but it’s there. Your breath catches as your head falls back slightly, allowing Joel’s lips to attach themselves to your neck. He tongues the skin up and down your pulse point, not daring to leave a mark. Yet.

“Taste so good. Bet the rest of you tastes even better. Fuck, I’m gonna be addicted. Already am.” Joel’s words push you closer and closer, your hips rocking back and forth quicker. Pretty little whimpers fall from your tongue as your fists ball tighter against his jacket. Joel moans too, his grunts getting louder, more animalistic.

“Joel, ‘m gonna… gonna come.” You manage to get out. Joel’s hand on your hip reaches around to the small of your back, coaxing you to ride faster, harder. His other hand drops from your bra, pulling your head to his so he can kiss you through it.

“Go ahead, baby. Come for me. Fuck-” Joel mumbles against your lips, swallowing the little noises you make. He’s acting like he’s not too far behind as well. You’re not even touching him and he’s on the verge of coming. Just by making you come.

With your hips moving just a few more times, the coil in the pit of your stomach begins to snap, your eyes shutting tightly as you see white, hot lightning behind them.

“God. Oh, fuck. Joel…” You murmur, your head falling forward to bury your face in his chest. But he doesn’t allow that. Joel grabs your hair from the back and tugs it softly, wanting to see your face as you come.

“That’s it. My pretty girl, holy fuck. Ah, shit…” He grunts, his breath stuttering as his own head leans into your neck. His grip on your hair and waist becomes a vice, holding you to him as you think he finishes in his pants.

You breathe heavily, coming down from your high as you pull back, Joel’s grip on you lessening. His face is beat red, and he can’t meet your gaze.

“Joel, did you- did you…?” You ask cautiously, eyes shining with amazement.

Joel grunts again, one of his hands coming up to wipe his brow. “Shit, yeah. I did.” His gaze finally meets yours and you break into a grin, letting out a breathy laugh. He smiles with you, “Got me feelin’ like a damn teenage boy over here. Can’t believe I did that.”

You shake your head, still smiling. “Don’t go feeling embarrassed on me, Joel. That was… the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” Your words are quiet, but you mean them. Eyes trailing down to where the small wet spot on his crotch used to be, now a bigger patch. You can’t help but run your fingers over it. Joel groans softly, leaning slightly into you from how sensitive he still is.

“Baby girl… watch it.” He stumbles, his breath picking back up.

You smile, “Waste it was in your pants… should have been inside my mouth. Or my pussy.” You don’t know where your confidence comes from. Maybe it’s because you made a grown man come in his pants just by watching you come on his thigh. But, nonetheless, you’re feeling good.

Your fingers continue to tease the wet spot on his groin, and you find yourself wanting to taste him. No, needing to taste him. Joel catches on to your thought process and even though he feels like he might pass out with how badly he needs you; he pushes through.

“Wanna taste, darlin’?” He hushes; lips pressed to your jaw. You nod.

“Please, Joel?” You ask in a small voice, the desire in it setting him alight.

It causes Joel to almost whimper, and he pulls back. His thigh drops from between your legs and the wet spot that’s accumulated on your leggings goes cold. You shiver slightly, missing his heat against you. Joel watches you for a moment before sighing. He wants to continue. He wants to fuck you in this barn and make you his, filling your sweet pussy up with his seed. Maybe knock you up so you can never leave him. Joel knows that’s not an option, but fuck, does he wish. He knows needs to cool it down a bit.

“You should head inside, take a shower er somethin’.” He speaks. Your brows knit together, shoulders falling slightly. You don’t want to leave his side. You don’t want this moment to end.

“I’ll be in in a bit. Don’t wanna be away from you for too long.” Your heart races at his words as he steps closer, placing his hands on either side of your cheeks. He leans down, kissing you deeply. It takes your breath away. It’s nothing like you’ve ever felt before, and it scares you. You can absolutely see yourself becoming addicted to this. You probably already are.

“Go to mine. Shower there. I’m gonna check on Estrella and then I’ll be in, okay? Won’t be away too long.” He says, backing up. You nod, muttering a quiet okay.

As you walk out of the barn, casting one last glance in his direction, he smiles. Your throat restricts and you march on forth to his little house on the property. All thoughts of Luke and your marriage are gone. As far as you were concerned, you were Joel’s. If he wanted you, that is. But you had an inkling there was a very good chance that was the case.

You reached Joel’s home and let yourself inside. It was funny to you he said to shower here when your house was only up the hill. But you weren’t going to deny him that. Plus, this was a good chance to look around the place. You’d only seen the living room which is crazy cause you were here often. You walked through the entrance, taking in the familiar plaid covered couch and the record player towards on the opposite side of it. Many mornings were spent here with Joel just chatting and laughing, listening to his collection of different records. Most of them were older county artists but you knew Joel was partial to 90’s alternative like Pearl Jam and Foo Fighters. Which surprised you, but it also made complete sense.

Stepping forward, the door off to the left of the entrance was slightly open. Curiosity piqued so you glanced in. His bedroom. Your eyes widened slightly, opening the door a bit more as you gazed around the neat room. His bed was the only thing unkempt. No clothes littered the ground, his self-care items which consisted of a jar of lotion, deodorant and probably a 15-year-old bottle of cologne were aligned neatly on the dresser. You smiled to yourself, shutting the door as you continued your trek to the bathroom. The hallway only had two doors and one opening which led to the kitchen. You assumed the one at the end of the hallway was a closet and upon opening it, you were right. So, the room next to it was the bathroom. You grabbed a towel and on you went.

Pale teal tile floor with weathered white walls. The tub was a weird shade of green which seemed to be a common theme among the property. Must have been Karla’s favorite color. It was small and cozy, like the rest of the house, and it filled you with comfort you hadn’t felt in months. You were in Joel’s space and it all just felt so him. You really could get used to it all.

Pulling back the translucent white shower curtain, you noted Joel had actual shampoo and conditioner and not a 3-In-1 like Luke used. Fuck, he even had body wash. You smile again and turn the hot water on before pulling the drain to let the shower run. It felt so good to strip out of your wet leggings and the rest of your clothes and it felt even better stepping into the steaming shower. Near scalding water cascaded down your back and you hummed in delight, letting it soak your skin. This was nice.

As you reached for the shampoo, deciding it was best to get the barn smell off you, you hadn’t noticed someone stepping into the bathroom with you. As you hummed to yourself, lathering the tea tree scented shampoo, a pair of arms wrapped around your waist. Your eyes widened as you jumped with a yelp, turning slightly. Of course it was Joel.

“Joel! Jesus, you scared me.” You breathed.

Joel smiles, “Sorry darlin’. You were too busy hummin’ and using up all my shampoo to notice. This uh, this okay?” He says, nodding between the two of you. You nod back.

“Yeah, yeah… ‘course it is.” Realization sets in that you’re naked in the shower with Joel right now. Yeah, he’d made you come on his thigh in the barn, but this was a whole new level. Joel notices your nerves and he kisses your shoulder.

“Don’t gotta do nothin’, sweetheart. Just wanna be by you.” He speaks.

Your heart melts and you nod, relaxing into his touch. You turn in his arms and breathe out a laugh, “Want me to wash your hair?”

Joel’s eyes widen slightly, and he pauses before nodding. “Okay, go ahead.”

His arms fall from around your waist, but he doesn’t stop touching you. His hands linger around your hips and tummy, fingertips grazing the soft skin like he’s addicted. He is.

You reach for the shampoo, squirting a little in your hands and lathering them until they’re sudsy. Joel dips his head under the water, wetting his hair and you reach up, rubbing it through. It’s intimate in the way his eyes close, his hand planting against you, holding himself still. You can’t help but look down and see he’s hard, but he doesn’t make it a big deal. You wouldn’t have known if you hadn’t looked.

“Okay, let’s rinse you.” You hum softly.

He leans forward, the water flowing on to him as the shampoo falls into the drain. You wash it until the water runs clear and then wipe his face so when he opens his eyes, he doesn’t get anything in them. Your heart pounds at how personal this is; how close he is.

You take in every detail on his face, like his little sun freckles and his deep-set lines in the corners of his eyes. He has long eyelashes that droplets kiss and you feel like you’re in a daze. He has a scar on his nose and the most kissable bottom lip and the most wonderful facial hair-

“Darlin’?” Joel says, eyes locked on to yours, “You okay?”

Your eyes widen and you can’t help the giggle that escapes your lips before blowing a raspberry, “Oops, you caught me. You’re so pretty I got caught up.”

Joel laughs and trails his hand up your waist, right under the swell of your breast, “Pretty? First time I’ve heard that one, I think. Not nearly pretty as you are, though.” He grins.

Your eyes roll, “So cheesy.”

“Yeah, I know you like it. Can’t deny it by the cute lil’ blush of yours. You always look so damn happy to see me.” Joel says, his other hand cupping your jaw as he looks into your eyes.

You swallow harshly, unable to look away. “That’s because I am always happy to see you. I like you.”

“I like you too,” He breathes, causing your heartbeat to stop in your chest and start somewhere else, “A whole lot.”

Silence fills the bathroom despite the sound of the water that’s now going cold. Joel’s thumb caresses your bottom lip for a moment, and you think he’s going to kiss you.

“Let’s finish up. Water’s growin’ cold on us. I wanna get you all warm and snuggled up.”

“In your bed?” You ask, eyes wide.

“Yes. In my bed.”

“Okay.”

You heart reignites as the beat in your pussy quickens. Joel’s hands roam your body, lathering both of you in the sea salt scented body wash before rinsing you off and stepping out of the shower. He wraps you in the plush gray towel after drying your hair a bit. You don’t have to do anything. It’s… surreal. You’ve never had this kind of care and attention.

You follow behind Joel shyly, almost intimidated by the intimacy of it all. Both of you are towel wrapped and damp as you step into Joel’s room. He switches the bed side lamp on and you hug the towel closer to you as you watch Joel move to rummage through his drawers. He grabs you a big shirt and a pair of his boxers, slipping on some himself. All this is done in silence, and it scares you how comfortable it is. How natural.

You walk over to the bed, getting dressed in Joel’s clothes as you sit on the edge, waiting for him to do anything. To say anything. He doesn’t for a while.

Finally, Joel turns to face you, a small smile on his face. “What ya so quiet for?”

You shrug, biting back the grin that fights through. “I dunno… I’m a little nervous I guess.”

Joel’s eyebrow quirks, nodding slowly. He makes his way next to you and sits on the edge of the bed. The mattress dips and you look over to his face. He’s just so fucking handsome.

“Well… what do you think you’re nervous about? Luke finding out?” He asks, his voice gentle.

You shrug again, “Maybe. But that wasn’t my first thought.”

Joel’s eyebrows knit together, “Then what was?”

A long sigh escapes your mouth, and you look away for a moment before looking back, “Why does this all feel so natural with you?”

“What do you mean?”

You sigh again, “I mean… we just showered together, and you were hard the entire time, but you didn’t even kiss me. You dried my hair and my arms and legs when we got out and then wrapped me in a towel. You gave me your clothes to wear to get comfy in bed with you and neither one of us batted an eye at how smoothly it flowed. It’s… weird”

“It’s weird?” He asks, reiterating your words.

“Well, not weird. But also, it kinda is. I’ve… I guess I’ve just never had that, so I don’t know how to react.” You say nervously. You decide to keep your eyes away from Joel as everything begins to feel too much.

He nods, humming softly, “So, you’ve never took a shower with Luke before?”

“I have, of course. But it’s always involved sex. It’s never washing each other's bodies and not even kissing. You touched my ass only to wipe the soap off it.” You say humorously.

Joel laughs, “What, did you want me to leave it there?”

Your eyes roll and you shake your head. “That’s not the point. Why is it so easy with you?”

Joel’s eyes soften and he shakes his head himself. He looks at you in your body, clad with his white fruit-of-the-loom t-shirt and faded red boxers and he shrugs. “Don’t know, darlin’. I really don’t.” He leans in as he sees your shoulders fall and he brushes some of your damp hair behind your ear. “Not everything needs to make sense. Or needs to be made sense of. Sometimes it’s just how it is.”

He leans in and presses a chaste kiss under your ear and two more along your jaw. Your eyes close as you breathe out, savoring his touch. His lips trail down to your chin and along your neck before pecking their way back up. Before his lips can meet yours, you speak. “Are we bad people?”

“No.” he says, no hesitation in his voice as he kisses the corner of your mouth.

“But Joel-”

“But nothin’,” Joel says pulling back slightly, “You are not a bad person for not being in love with your husband. He’s… He doesn’t treat you well, baby girl. There’s been so many nights I’ve heard him hollerin’ about things to you from all the way down the hill. He’s distant, he doesn’t give you the attention you deserve, and he’s a fuckin’ child in a man's body. You hear me?” He huffs, sitting back up and running a hand through his hair. He looks back down to you, your gaze still anywhere but him.

It’s silent for a while, this time less comfortable. Joel breathes in, his chest tightening with nerves. “Leave him.” He speaks. Your eyes widen and you stare at him for a long time, mouth open in shock. Leave him? What?

“Joel, you don’t know what you’re asking.” You say, he scoffs.

“Yes, I do. Leave Luke.” He rebuts.

“And what? Be with you?”

“Yes. Would that be so bad?”

Your eyes widen again, and tears brim your lash line, “No. It wouldn’t be.”

Joel’s lips form a thin line, “Then leave him.”

You sigh, your eyes closing. You can’t leave Luke. Where would you go? You have nothing without him. You don’t have a job, you don’t have a car, you’re in the middle of nowhere. Luke wouldn’t sign the divorce papers too, you’re sure of it. He’d throw a fit and then convince you to stay and you’d give in, living out the rest of your days unhappy with a man you can’t stand.

You stand up, a single tear rolling down your cheek. Joel panics and grabs your hand, holding you from going anywhere. His chest tightens and his eyes widen. You can’t go. Not yet anyways. He just got you.

“Baby, please… Please. Stay with me. Just for now.” The desperation in his voice is palpable and you falter immediately.

“I wasn’t going to leave, I just… I needed to do something. I’m anxious.” You say, your body twisting to face him.

Joel stares at you, his grip on your hand unrelenting. The way your eyebrows are tense in the middle has him anxious too. He pulls you to him with this gentleness that makes your body cave. You find yourself on his lap, hands on his chest as he holds you to him. Your eyes linger on your hands and then the expanse of his torso. He doesn’t have a shirt on, and you hate how distracting it is. How wonderful the hair that litters his skin feels against your palms. The swell of his pecks and how soft yet firm they are. His heartbeat in his chest that’s going two hundred miles per hour and how you find yours to be matching.

Joel brings one of his hands up to your head, moving the hair from your face.

“Look at me,” He breathes. His tone is light and almost like a whisper, “Please, my pretty girl.”

“Your pretty girl?” You ask, gaze meeting his. The corners of his eyes crinkle slightly as he grins.

“Yes. I don’t care what you say, darlin’. I don’t care if you leave Luke or stay with him. You’re mine and I… I reckon you’ve been mine for a long time now.”

Your eyes close and you nod, leaning your head on Joel’s shoulder. He’s right. It’s been a few months of you and Joel getting to know each other better but every day you find yourself slipping more. It was only a matter of time before this happened. Before both of you fell completely.

It was crazy to you. Yeah, you felt guilty for it in the beginning. Guilty for the way you’d go to bed and dream of how you’d get to see Joel the next morning. Guilty for the way you’d wake up early and make coffee for another man while your husband slept peacefully, oblivious to your feelings. Only kind of guilty for the times Joel would be busy, and you couldn’t bother him. So, you’d slip into your bedroom and touch yourself to the memories of his voice and laugh and the way he looked at you; the way he’d hug you before heading out to do his duties. But never guilty for how intoxicating you found him to be. How addicted you found yourself to be.

“Yeah… I think so too. Guess you’ve been mine for a while too?” You ask, your nose prodding his collarbone softly. He smiles, his hand on your waist trailing to your ass and squeezing it slightly, pulling you closer.

“Been yours longer than you been mine, that’s for sure. I wanted you that first night you guys got here. Looked so fuckin’ pretty.” He mumbles, turning his head into your hair. He could live here like this forever and be happy. He’d never asked for anything, never want for nothing. Just being with you here on this farm. He was convinced that’s what heaven looked like.

“Joel…” You whimper at his words, one of your hands trails up to his neck as your lips find it too. You press them against his skin, eliciting a hiss from him. His hand grips your ass harder, spreading your cheeks slightly.

“Yeah, baby girl? Feelin’ needy?” He asks, burying his face into the side of your head. You open your mouth, tongue snaking out to taste him. You want to mark him, have him wear your sigil around the farm. Not like anyone would see. Luke probably wouldn’t even notice.

Your lips plant themselves around his skin, sucking slightly and nipping at it. Joel’s breath catches in his throat, and he stutters, “Jesus fuck- darlin'. What do you think you’re doin’?” he asks, eyes shut as he leans his head back, granting you better access.

You hum, continuing your assault against his neck. Below you, Joel’s cock grows, poking against your thigh. You place open-mouthed kisses, and little love bites up to his jaw before pulling back to look at your work. You grin, eyeing all the small red marks beginning to darken. Joel shakes his head smiling, dilated eyes locked on yours. “Better hope your no-good husband don’t see these.”

You smile back, “He won’t. He’s too fucking oblivious. He doesn’t even know his wife is in their bed touchin’ herself to another man every night.”

This knocks the wind out of Joel’s lungs completely, his eyes widen, and you think he might actually black out for a second. You steady him with a small grin, shaking his head a little. “You okay?”

It takes Joel another couple seconds to respond, blinking back his glazed over eyes, “Oblivious to what, darlin’? To his wife doin’… what?”

You laugh, leaning down to peck the tip of Joel’s nose, “You heard me, Miller.”

“I don’t think I did, pretty girl. Think you should say it again so I can make sure I heard correctly.” He says, his arms wrapping around your waist as he pulls you flush against his erection. Your walls part, feeling the hardened length against your core through his boxers.

You can’t think straight as the sensation of Joel gently rocking his hips upward sends you feral. Your grip on him tightens, “I-I said… Luke is too fucking oblivious to the fact that I’m touching myself to the thought of you every night. I make myself come every night to the thought of you and what it would be like for you to fuck me. How it would be to have your cock stuffed inside me. That clear enough for you?”

Joel huffs, his cock twitching against your heat, “Clear as crystal, baby girl.��� His lips connect to yours and it takes your breath away. You’ve said it before, but Joel is just so intense. His kiss is powerful and full of force and it’s utterly intoxicating. You don’t want it to end, but Joel pulls back.

“Wanna know somethin’?” He asks. You nod. “You know how many times I’ve touched myself in the last few months to you?”

Your eyes widen as you bite back a smirk, deciding to relax more into his touch. You place your weight on his lap, his cock bumping your folds in a way that makes him groan. “Yeah? You been touching yourself to me too, Joel?”

“Yeah. Touched myself that first night you came here. When I say you looked so fuckin’ pretty cryin’ like that… I meant it. You went back up the hill and I sat right there in my chair. Couldn’t get out of my jeans fuckin’ fast enough. You got no idea the effect you have on me, do you?” Joel says, nuzzling his nose against yours pecking your lips in sequence a couple times.

You feel drunk. That’s the best way you could put it. You felt drunk on Joel’s needy hands and sinful words, and you’d be damned if you didn’t keep on drinking.

You gulp, “Why don’t… why don’t you show me just how much I affect you then.”

Joel looks into your eyes, looking for any reservations but he sees none. He feels a lump in his throat form, and he really doesn’t want this to end. A part of him wishes Luke would just not come back. That’d he stay far away and leave this farm and you to him. He takes care of both better than anyone else could, especially that poor excuse of a man. Joel wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he wouldn’t mind if Luke just up and died. That way he could never interfere again. As far as Joel was concerned the farm was his, and so were you. It made sense to him. Just as the sun comes up in the morning and sets at night. You were Joel’s and he was yours.

“Show you? Want me to show you how much I want you? How much I fuckin’ need you, sweet girl?” He asks, voice dripping with lust. You nod, words failing you. Seemed to be a common theme around him.

Joel smiles, “Okay, my baby. My pretty girl. You’re mine, aren’t you, darlin’?”

You shudder out a breath, his possessive words going straight to your core, “Joel, yes. I’m yours.”

Joels grip tightens and has you grind down against his cock that’s so painfully hard, “Only mine? No one else?”

You moan, a real moan and it has Joel reeling. “Only fucking yours. Please, Joel… I need you.”

“That’s all you had to say.” He says as he stands up, pushing you off his lap. You shiver from the lack of heat, but he turns to you and nods to the bed, “up against the headboard.”

You listen immediately, nearly stumbling to get on to the bed. Joel follows you, settling in next to you. He covers your bodies with the comforter, and your eyebrows knit together. You watch him fluff up his pillow and then lay against it, sighing as he closes his eyes. What?

“Uh, Joel? What… Are you doing?” You ask.

“Hm? Takin’ a nap. I’ve been up since four in the morning, darlin’. Ol’ Joel’s tired.” He says, eyes closing again.

You laugh, “What? But what about-”

“In a couple hours, we’ll get up. I'll check on Estrella, come back here, and I’ll make you dinner. Then after it’s all said and done, I’ll fuck you. Real good too.”

Your breath catches and you nod, “Okay.”

Joel extends his arm to you, and you lean into him. You place your head on his chest, his arm wrapping around you and holding you to him tightly. He didn’t want you to go anywhere. You weren’t going to.

It was crazy to you how quickly you fell asleep. As soon as Joel started to rub the skin on your forearm and his breathing began to even out, you were knocked. It was a quick nap, probably only an hour instead of the couple he promised. But you didn’t mind. Just meant you were closer to him fucking you.

Joel wakes up first, breathing out heavily as he moves from under you, trying so very carefully not to wake you up. But as soon as you felt the lack of body heat, you were wide awake.

“Where are you going?” You mumble, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. Joel smiles, slipping on his jeans and a shirt.

“Goin’ to check on Estrella. She should be havin’ that calf any moment at this point.” He leans down and kisses your temple and then your cheek and then your lips. You exhale, loving the affection. You kiss him back, humming against him.

“Let me go with you.” Your words are quiet as you feel yourself fighting sleep, your body slumping into Joel’s bed. You couldn’t help it. You were surrounded by his scent and the lingering warmth from his side of the bed. It was all so nice. So Joel.

He chuckles, “Nah, baby girl. Get some more rest. I’ll be back in a bit, okay? My pretty girl needs her beauty sleep.”

You feel your lips quirk up softly, yawning a quick ‘okay’ before nodding back off.

It’s another few hours before your body decides it’s time to get up. As you sit up in Joel’s bed, noticing the sun going down, you hear pots and pans clanging around in the kitchen. You decide to try and gather your bearings and go check it out. The walk down his hallway is short, but you can hear him mumbling something to himself and it has you smiling. Joel is placing a pan onto the stove when he sees you from the corner of his eye. He smiles, “Mornin’, darlin. Bout time you woke up.”

You yawn, stretching slightly, “I know. I’ve been sleeping all day. I have no clue why I’m so exhausted.” You make your way over to Joel who’s lighting the burner on the stove. You wrap your arms around his waist and snuggle into him, still feeling the lingering effects of your long nap. Joel chuckles, kissing the top of your head.

“Still sleepy, baby? I guess that’s what good orgasms do to ya, huh?” He teases you. You can feel your face flush as your mind travels back to your time with Joel in the barn and you smirk.

“Guess so. Wouldn’t know. Never had one until then.” You say as Joel moves from you to the fridge, inspecting it for ingredients.

“That so? Well… Looks like I’m gonna have to keep ‘em coming.” He smirks. His eyes scan the content of the fridge and there really isn’t much. He clears his throat. “So, I know I promised you dinner. But I haven’t been able to head up to the market for a bit. I could probably throw together some omelets. Cheese and… bacon? Everythin’ else is in the freezer. It’d take too long to dethaw at this point.” Joel speaks, picking up a paper sack of what he thinks is the bacon.

You watch him raid his fridge and then you clear your throat as the lightbulb in your head goes off. “That doesn’t sound too bad. But think I have a better idea.”

Joel looks over to you, shutting the fridge before crossing his arms, “Oh yeah? What do ya got in mind?”

“I went up to Leo’s market the other day. They were having a special. Buy two get one free. So, I got a pack of almonds cause they’re my favorite. I got a pack of macadamia nuts for cookies and a pack of pecans for your pie. The one you requested forever ago.”

Joel’s eyes widen and his face breaks out into a grin, “Dessert for dinner, huh?”

You shrug, “I think it’s a good time to make it. You can help me. Ever made a pie before?”

He shakes his head, “Can’t say I have, sugar. But I think I have the perfect person to teach me.”

You roll your eyes playfully, before heading towards the front door and slipping your boots on. Joel follows you.

“I’ll be right back. Just gonna go up to the house and grab the stuff.”

He nods, offering help but you tell him you’ll be fine. You head up the hill and in through the back door of the main house before scouring the kitchen for all the ingredients. It’s smells like Luke in here and it makes you queasy. You pause to take a breath. You’d really forgotten about your husband just like that. Like he was so easy to forget despite being married to him for a couple years now. You rest your palms against the counter and clear your throat as your mind just as easily drifts back to thoughts of Joel. How he’s waiting for you just down the hill. How he looks at you and how you feel around him. How he makes you feel. Happy. Safe. Satisfied. Loved. And once again, Luke is gone from your mind.

You step back from the counter and move around the kitchen, grabbing a plastic bag and packing it with flour, sugar, corn syrup, cream, butter, and vanilla.

Soon enough, you’re back in the kitchen with Joel, laying out all the ingredients and getting to work. You start on the crust, combining the flour and butter into a crumbly dough and then let it rest for a bit in the fridge while you start on the filling. Joel helps you measure out the sugar, cream, and corn syrup while you crack the eggs into the bowl. You work together seamlessly, and he follows your instructions to a T. You bite your lip in concentration as you mix the pecans into the filling, folding them in delicately.

Joel watches in admiration, his eyes grazing over your face and then your body which is covered with his clothing. His. It makes his chest swell with affection and he can’t help himself from leaning over and kissing you.

The kiss takes you by surprise, but you return it immediately. You hum against his lips and place your hand on his cheek. His lips move with yours for a moment and he pulls away first, leaving you in a daze. “So fuckin’ pretty.” He hushes; his eyes still closed. You lean in and press another kiss to his bottom lip and he smiles.

“Okay, let’s finish this damn pie.” You speak. Your body feels light and fluttery almost. It’s like you don’t know how to handle all of this. All of this affection. It’s like it’s too much. But also not enough.

Joel nods, getting up to get the pie dough from the fridge. He watches you roll the crust out, cutting it to fit the pie tin, and then pour the filling into it. He watches you make a little heart made out of pecans on the top before popping it into the oven and it’s all so wonderful to him.

Joel’s never really minded being alone. He stayed busy. He had so much to do on the farm every day he really didn’t have time to think that maybe life would be better spending it with someone else. He had the animals, and at one point he had Karla. Sure, he still had those nights from time to time where he craved the heat from another body in his bed. Or maybe when his fist just wasn’t enough and he needed that slick, wet heat his hand couldn’t offer him.

But now, as he watches you move around his kitchen, baking him his favorite pie, doing the dishes, he can’t imagine it any other way. He knows he’s in too deep. You’re a married woman and he knows that, it’s just he’s fought his feelings for a long time and now? He doesn’t give a damn. He wants you. He’s convinced he needs you. If you were to leave him to go back to that piece of shit husband, he doesn’t know what it’d do to him.

Joel stands from the small dining table in the kitchen and makes his way to you. You’re stood at his sink, scrubbing at the dishes you used for the pie. He comes up from behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his head on your shoulder. Your heart races at the action and you breathe out a small, “Hi.”

“Hi.” He says back simply, his eyes closing.

You peek at him from the corner of your eye and smile, “Feeling sleepy?”

He nods, “‘Lil bit. Was stressin’ over Estrella but she finally got that calf out. Both of ‘em are resting now.” Joel presses tiny kisses against your neck, and you sigh, savoring them.

“That’s good they’re both okay. I want to see the baby.” You say, turning off the water and turning in his arms to face him.

“You can. We can go see ‘em tomorrow morning. That sound okay to you?”

You shake your head yes, looking into Joel’s eyes, “Sounds fine to me.”

The smell of fresh baked pecan pie wafts through the kitchen and your eyes light up. “I think the pies done. Shall we take a look?” You ask.

“We shall.” Joel counters with his country twang and you giggle.

He opens the oven and you slip on the mitt before pulling the pie out and setting it on top of the stove. “Now we have to let it cool.”

Joel sighs impatiently, “Let it cool? We can’t cut into it now?”

“No, I mean, unless you want hot pecan sugar soup. It has to firm up!” You say, turning the oven off.

Joel groans playfully and you shake your head, “You can wait twenty more minutes, okay?”

He rolls his eyes but nods, “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I’ve been waitin’ months anyways so what’s another twenty minutes?”

“Exactly.”

Joel moves to the sink to finish up washing the dishes while you poke and prod at the pie making sure it firms up okay. And after cleaning the kitchen, putting away the ingredients into Joel’s cabinets, and a little make out session, twenty minutes have already passed.

You pull back from Joel, his lips following yours as he isn’t quite ready to stop yet. You hush against his mouth, “Joel… you know what time it is?”

“Hmm, time for me to keep kissin’ you?” He asks, pressing his lips to yours again.

You hum, pushing him back, “Pie time.”

Joel’s eyebrows raise, “‘Fuckin’ finally.”

The two of you gather around the stove as you stick your knife into the pie and cut it into 8 big, individual slices. You take Joel’s plate and serve him first then dish up yours as well. Once back at the table you wait for him to take a bite, anticipating his reaction as nerves settle in your tummy. It’s his favorite pie so this is a big deal.

Joel sticks his fork into his slice and then into his mouth. You watch him closely as he chews a few times, anxiety creeping from your tummy to your neck. But then, his eyes close and you swear you hear him moan.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ.” He utters, his mouth still full of the pie.

Your eyes light up and you smile, “Is it good?”

Joel looks at you from the corner of his eyes and then back down to his plate, immediately shoving another bite into his mouth. He doesn’t say anything. Even when his first slice is gone and even when he finishes another one. He goes for a third and you stop him, grabbing his wrist gently.

“Joel, baby… calm down. Your pie isn’t going anywhere.” You laugh.

Joel clears his throat, a hint of red on his cheeks, “I know, darlin’. But you think that cherry pie’a yours was good? This could win contests.”

Your eyes roll and you shake your head, “You’re just saying that. You always hype my food up. It can’t all be good!

Joel looks at you incredulously, “It can’t all be good? Are you kiddin’ me? You haven’t made a bad thing yet. But this? I might need one a week. Maybe two.”

You laugh, finally taking a bite of your own slice. You were too entranced by his display of gluttony to even try it yet. But fuck, once you had a taste, you knew he was right. Your eyes fluttered shut as you savored the nuttiness from the pecans and the caramelized sugar, “Okay, you’re right. This is better than the cherry pie.”

“Pecan is always better than cherry. But you know what would taste even better?” He asks.

Your eyebrows knit together as you take another bite of pie and look at Joel, “Hmm?”

“You.”

You choke on your bite of food and look up at him, smiling as a blush creeps onto your cheeks. Joel smirks, pushing his plate aside and leaning over the table to look at you. You lock eyes for a moment, unspoken longing simmering between the both of you and without words, you both stand up. Joel grabs your hand again and pulls you back down the hallway to his room. That nervous feeling settles in the pit of your stomach again, but you push it away. Images of Luke flash in your mind from before; when he loved you. When you loved him. It was almost annoying at this point. Why did you keep thinking of him? It’d been weeks if not months you had any sort of romantic feeling for him and while you supposed some guilt still did linger, you absolutely didn’t mind the way your body thrummed with desire for Joel.

Joel doesn’t bother shutting the door behind him. It’s not like anyone’s gonna hear anything or walk in on you, which at this point, you didn’t really care if they did. After this day of touches and kisses and teasing, you needed all of him.

Your body shook with nerves and adrenaline as you stepped in to Joel’s room with him. It was really going to happen. You were going to fuck this man you’d be pining for for months. Joel on the other hand, was calm and collected. He walked over to his bed, peeling back the covers before stripping himself of his shirt and unbuttoning his jeans. As he pulled the zipper down, he looked up to you, a soft smile on his lips.

“Gonna get in bed?” He asks, nonchalantly as all hell.

You twiddle your fingers as you sway from one foot to another, “I dunno. Do you want me to?”

Joel looks at you and rolls his eyes, “Darlin’…” he begins, but you cut him off.

“You gonna fuck me?”

Joel’s smile drops ever so slightly, thinking of what to say next. But it comes back as quickly as it disappears. “Gonna be disappointed if I don’t?”

You bite your lip and shrug slightly. Joel laughs, “I’ll take that as a yes then. Come ‘ere. It’s been too long since I’ve touched you.”

“You were holding my hand like maybe 2 minutes ago.” You grin softly, climbing into bed with him. His arms wrap around you, pulling you on top of him. He grunts in satisfaction as your body weight settles on his lower tummy, hands planted firmly at your hips. His thumbs rub tiny circles into your skin as he pushes your shirt over your head, exposing your bare breasts to the cold air in the room. Your nipples harden instantly and your lips part, a short puff of air escaping them. Joel’s eyes dilate as he rakes them over your skin, his hands inching up your torso until they meet the swell of your breasts.

“So fuckin’ pretty… can’t believe you want me.” He mumbles.

You scoff, a smile on your face, “What do you mean by that?”

Joels thumbs pad over your hardened nipple, causing your cunt to throb. Your hands plant themselves against Joel’s chest, your fingertips weaving between the hair that litters it.

“What I mean is… I’m old enough to be your daddy, but maybe you’re into that. Maybe you like the idea of being with an old fucker like me.”

Your eyes roll, “Yeah, that must be it. I have an old man fetish.” You shake your head and laugh, a smile on his lips as well, “But no, Joel. I think it’s actually the fact that I think you’re amazing. You are so sweet, and kind and I don’t think you realize that. I think you have this idea of yourself that you’re this rough around the edges, loner type but you aren’t. I’ve never had someone be so gentle with me. It makes perfect sense as to why I’ve fallen so hard for you.”

Joel’s fingers stop as he stares at you for a long while. Suddenly, he sits up, holding your body close to him. His arms wrap around your frame, pulling you flush against his chest as his eyes don’t leave yours. “Please… be with me.” He speaks, throat bobbing as he swallows thickly.

Your heart stills, “I am, Joel. I’m with you right now.”

“No, you know what I mean.” And you do. You absolutely know what he means. He wants you to leave Luke and be his. You want to. So desperately.

“Joel-”

“No, don’t give me that. You don’t love Luke. He doesn’t treat you well. Don’t you think being with me would be better?” He asks, his voice quiet, like he’s nervous.

“It would. It would be so much better, Joel-”

“Then leave him and be with me-” He interrupts.

“Please don’t interrupt me. I deal with enough of that from my husband.” You say in frustration, trying to pull back from him but he doesn’t let you go.

“Don’t pull away from me. You don’t have to be defensive with me. I’m sorry I interrupted you. I won’t do it again, I just… I want you, in every capacity. I want to wake up next to you, have you make me coffee every mornin’ just like you do now. I want to listen to my records with you and have you show me that Gilman Girls show you talk about all the time.” He says and you laugh softly.

“Gilmore Girls, Joel.”

“Yeah, that one. I want to have dinner with you and do the dishes together, then climb into bed so I can hold you, kiss you… so I can make love to you, and we don’t have to worry about anythin’ else. Just us.”

Your heart races and you feel tears spring to your eyes, the longing he feels for you blooming in your chest tenfold. Joel is infinitely better than Luke. In every way. He’s attentive and thoughtful and so kind it makes you lightheaded. Life here on the farm with Joel might not be so bad. You actually might enjoy it. You know you would. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind. But would you be willing to give up everything for him? You sigh, and without another beat; you speak.

“Okay.” You say, wiping a tear from your cheek. “Okay. I’ll leave Luke.”

Joel’s eyes widen and his shoulders rise and fall with the deep breaths he forces himself to take, “My sweet girl… you will?”

You nod, “Yes. I want all of that with you. I want to wake up at 5am and help you with the chickens and tend to Estrella and her calf. I want to make you treats and fatten you up with them,” Joel smiles and you do too, “I want to lay in bed with you and talk about nonsense and touch you and love you and be with you. I want to be yours, Joel. Not Luke’s. Yours.”

Joel can hear the blood rushing in his ears and he feels like he might actually combust on the spot. His heart races and he closes in on you. “Then that’s what’s gonna happen, darlin’. Just us. Just you. Just me.” Joel hushes, his lips pressing against yours.

You move with him and somehow end up with your back pressed against his plush mattress. Joel begins to remove the boxers he’d given you to wear earlier as you reach for the his jeans, pushing them down his hips fully.

“I want you.” You mumble against his lips.

“You have me, my girl.” He whispers back.

Once out of his jeans, Joel shimmies out of his boxers, leaving you both lying there naked. It’s scary how real it is. Joel is going to fuck you. You’re married and you don’t care. In your mind, your relationship with Luke has been dead for a long time. You don’t have an ounce of emotion in your body for him anymore and with ease, you forget about him once again.

Your attention switches back to Joel so naturally; so fluidly. His cock presses its head against your thigh. He’s so painfully hard you have no idea how he’s restraining himself.

“Need to be inside you, baby… but fuck, I wanna take my time with you.” He utters, his tone dripping with lust. His lips trail from yours to your jaw to your neck, not caring if he leaves marks or not. You’re leaving Luke. You’re his and he’s going to let the world know.

He moves further down, his tongue snaking in between the valley of your breasts and lower to your navel. He sucks at the skin on your tummy, marking you there as well. Another annoying blip of Luke flashes through your mind and how if he saw these marks on your body, it’d be over. It’s over anyways. Those thoughts go as quickly as they came when you realize Joel has buried his nose in the small tufts of hair that litters your skin down there. He’s like a mad man at work, huffing his way down to your folds and breathing in.

“Good God, sweet girl. Need’a taste so bad. Smell so fuckin’ divine I could lose it right now.” He speaks as his nose prods against your opening, his rough fingers meeting your walls to spread them open. His tongue dips in, licking against the swollen bud and it has you seeing stars. Your fingers lace into his hair as you keen into his ministrations, angling your hips up to his mouth.

His name litters the air as it stumbles out of your mouth over and over, like a mantra. Your whimpers of pleasure urges Joel to get more into it, sucking and flicking his tongue against your clit. His finger trails down, slipping into your soaked cunt as he begins to pump two of them in and out slowly.

“So fuckin’ wet, baby… taste like heaven.” He mumbles, his lips wrapping right back around your bud. Your brows tense as Joel curls his finger, hitting the soft spot in your pussy. Your fingers pull his hair tighter, your mouth opening as you moan silently, your orgasm embarrassingly close. He was so fucking good at this.

“Joel… fuck-Joel.”

“I know, baby, I know. I can feel you clenching around my fingers baby girl, go on and let go for me.” He hushes out, his warm breath only adding fuel to the fire. Joel’s expert tongue swirls and presses like he’s dotting his I’s and crossing his T’s and after a few more strokes of his fingers, you can’t hold back anymore.

“Fuck, I’m coming, Jo- Fuck!” You hiss through your teeth as your hands release the grip on his head and find solace on his bed sheets. Wave after wave hits you and you feel like you can’t even breathe. You try and it’s like it’s stuck in your chest. Joel doesn’t back down either, his tongue, lips and fingers all working away like he’s possessed. He’s addicted to your taste, and he’ll never give it up.

Your body begins to recoil away with overstimulation and once you whimper his name, he comes to. His head peeks up from between your legs and he smiles, his beard damp and cheeks glistening with your slick. It makes your heart skip a beat. He leans his head to your thigh and kisses it, breathing heavily himself.

Joel makes his way up your body, letting his weight down on top of you and it feels like bliss. Your arms instinctively wrap around his neck as you pull him to you. Your lips meet his as he lets your taste yourself on him, his tongue tangling with yours like it was with your clit only moments ago. He’s still hard, probably even more so as you feel it press into your still-sensitive core. His tip begins to slide between your folds, and you spread your legs wider. Joel smiles into the kiss before pulling back.

“Ready for me, baby?” He asks with such softness you can’t believe how lucky you are to be here with him right now. You nod, your eyes opening to meet his. You want to watch him as he enters you.

His gaze is tender and full of what you think could be love. You didn’t want to jump the gun and say that it was, but… if he said it to you, you might just say it back. His hand caresses your cheek as he watches you intently, like he’s dazed. You turn your head into his palm, kissing the rough skin. No words are said, and none need to be. Joel lets out a deep breath as his hand tucks some of your hair behind your ear before trailing it down to your leg and guiding it to wrap around his. His cock slips into you ever so slightly and your breath hitches.

“Please, Joel… I need you… need more.” You speak; your voice hoarse. Joel smiles, leaning down and pecking your lips once more. He nods, words failing to find him now. He looks back into your eyes and pushes his hips forward. His cock sinks into you so deliciously it has you stunned. The way the girth stretches you out feels like you were made to take it. You were made for Joel; you were sure of it.

Joel, on the other hand, was a mess. When this whole thing started, he was so calm, like he’d planned this forever. Maybe he had. He didn’t dare close his eyes, not wanting to miss a second of this as he pushed in further. Soft grunts escape him as he bottoms out and then holds it there, letting the both of you adjust.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice shaky.

You nod, “I’m perfect.”

He nods back, pulling his hips back all the way before pushing them back in. He begins to find a steady rhythm, rocking against your body and that’s when you allow your eyes to close. One of his hands meets the pillow next to your head and he moves quicker. Grunts and moans slip from him which surprise you; you didn’t expect him to be so vocal. You’re right behind him though, his name being moaned into the ether as yours drips from his mouth. He’s already close, you can tell. But he’s trying to hold on as long as he can. He wants to savor this. He’s scared he won’t get this opportunity again.

Joel pulls his cock out of you, his chest rising and falling as he steadies himself. You look up to him, confused as to why he’s stopped. Maybe he’s regretting it. Maybe he feels guilty for it all. You sit up on your elbows, eyebrows knit tight.

“Joel, everything okay?”

He wipes his face and nods, “Yeah, baby… on your knees for me.”

Your eyes widen and you immediately turn around, gathering yourself on to your hands and knees to which Joel groans. He grabs your hips, pulling you against him and you feel his hard cock rut into your behind slightly. Joel brings a hand down to your ass, the smack echoing in the dimly lit room as you hum in delight.

“Gonna fuck you good, sweet girl. ‘Member I promised that?” He says, guiding his cock back into your slick. You breathe out, arms faltering slightly as you try and hold yourself up for him.

Joel smacks your ass again, “I said, remember? Use your words, pretty girl.”

“Yes, I remember.” You hiss, your pussy gripping around his length like a vice.

“Fuck- r-remember what? What did I tell you I was gonna do?” Another smack, your cheeks branded with his handprint.

“Ah, Joel-fuck! You-you said you were going to fuck me good. Please… do it. Fuck me.” You beg, your tone dripping with desperation. Joel smiles and kneads the skin he’d been rough with as he begins to pump in and out again.

“Good girl.”

He grabs your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he moves. He pumps into you over and over and you can’t think straight. Your arms give out not even two minutes into it and your head buries itself in his pillows. Joel doesn’t care; he just grips you tighter to make sure you don’t get too far away.

“That’s it, you’re takin’ it so fuckin’ good, baby. So good. So… mine. All mine, right?” He moans, his voice rough.

You don’t respond, too busy focusing on his cock that stretches your pussy out. Focused on the way he seems to hit that one spot in your cunt over and over. He takes his hand to your ass again, this time smacking it but grabbing a fist full afterwards.

“I said, right?”

“Yes, Joel, all yours! Only fucking yours.”

It’s like music to Joel’s ears as he wraps his arm around your waist and pulling your back against his torso. His hips never stop, even as you both adjust to the new position, his left hand reaching up to your breast to squeeze and his right flying down to your clit, rubbing quick circles. He wants you to come with him and he’s ridiculously close, but so were you.

“Shit, baby,” He heaves, “‘M gonna cum, gonna fill you up. That okay?” He asks through his rough grunting.

You nod immediately, not minding any implications, “Fuck, yes, Joel. Please. Please fuckin’ finish inside me.” Your orgasm teeters the edge as his fingers and cock assault your core, seconds from overflowing.

Hearing you beg Joel to finish inside you is all he needed to let go. Both of you cry out in pleasure as you feel Joel’s hot seed coat your walls. He fucks it further into you, no sign of him pulling out, but you didn’t want him to. Your body ignites as your own orgasm hits, your pussy clenching around Joel’s cock, milking him dry. You’ve never felt this sort of electric current spread through your veins, this liquid fire working its way to every point of your body and it’s just too much.

Finally, after a few more moments of Joel thrusting; his hand on your clit seizes its movements and he pulls out. Your head falls back on to his shoulder as you try to catch your breath, body completely spent. You feel his touch graze over you skin as he trails them up to your breasts and back down your tummy, like he’s trying to map every inch of your body to his memory. He’s so scared he’s going to lose you, and you can tell. His lips ghost over your neck and shoulders and back, while his hands palm at your skin.

“Joel, settle down.” You giggle; your eyes still closed in euphoria.

He sighs, “Sorry, Darlin’. I’m just… I’m just feelin’ you is all.”

“I know you are and that’s okay. But we’re going to do this again, you know? Again, and again, and again.” You say with a smile as you turn to face him again. You can feel his seed begin to leak out of you and you clench, wanting to keep it inside.

“You sure?” Joel asks, his body hovering yours as you lay on your back.

You nod; eyes heavy with exhaustion even if you’d napped most of the day. Joel relaxes slightly, easing his body down to lay on yours and it has you reeling.

“I love this feeling. You on me. Us. All of it.” Your words come out in a mumble and Joel smiles, kissing your chin and then your cheeks.

“I know. Me too.” He hums, his lips lingering over your skin as he ghosts more kisses across your face. He pauses for a moment, taking a deep breath. “So, how are we…? How are you… ya know, gonna tell Luke?”

You pause for a long time. Each second that passes has Joel’s heart racing quicker and harder. What if you’d changed your mind?

Another pause and a breath; you speak. “I… don’t know.”

Joel doesn’t move. He just lays there on top of you and lets you think a while. “How do I tell my husband I want a divorce?”

“You go up to him and say ��Luke. I want a divorce.’” Joel says plainly and you let out a breathy laugh.

“Is it really that simple?” You ask, your eyes meeting his.

He pauses this time, his eyes dilating as he gazes upon your face. “No. It isn’t.”

You nod, eyelids closing. “I know.”

“But we’ll figure it out. Okay? No way in hell am I ever lettin’ you go now. I’ll fight Luke for you.” He speaks. You laugh again but you know he’s serious. He would fight Luke. He’d win too.

“That won’t be necessary… but I’d fight him too.” This time Joel laughs and leans down, nuzzling his head into your neck and wrapping his arms around your frame. You’ve never felt so safe. So loved.

You don’t know when you fall asleep, but it happens. Your body melds into Joel’s and the both of you lull into a deep sleep. You don’t wake up until late morning the next day. Joel’s already out of bed, probably somewhere on the farm doing his duties. You sit up, the blankets pooling around your waist when you look over to the clock on Joel’s bedside table. It’s a quarter passed 10 already. You decide to get up, getting dressed in Joel’s shirt from yesterday and a pair of his sweats. You see an old sweater in his drawers too and you figured you’d help yourself. It is getting chilly outside after all. Plus, you had the inkling Joel was the type to like you in his clothes anyways.

After slipping on your shoes, you decided to head to the barn. He was more than likely there, considering Estrella was in active labor yesterday. The cold air nipped your nose as you hugged yourself, crossing the yard to the barn. It was open, the overhead light flipped on. You could hear humming from Joel in the distance and you smiled.

It was warmer in the barn. Joel turned the space heater on for the calf and for the mama.

“Joel?” You called out, waiting for his response.

He peeks his head around the corner, his eyes wide as he smiles to you. He steps from behind the wall, wiping his hands on a rag that he slings over his shoulder. Heat pools in your tummy as he approaches you, the simple gesture turning you on.

“Hi, darlin’. Everything okay?” He asks. You nod. “Sleep okay?”

You nod again. “Best sleep I think I’ve ever had. I was so warm and cozy.”

Joel smiles, wrapping his arms around your waist, “Yeah? Me too. And to think… we’re gonna be sleepin’ like that from here on out, huh?”

You feel your stomach coil in a way that makes you nervous. It’s excitement, but it’s nerve-wracking. You’re really going to have to tell Luke it’s over. Your mind swims with different ideas of ways to break it to him. Maybe you could tell him you’re actually not interested in men anymore. Yeah, that could work. The good ol’ lesbian switcheroo. Or maybe you could tell him you’re dying. You could fake your death and just never have to confront what’s really going on. You could never tell him you’re in love with another man. With someone he’s known since he was a child. You sigh as you realize you just need to tell him you’re unhappy. That you don’t want this anymore… that you don’t want him. Maybe you could even leave Joel out of it. Just tell him you’re done, that you want to go back to the city. Luke would. He wouldn’t stay here. That way you could sneak back and live with Joel. But that was a longshot.

Joel notices your silence and he nudges you slightly, “Baby? Everythin’ okay in that pretty lil’ head of yours?”

Your eyes snap up to Joels, slightly widened but you nod.

“Yeah, I’m… I’m okay. Just thinking of what I should tell Luke.”

Joel nods, opening his mouth to say something when the devil himself appears.

“Tell Luke what?” Luke speaks, smiling at you and Joel as he steps into the barn. He must have seen you come inside it.

Your heart stills and you feel it drop to your ass as you whip around, eyes meeting his. Joel’s hands drop from your waist, and you can’t even think straight. Your heart pounds so hard you feel like you’re rocking on a boat during a thunderstorm, the waves threatening to consume you.

Luke begins to notice that Joel’s hands were on you, once gripped tightly around the sides of your body, now limp at his sides. Twitching. Like they’re aching to hold you again. He notices the clothes you adorn. They’re not yours and they’re definitely not his. Luke’s stomach drops and his smile falls, his own heart racing. Luke might be oblivious to some things, but he’s not an idiot, and he quickly pieces together what’s happening. And then he sees the marks on Joel’s neck. And then on yours.

“What. The. Fuck?” He hisses. His face begins to burn red and he sees it too.

“Luke, please. Let me explain-” You begin, your voice panicked and desperate.

“Oh, no. You don’t need to explain. I know exactly what is going on here… and you know what? I just knew this was going to happen. I knew it. I had this feeling and look! I’m right!”

Your brows knit together and you cross your arms. “Luke, what?”

Luke scoffs, “Babe… you don’t think I haven’t noticed you getting up at five… six in the morning to make Joel coffee? Or the way you’d bounce over to the guest house, the brightest smile on your face like you were going to see the love of your life? You’ve never smiled like that with me! If you don’t think I’ve noticed that then you must be dumber than I thought you were. So fucking dumb.”

Your heart breaks at his words. You know he’s just trying to hurt you, but man does it fucking suck. You loved him wholeheartedly at one point and now you just don’t know him. You haven’t for months. Probably even before you got to the farm. Tears well up in your eyes as you go to say something but get cut off.

“Listen here, you little shit. You will not talk to her like that any longer. Do you hear me?” Joel seethes, but Luke isn’t going to back down.

He laughs, “Upset ‘cause I called her dumb? She just threw everything away for you! You, Joel. 50 years old and what to show for yourself? Living on a dead woman’s farm? No family, no kids. You just had to steal someone else’s wife, huh? You know what? You can have her. She’s a fucking whore anyways!”

“Luke, stop.” You say, your voice wavering as you try and find it, your heart shattering at his words.

“You little fucker. You can say all the shit you want to, Luke,” Joel begins, “But in the end, it was me who fucked your wife, wasn’t it? She had to turn to me ‘cause it was you who couldn’t take care of her.”

You look at Joel with wide eyes at his crude words and you scoff, looking back and forth as the two of them begin to argue. They raise their voices, stepping closer to one another and it just becomes too much. You break.

“Stop! The both of you! Fucking stop!” You yell, your eyes filling with tears. They spill wildly and you don’t even try and wipe them away. Luke looks at you in annoyance and as soon as Joel’s eyes meet yours, he’s nervous. He’s realized what he’s said in anger and he hates to see you cry. He hates that he’s part of the reason you are. Joel tries to reach out to you, uttering a ‘baby’ and you push him back.

“No. Just… stop.” You sob. Your voice is small and nervous, but you knew whatever the outcome of this was, it’d end in disaster. It’d end in heartbreak.

“Luke,” You begin, “I was so in love with you, I mean, fuck. I married you. I moved seven hours out of the city to live in the fucking countryside with you! And not once, did you take my feelings into consideration. The more I think about it; I don’t think you ever did. It was all about you. You’ve been horrible to me the last however long we’ve been here-”

“I haven’t been horrible to you-”

“Let me speak!” You yell back, your fists tightening into little balls. Luke rolls his eyes but shuts up. Joel’s eyes flicker down to your fists, and he physically holds himself back from reaching for them. From reaching for you. He so desperately wants you in his arms, telling you it’ll be okay, that’s he’s sorry, but he knows he can’t. You wouldn’t let him.

“You have been horrible. Not speaking to me or berating me when you do. Pushing me for sex when I didn’t want it. Calling me names and meaning them. ‘Whore’? Really, Luke? The venom you have in your voice when you talk to me… you can’t deny any of that.”

Luke stays silent because he knows you’re right. He can’t look at you anymore and turns his head, his eyes closing as his shoulders slump.

“And you,” You speak, turning to Joel, “What the fuck was that? Boasting like I’m some… trophy? Like I’m-”

“I cheated on you too.” Luke says. Your eyes widen and both you and Joel turn to him. “I am cheating on you. With uh, Caroline.” He says, mentioning his coworker. She was a couple years younger than you and Luke. Newer to the company. You’re pretty sure Luke mentioned he was training her when she was hired about a year ago.

You can’t say you’re shocked. You can’t really say anything as there isn’t much for you to say.

“So, we’re both not innocent then, huh?” You speak. Your voice is serious and final, “Let’s get divorced. We should end this.”

Luke scoffs, crossing his arms. His face begins to falter. He knows you’re right. This should end. He wants to be bitter and petty and hurt you more, but he knows he’s hurt you enough. At one point, he cared about you too. You were the light of his life and then things changed. Work got stressful, Karla died, and his family pressured him to take the farm. He didn’t want to. He has no clue how to take care of a farm, clearly. He had no clue how to take care of you. And to him, it seemed like Joel did.

“Let’s talk about this inside.” He sighs.

A couple hours later you find yourself walking out the back door of the farmhouse and down the hill to Joel’s guest house. Your cheeks are tear stained, and nose is tinged red from crying. No shoes on. The familiar ache of the cold gravel against the heels of your feet almost comforting you.

Once on the rickety porch you’d stepped on to hundreds of times before, you approached the door, rapping on it lightly. Joel only took a few moments to answer it.

“Hi.” You said as you watched him. He looked nervous, cheeks pink with anxiety. Or maybe he’d been crying too. You didn’t know.

“Can I come in?” You asked. He nodded immediately, stepping aside. He didn’t speak though. Maybe he was too nervous to. Too scared. He was terrified this was it.

You made your way to the plaid couch you’d grown to love so much, settling against the soft cushions and breathing out. Joel lingered, standing by the door. He was unsure of what he should do next. Should he sit down? Should he reach out to you? Comfort you? Should he just get the fuck off this farm and never look back? No, he wouldn’t do that. He needed you too badly.

Your reddened, watery eyes looked up to Joel causing his breath to stutter. The anxiety bubbled up from his chest to his throat and he clears it, watching for your next move. You sniffle, rubbing your eyes before holding your arms out to Joel. You needed to be held. He moved to you in lightning speed, scooping you up into his arms and cradling you delicately. Joel settles on to the couch with you in his grasp. He presses small kisses against your temples, scalp and forehead, his heart racing a mile a minute.

“I’m here, baby. Not goin’ nowhere. Not ever. You have me.” He speaks. His words are desperate and needy, like he needs to ingrain it into your mind that he’s yours. Because he is.

Joel holds you for a long time. He’s not sure how long, but it had to be at least an hour or so. His hands rub up and down your back, tracing the curve of your waist and spine. He wants to comfort you, just like you being here comforts him.

It’s a little longer before you speak. You sniffle and pull back slightly, looking up to him. “I’m sorry, Joel.”

His heart races again, “Sorry? What’re you sorry for, darlin’?”

“For everything.” You squeek, your voice cracking. “For getting you into this mess.”

He sighs, “Baby… that’s not somethin’ you need to be sorry for. I wanted you just as bad as you wanted me. Even more so.”

You look away and blink, shrugging. “I just… I don’t know. I don’t know what else to say.”

“That’s alright. You don’t gotta know what to say. Just let me hold you, okay? Whatever happens, we’ll get through it. You and I.” He says, burying his head against the top of yours, breathing in the lingering tea tree scent from his shampoo. His eyes close, heart hammering in his chest which you can hear. The corners of your lips turn upwards, tears springing to your eyes.

“Are you nervous, Joel?”

He pauses a moment before nodding. “Lil’ bit. Just scared you’re gonna go away or somethin’.”

You pause this time, your mind drifting back to your conversation with Luke inside.

“So, sleeping with Joel, huh?” Luke says. You roll your eyes as you sit on the velvet green couch in the living room. He sits on the opposite side of it.

“Sleeping with Caroline, huh?” You retort and he blows a raspberry. There’s a long silence before anyone decides to speak. Tears prick your eyes, and you feel yourself just wanting to run to Joel. He’d make everything feel okay again. You wipe your eyes and Luke sighs.

“I don’t know why you’re crying. This has been coming for a long time. You’re so fucking sensitive.” He says, his tone quiet. He’s annoyed.

“I know. It still hurts though. Sorry for being sensitive, I guess.”

Another long silence, either of you not knowing what to say. He decides to finally look at you, his eyes gazing over your features, appreciating the way your eyelashes curl and then way your eyes glisten, still so full of life and love despite what’s going on. The last time he’s going to do that.

Luke sighs. His next words almost shock you.

“I’m sorry. You know that right?” He speaks. Your eyebrows knit and you look at him, more tears falling.

“Are you?”

He pauses again. “Yes. I didn’t mean to turn into such an asshole. I didn’t mean to make you run into the arms of someone who could treat you better. I just… stopped caring. It’s not okay. I’m sorry.” Luke taking accountability? This was new.

You shrug, wiping your tears away. You were so tired of crying.

“Well, I appreciate that, Luke. It sucks it turned out like this. That we… Turned out like this.”

“So, what should we do? What… do you want to do?” Luke asks. He’s calm. Sad, but he’s calm. No more venom. He’s ready for this to be over, and frankly, so you were you.

“I think a divorce would be best. There’s no love here. Not how it used to be anyways.” Which was true. You’d always have a love for Luke even if you weren’t in love with him.

He nods, wiping his nose. He wasn’t a crier, but this was hard for him too. You didn’t think it would be, but he was always surprising you.

“Okay. What about… the farm? I’m not staying here anymore, my family will have to decide what happen-”

“Joel should have it.” You say, interrupting him. “He’s been here 25 years. He can take care of it better than anyone in your family would. Hell, Karla couldn’t even take care of it. That’s why she hired him.”

He scoffs, “Oh, so you want Joel to get the farm so you can stay and live out your weird farm fantasy with him?” Luke spits, that venom seeping back into his words. He was always going to be like that.

You sigh, closing your eyes. “No. That’s not it at all. I don’t even know what’s happening with Joel and I, Luke. I don’t know where I’m going after this. But let’s face it… Karla would want him to have it.”

Luke huffs and stands up, pacing the room as he thinks. It’s another few moments before he says anything. He turns towards you, his eyes sad but he gives you a curt nod. His shoulders fall in defeat. He didn’t want to fight anymore. “You’re right. Joel should have it. Even if you decide to stay here with him. Which is insane to me… you didn’t even want to come here in the first place.”

You nod softly, remembering those months ago when Luke told you you’d be moving here. How much you hated it. How you’d stay up at night and have panic attacks at the idea of leaving the city. Now look at you. You couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

“I’ll tell my family. No one else really wanted it anyways. Not even Nick. So, it’s Joel’s… and… yours?” He asks cautiously.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, Luke. I already told you that. We’ll… see.”

He nods again, his shoulders slumping further as he exhales a breath he wasn’t aware that he was even holding. You stand, knees a little wobbly from the adrenaline finally settling in your body.

“So, this is it then?” Luke says, biting down on his bottom lip. You nod.

“Yeah. It is.”

He looks away from you, looking anywhere besides where you stood. He knows he screwed up and he feels bad, yet a part of him feels free. He decides to step forward, awkwardly opening his arms to you and you hesitate, but you take it. The both of you have a final embrace. It’s empty. He just feels like another body against yours. There’s no emotion, but somehow, it’s the closure you needed.

“So, I’ll see ya?” Luke says, inhaling the scent of you one last time. He nearly scowls. Tea tree. He hated tea tree.

“Yeah, maybe not.” You laughed, tears spilling from your eyes. You wipe them away and he smiles, laughing too.

“Are you nervous, Joel?”

He pauses a moment before nodding. “Lil’ bit. Just scared you’re going to go away or somethin’.”

You pause, slightly unsure of what to say. It makes him more nervous.

“Do you want me to?” You finally ask Joel. He pushes you back, looking into your eyes.

“Do I want you to leave?” He asks. He looks like you’ve asked the silliest question in the world, but you nod anyways. He doesn’t speak for a moment, trying to find the right words to say.

“If you decide to leave, there’s nothing I can do about that… but I think it’d just down right kill me.”

His words make your heart leap, and you close your eyes, not wanting anymore tears to spill. You lean forward, burying your face in Joel’s chest. His fingers lace through your hair, his whole being trying to convey the fact that he wants you to stay right here with him.

“Then I’ll stay.” You mumble into the fabric of his sweater, but he doesn’t quite hear you.

“Hmm?”

You peer up to him, your lashes damp as your glossy eyes look into his dark, anxious ones. It takes his breath away.

“I said I will stay. Here with you.”

Joel’s heart stops as he finally hears you and all he can do is close his eyes and pull you back into him. He holds you there against him, not daring to move, not daring to let go. And you stay. You don’t wiggle, you don’t move, you sit there breathing him in deeply. The comfort this man gave you was insane. You could live here in his arms, on this farm, hours from a real town or city and you would be happy. You’d have him and he’d have you.

Images of your life on the farm with Joel flash through your mind and it has you reeling. Winter on the farm and being bundled up with him in bed, trying to stay warm with the space heater since the main house has a mean draft. Maybe you could convince him to get matching pajamas with you. Christmas ones with trees and stars on it.

You imagine helping Joel with Estrella and her baby in the spring. He could teach you how to tend to the chickens and horses so you could help fetch the eggs without getting pecked and even brush the horse's manes, giving them a braid or two. Joel’s been talking about starting a garden. It’d be the perfect time to get cucumbers planted, and tomatoes even.

Maybe in the summertime, you and Joel could lay a blanket on the hill in the backyard and watch the clouds pass by and as the day turned to night, you could count the stars in the sky with him. Maybe he’d lean over and kiss you, his hand trailing from your jaw to your neck to your waist. He’d take you on that blanket, under the moon, making love to the only woman he’d ever wanted in his life to stay with him for good.

And maybe that fall, you’d run into the stables, tears streaming down your cheeks as you gripped the little stick in your hand. Joel would look at you with concern, his brows knitted together tightly before looking down to what was gripped in your palm. He’d rush over to you, asking what it said, and you’d smile, nodding your head.

“Thank you.” He speaks. It’d been God knows how long since someone had said something, but you didn’t mind. The silence was comfortable with him. You look up to him again, the side of your cheek smooshed against his peck, and he smiles.

“Thank you? For what?” You ask. Joel’s hands caress the side of your cheek that’s not pressed against his chest, and he hums.

“For stayin’. Lord nows why you’d stay, but I’m glad. Real glad, my sweet girl.”

“Yeah, well… this place has grown on me. Who would have thought?” You say, smiling softly. Joel smiles too.

“Yeah, just the charm of the farm, huh, sugar? Nothing else?” He asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Hmm… nope. I just really like Estrella. And her new baby is really cute too.”

Joel’s eyes roll but then he leans down and pecks your lips in a sequence. He presses his lips against yours over and over and you think to yourself there’s no way you could ever get sick of this.

He pulls back and wipes the hair out of your face, “Just so God damn pretty, baby girl. Can’t believe I’ll get to look at you every day. Get to touch you and kiss you.” Joel speaks and he’s really just talking to himself. He’s trying to convince himself this is really happening. You sit up, placing your legs on either side of Joel as you straddle him. His eyes flash with desire and it goes straight to his groin. You can feel it as his length pokes against your core but he doesn’t try anything. He just looks at you.

“Sorry, darlin’. Don’t gotta do nothin’ about it, just happens when I’m around you.”

You shake your head, corners of your mouth flitting upwards. “It’s okay, Joel. I don’t mind it. I kinda love that I can turn you on so easily.”

Joel smirks, “’Kinda’ love it? What do you think cause I’m damn near geriatric I shouldn’t be able to get it up anymore?”

“Oh my god. That’s not what I’m saying.” You say as your face burns, and you roll your eyes.

He laughs, “I know, baby. I just like givin’ you a hard time.”

“Hmm… well, I know something else that's hard you can give to me.” You smirk. You’re kidding and he knows it but it still turns him on even further. His grip on your waist tightens before trailing it down to your ass and pulling you against him. You feel that familiar ache in between your legs as his tip teases you through your pants. You shake your head.

“Joel…” You say warningly.

“I know, I know. It’s not really a sexy time right now, is it?”

You nod, “Not really… maybe later though? Luke’s packing right now. He said he’ll be gone by tomorrow morning. Could I sleep here with you tonight?”

Joel’s heart skips a beat, “I wouldn’t think you’d be anywhere else.”

Silence falls between the two of you as Joel takes your hands into his. His fingers pad over your delicate skin, tracing up the length of them and over the chipped polish on your nails. He laces his with yours and looks into your eyes. Joel feels his heart thump against his chest, an overwhelming sensation bubbling in the pit of his stomach. He’s going to say it. He’s never said it in his entire life to anyone. But he knows he feels it with you. It might be too soon, but in this moment he doesn’t care. He doesn’t know if you feel it too, but he thinks so. Joel’s nervous, and when he opens his mouth to speak, you stop him.

“I know.” You breathe, gripping on to his fingers tightly. Your voice waivers. “You don’t have to say it. I… I know.” And you do. You know exactly what he’s going to say and yes, of course you want to hear it. You feel it too. But you’re not ready. Not yet.

“I feel the same way.” You hush, bringing his knuckles up to your lips and pressing small kisses against them.

Joel’s eyes get blurry, and he nods, huffing slightly. He leans in and kisses you and you kiss him back. It’s simple, but passionate. You can feel the emotion he radiates for you and you hope he can feel it right back.

“I want to say it though, baby girl. You mean so much to me. Greatest fuckin’ thing to ever happen to me if I'm quite honest. Despite some trouble here and there.” He hums, lips pressing to your cheek and jaw. Your eyes close as you savor his touches, and you hum back.

“Me too. Maybe that’s crazy to say but I’ve never had anyone care for me the way you do, Joel. So, trust me. I feel the exact same way about you. Let’s just wait a little longer to say it. I mean I just found out I’m getting a divorce.”

Joel pulls back and looks into your eyes. They hold stars and galaxies and Joel is convinced that he could look into them forever. One look from you and he’d know everything would work out. You were his home, not this farm. And when he thought about it, it was well worth the wait for him to find you. He’d spend another 50 years alone if that meant he could spend eternity with you when it was all said and done.

The both of you knew there was still a lot to work out, but whatever happened, it’d be you two. That was all you really needed.

“I think… we should go into the kitchen and tear up the rest of that pecan pie. Whaddya think?” Joel smiles, pulling you with him as he gets up from the couch. His arms wrap around your waist as yours wrap around his neck and you smile, nodding to him.

“Sounds good to me. I could go for a lil’ something sweet right now.”

Thank you for reading this. As always, likes and reblogs are appreciated and if you enjoyed reading it, let me know! ♥️

[valentina-writes]

ovulation

Azriel x reader

kinda a part 2 to this

summary: it's your first time ovulating as a fae and your mate Azriel is more than happy to satiate the need within you

genre: smut!!! | words: 3.7k | masterlist

warnings: 18+, pwp (not even a sliver of plot), smut, piv, oral (f receiving), wingplay, creampie, the breeding kink goes hard in this one, slight exhibitionism, cumplay, ovulation (duh)

Smut! Only proceed if you're 18+. Minors dni

A/N: Here it is, sorry for the confusion earlier! I have no words to excuse this unhinged piece of filth, except that I'm sorry it's not longer ;) Don't ask me how I came up with it. Maybe this is the last time I'm writing smut, cause honestly? I think I've peaked with this.

Sweat was glistening all over Azriel's torso. The sun caught the droplets at just the right angle. It looked almost like he had a faint glimmer to him as he was sparring with Rhys. His toned abs were a sight for sore eyes, the way they flexed as he put his weight into a punch directed at the high lord. But Rhys was fast and dodged the attack. The males circled one another, waiting for a moment of weakness to strike again.

Had Azriel's back always been so muscular? Did it look like this as well when he wasn't tackling his brother, but instead bending you over and fucking you? Azriel looked so wild, so carefree in the heat of the moment. His big wings unfolded halfway as he landed his first punch in Rhys's face. And you couldn't help the shudder that went through your body at the sight of your mate and thought about how he would –

"...and then he – Y/N, are you even listening to me?" Feyre waved a hand in front of your face to win back your attention.

"What? I mean sure I am". You were perched on a bank, observing your mates sparring. Shirtless. You had no idea who was winning. The only thing you noticed was the way your mate's biceps flexed and how the sun hit his perfectly sculpted chest –

"Hey! You're practically mind-fucking him. What's going on with you? This is so unlike you". A blush crept over your face. But the wetness in your panties only intensified when a breeze hit your nostrils that carried the shadowsinger's scent. And a strange heat settled in your abdomen.

You were already half out of your seat before you realized you had stood up in hopes of clawing the pants off Azriel right there. "Oh Gods, of course", Feyre laughed, "I think you're ovulating". Azriel's head whipped around to you so fast he should've broken his neck. He stared at you, wide eyed and whatever he saw in you had his eyes darkening and a blush appearing at his neck. A moment of weakness Rhys used to hit him square in the face.

The hiss you shot at Rhysand was inhumane, animalistic almost and maybe you would've tried to tackle him, if your mate hadn't immediately stood up again and walked towards you with a grin on his bloody lips and looked so sexy you contemplated having a wagon-load of winged babies.

"Did he hurt you?". You brought your hand up to his face, your fingertips lightly grazing the small wound. Your mate shook his head no and, for some reason, Rhys was chuckling somewhere behind you. Your finger stilled at his upper lip. You took him in now, close up. His dishevelled hair, the sweat mixing with dirt and blood made him so masculine, so attractive your knees nearly buckled.

"You looked so hot fighting like this", you breathed. Rhys wheezed before laughing out loudly. But your mate drew you into a hug and whispered into your ear: "I could smell you all across the training ring". Your hands grasped his arms to stabilize yourself. Your heart hammered inside your chest and the burning desire between your thighs got unbearable.

Azriel turned his head towards the others. "Did you tell her what it would be like? Does she know? I don't want to take advantage of her like this". As if on cue, you moved your hand down his front, down the delicious muscles and to his pants that hid his manhood. And then you brushed over his half-hard length firmly, fumbling to open his pants. Azriel's scarred hands clutched your waist tightly and a small gasp left his lips.

"She does", Feyre was nearly crying from laughing, "besides I think it's her who's taking advantage of you, not the other way around".

"Azzie", you begged, unable to open his pants while he held you so close, "I need you. I love you so much. You're so sexy. And it... it hurts".

Concern etched on his face. "My love, where does it hurt?". Deep inside you, straight at your core.

"I can show you". Somewhere in the back of your mind, you were screaming at yourself to get it together, but it was like all your senses were attuned to him. Like every filter had been removed, when you grabbed his hand and tried to shove it down your own pants while simultaneously tracing the whirls of the tattoo on his chest with your tongue.

"Get a room, for Cauldron's sake", Rhys bellowed and your mate grimaced at your antics.

Azriel grabbed you by your arm, the world turned dark around you and all of a sudden you were in your bedroom, hanging onto Az.

"My mate is so strong and powerful", you grinned. "And so hot and so big". He choked on plain air when you palmed him through his pants again. You whimpered. He was fully hard now, straining against his confines. "So big", you repeated and stroked him through his pants. A growl left Azriel's lips and his lips crashed onto yours in a passionate kiss. Your blood was boiling, clothes too tight on your body and his naked skin drove you insane. Every thought left your brain as you touched every inch of his body you could reach and pulled him to the bed, on top of you without breaking the kiss. You were starving and the only remedy were his lips and his tongue that were just as desperate as your own. Only when you were gasping for air, did Azriel move his kisses down to your neck.

"It hurts, Az"

"I know, baby. I'll take care of you. But you've been a bad girl, my love. Very bad". He panted. Dark tendrils of shadows slipped around your waists and ankles, binding them to the bed.

"First, you smell so delicious you make me lose against Rhys". He pressed a hot kiss to your neck, flicking the delicate skin with his tongue. A loud moan escaped you and you thrashed against the shadows holding you in place. "Then you try to get me to fuck you right in front of my brother". He took truth-teller and cut across your shirt and bra before throwing the knife away and latching onto your now freed hard nipple. It took everything within you to not come undone then and there. "And then you touch me and almost make me cum in my pants even though you want it so much, don't you?" He rolled his hips against yours once, against the powerful bundle of nerves.

"I can't help it", you replied breathlessly, "I – fuck – I need you".

His tongue circled your nipple. "Hmm... use your words. Where do you need me? I'll make you feel better" The shadows snaked up your legs now and smoothly pulled off your pants, leaving only your panties that were so wet the fabric clung to you like a second skin. Azriel kissed all over your breasts. "Here?" You shook your head. His kisses wandered further down, stopping near your bellybutton. "Here?". Vehemently, you shook your head again. "Hmm... where else?", he teased. You wanted to grab him and lead him, but the shadows wouldn't let you. Azriel chuckled softly and his mouth moved down again, agonizingly slowly towards where you needed him most. Your body was ablaze, writhing against the shadows that bound you. At the seam of your panties he stopped, breathing you in. "Gods, you smell divine". A hungry expression grazed his eyes. His nose pressed into your clothed crotch and he inhaled deeply, groaning. Azriel pressed a kiss right there, making you keen. "Do you need me here?".

A shadow caressed your cheek lightly. "Yes, right there". A wicked gleam showed in his eyes. He pressed a kiss to your still clothed sex that had you chasing his touch. You could only see his dark hair when he kissed your thighs, higher and higher, until he reached delicate skin next to your panties, soaked with arousal. By now, you were reduced to a whining mess, the only word leaving your mouth his name. You couldn't see what he was doing, your view obscured by his big wings, but the next moment, air hit your cunt and he had a ripped piece of fabric hanging from his grinning lips. Your heart skipped a beat and you moaned out in delight. Azriel had ripped your panties off with his teeth.

Azriel pressed light kisses to your folds, and then licked through them up to your clit in one slow motion.

"So wet for me". And then he ate you like you were his last meal. With deliberate strokes of his tongue, he gathered your moisture and greedily swallowed it all. His tongue dove into your waiting hole, a hand moved up to grasp your breast and with every lick, your mate's nose hit your clit at just the right angle. He was thrusting against the mattress now, you realized wirh a shudder. It was too much.

"Come on my tongue. Let go for me", he panted between licks. He thrust his tongue deeply inside and you came hard, screaming out his name and fell limp to the mattress. He helped you ride out your orgasm, drinking up every drop of moisture. Waves of pleasure crashed over you, but the pain in your womb hadn't receded. If anything the searing ache had only intensified.

"You're so pretty when you cum". Azriel kissed you softly on your lips and this small affection had you arching up against him again.

"Fuck, Az. I need more of you"

Calloused fingers ghosted against your clit and then slipped downwards, circling your entrance.

"My pretty girl can take another one, can't you? For making a fool out of me infront of Rhys". But he didn't look angry at all with his wide smile and blown out pupils as two fingers slipped inside you and curled against your walls.

The stretch and the textured feeling of his scarred fingers was oh so welcome and you greedily leaned into him, but it just wasn't enough. It just wasn't his rock-hard cock that lay against your thigh now, promising pleasure beyond anything you had ever felt.

You stroked lightly against the shadows binding you to the bed. They purred at your touch, turned soft and pliant. Enough so that they allowed you to move. Without wasting precious time, your hand shot out and stroked his wing, found the big vein right next to the main bone. Azriel shuddered above you and dropped his head onto your chest, his hand stilled within you. Slowly, you traced the vein and then the strong tendons next to it. His wing was limp in your hands, dropping half-opened to the bed and Azriel collapsed on top of you. He groaned deeply into your neck, making your toes curl and you nearly came from the sound alone. He humped against your leg, his cock now so hard it was throbbing through his pants, desperate for any friction. Another light touch of your fingertips against the delicate membrane and he bit your neck softly, growling.

Cold air whipped over your arm and ripped it off his wing, bringing it back to its original position. Azriel shot up and knelt over you and you couldn't help the whine that escaped you at the loss of contact.

"You can play later. For as long as you want", his chest was moving rapidly with his strained breaths, "but not yet"

"I can't help it. I need to feel you and touch you. I need your cock inside me and –"

He ripped his pants off, freeing his hard length that slapped against his abdomen. Its head was an angry shade of red, leaking precum all over. His veins stood out prominently against the soft skin and you swore it pulsed harder the more you looked at it. The ache inside you intensified, saliva pooled in your mouth and you were sure if you didn't get him inside you right now you'd die.

"I wanted to prepare you for me". He was shaking, restraining himself from taking you right then and there. His eyes wandered down to your waiting cunt, clenching and dripping around nothing, and the look on his face became predatory. "Do you think you're ready for me?" It was laughable, the way you thrashed against his shadows, your arousal so evident in the wetness pooling between your thighs and the hunger for his cock. You felt painfully empty, an ache deep inside you that you knew only he could cure.

"Please. Fuck me already. I need you, please", you whined. And the last sliver of your sanity went flying out of the window at your begging.

He was above you again so fast you didn't even see his movement. His hot tip slid through your folds, nudging against your clit in a deliciously devastating way that had you seeing stars. Azriel coated himself in your wetness and then stopped, his tip right at your entrance. You bucked your hips forward in annoyance, but he held you in place firmly.

There was little restraint left in his voice when he asked: "How do you want it?". The big wings at his back were trembling.

What a stupid fucking question. "Hard"

You didn't need to tell him twice. With a fast movement, he entered you and pushed all the way inside in one hard thrust. Azriel's eyes rolled back and you cried out in ecstasy. The way he filled you so completely, stretching you with a delicious burn around his hard length made the need for him even worse.

"So wet and ready for me. You take me so well", he whispered and thrust hard once. You tugged at the shadows again, but they wouldn't budge this time. "Such a needy little princess". Another thrust, hitting a spot that made you see stars. "I love the way you feel around me. Always so perfect". His eyes darkened as he looked down upon your naked body. "Hold on tight". He grabbed one of your legs and spread you wider, allowing him to settle even deeper inside you, taking your breath away. And then he fucked you roughly into the mattress. He set a rough and punishing pace, his hands wrapped so tight around your waist they would leave bruises. His cock hit all the right spots inside you and every thought except for him left your mind.

The moans that escaped you were beyond shameless. Again and again, you tried to arch up into him, but the shadows wouldn't let you. Your eyes met his and the love he put into this look was enough to send you ober the edge, crying out his name.

He stopped inside you without pulling out. "Do you feel better?". All you could register was the hard length still buried inside you up to his balls, throbbing and twitching. You shook your head.

"No? What more does my princess need?". Azriel's mouth latched back onto your breast, sucking and kissing the hardened nub and you felt yourself getting impossibly wetter by the second. "I need – fuck – I need – your – cum", you gasped with each flick of his tongue.

A deep groan sounded from him and it was music in your ears.

"Want me to come inside you? Fill you up with my seed?". He pressed a hand to your abdomen, right were he was nestled inside you and you bucked your hips against him.

"Yes. Please – don't pull out"

Azriel dropped down on you again with almost all his weight. It was pure torture having him so close and not being able to touch him.

"Breed me, Az"

Something inside him snapped at your words. He started moving again, thrusting harder and faster than before. Moans escaped his lips, mingling with your own.

The shadows relaxed their pull around you. You flung your legs around his waist, allowing him to go in even deeper. And your hands shot up straight to his bag, fingers clawing at his hard muscles. Azriel growled deeply into your ear.

"Want me to breed you?"

"Yes", you moaned, nodding frantically. He was almost there, his thrusts grew sloppy and impatient. The throbbing of his cock against your cervix the most beautiful thing you had ever felt.

"See how deep I am?" The fingers of his hand pressed to your abdomen flexed right where a bulge formed with every thrust. All you could do was nod weakly, your eyes rolling back. "Feels so good"

"This cock is yours". Your hands threaded into his hair and pulled him down to your lips. Shadows flew down to your clit and started nipping at it. "My seed is yours", he whispered against your lips.

With a strong twitch, he came inside you, hot ropes of his thick cum spurted out of him, right where you needed it the most. There was a lot of it, warmth spreading deep inside you. He kept moving, his cum squelching obscenely and the feeling of him and his seed right against your womb, the shadows working your clit perfectly, had you convulsing around him in a hard climax.

Azriel buried his face in the crook of your neck. The mating bond between you glowed in a familiar light and you felt the love radiating off him.

"Did I hurt you, baby?", he asked breathlessly.

"No. I loved it". You shuddered. There was semen dripping out of you now and you hated every drop that was wasted.

"Do you feel better?"

He tried to withdraw, but you kept him from escaping by pulling him further in with your legs around his hips.

"Not enough", you complained, out of breath, "need more of you". The burning inside your womb had died down by a fraction, but you weren't satisfied yet. Your body needed more of him, even though you could already feel him softening inside you.

"You're insatiable. Like a desperate little slut, begging for my cock to fill you up".

Azriel's lips found your neck, licking, kissing and biting until you were reduced to a whining mess below him again.

"Wait a bit, I'm not ready to go again"

But you couldn't wait. He let you roll him over onto his back with you sitting astride him. Azriel's hands gripped your hips and there was nothing but love in his gaze. Cum ran out of your cunt and dripped into his short pubic hair, onto his thighs and the sheets. Your pussy pulsed at the sight.

You dipped your fingers into his cum and brought it to your mouth to taste him. The slightly salty aroma made you moan on your fingers. And Gods, he was so sexy below you, his chest still glistening with sweat, the illyrian tattoo and his toned abs, the absolutely fucked-out look on his face. You knew exactly what to do.

Both of your hands found his neatly folded wings. You stroked all over the membranes, unfolded the wings to reach the better hidden spots that he loved the most. And he just let you.

He grew harder inside you by the second. Not long, and you were circling your hips, sliding slowly up and down his cock, slick with arousal and cum.

You got off on the sight of him, completely at your mercy. With each deliberate touch of yours, his wings trembled under your fingertips and his cock throbbed inside you.

"You're so hot like this", you gasped as you rode him slowly, "I want to fuck you until your balls are empty and I'm full of you".

You brushed against the main veins of his wings. A full-body shudder went through him, his gaze turned clear, and the next moment, he had you face down, ass up in the air and entered you from behind, making you scream.

"Fuck, that's better", he groaned, "Didn't I say it's time for wings later?". You only mewled, the new angle bringing a foreign stretch and deep penetration.

You were close to orgasm again

"But my girl needs more of my seed, right? You need to milk me dry?". He underlined his words with a deep roll of his hips and then stilled, his hands at your hips to keep you from bucking your hips back at him.

The words tumbled from your lips like a prayer. "Fuck yes. Please, Az"

With one sharp movement, he started pistoning in and out of you again, his balls slapping rhythmically against your clit.

"You're perfect like this, taking me so well".

His pace was relentless, each thrust shoving you deeper into the pillows.

"Come for me again, love". Azriel's fingers found your clit, rubbing slow circles. Your climax ripped through you with a force that had you screaming his name. You clenched around him trembling.

One more thrust, until he was buried deeply inside you, his tip nestled directly against your cervix, and he found his release with a roar that had the bed shaking. Warmth spread inside you once again, straight to were you needed it.

He pressed a kiss to your back and pulled out of you. A small river of his cum trickled down your thighs. Your pussy felt sore, but the ache was gone and so was the fog in your mind.

Azriel pulled you tightly against him, laying down.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead. "Is it better now?".

A blush crept over your cheeks at the thought of how wanton you had been only minutes ago. The things you had said, for Cauldron's sake. You hoped Rhys and Feyre had at least left the house before you started. There was no way you'd be able to look anyone into the eye again if they'd heard that. Not to mention the embarrassment you felt towards your mate. The way you had begged for his cum.

"Yes. Is it over now?"

A grin settled on his face. "If you're lucky, it'll be over in a few days".

You hid your face in your hands. "A few days? Oh Gods, I'm so sorry for how I behaved. For what I said. That was so –" Embarrassing? Humiliating? Shameful?

"That was really hot", he said softly and took your hands off your face, "that was probably the best sex I've ever had and, judging by the sounds you made –" you wanted to die on the spot "– and how you begged for more, I think you liked it too. Nothing to be ashamed of. It's instinct, you can't control it". A peck on your nose had you smiling again.

"I know, but still". He stared at you, disbelieving. "Okay, fine. I loved it. And it doesn't sound too bad to have you fucking me like that for the next couple of days"

[miyukisu]

Better Bite the Bullet .ᐟ

❤︎ | He's just trying to be a good best friend by teaching you a useful skill in life... blowjobs (2k wc) ╰ feat. iwaizumi hajime (hq) x afab! reader

kinktober entry no. 10 | kinktober masterlist

tags - college au, childhood bestfriends, Oikawa mention, blowjobs, handjobs, no p in v, p*rn with plot, virgin! reader

minors do not interact

You've known Hajime since you were in diapers, long enough that he had grown indifferent to your antics. He hasn't even looked up once from his phone as you paced tirelessly around his bedroom. You were losing your shit and Hajime was sitting on his bed without a care in the world.

A bright idea came to you in the form of making your footsteps louder in hopes that it would annoy him enough to catch his attention. He clicks his tongue once before narrowing his eyes at your moving form.

But not even a second later, his eyes were back on his phone one again. "What the hell are you even doing?" he asked.

"Pacing around. Isn't it obvious?"

He grumbles, finally turning his phone off and throwing it to the side where it landed on his pillow with a soft thud. "No shit Sherlock. I meant what are you pacing around for? It's annoying."

Finally, you stop in your tracks, facing your childhood best friend with your lower lip between your teeth. You've been dying to tell him what was on your chest an hour ago. But now that you're about to spill the beans to him—you found yourself tripping over your words.

"I guess... um... Oikawa kinda asked me to hang out soon... um..."

Hajime's interest was piqued. Normally he wouldn't give two shits about who Oikawa asked out. But this time it was you. An uneasy feeling brewed in his stomach, like he had drank rancid milk.

"And you're worrying about it like some middle schooler? C'mon you're in college," he deflects. Of course, it was his defense mechanism—to act all tough and harsh with the revelation.

You crossed your arms in defense. "I get that... but it's THE Oikawa Tooru that we're talking about here."

"So?"

"What do you mean 'so'? Is your head not screwed on properly?"

Hajime rolls his eyes. Not only were you about to be whisked away by Oikawa, but you had the gall to act like a total brat right now.

"He's just asking to hang out—what's so amazing about that?"

Truth be told, you hadn't thought this far into what it would be like if you had this conversation with Hajime. You figured you wouldn't have to divulge the second—more embarrassing—part of this whole event.

A disappointed sigh leaves your lips. You screwed your eyes shut as if to prepare for the impact of his reaction on what you have to say next.

"A friend of mine told me that when he says something like that... it usually leads to... you know..."

Hajime's eyebrow perked then silence ensued. He knew what you meant, of course. He wasn't born yesterday.

"To what? Fucking?"

Your eyes shot open at his vulgar choice of words. That's exactly what you meant, but you didn't think he'd be so blunt about it. "I mean—if it does get to that... obviously I won't just go all the way with him. I haven't even talked to him that much," you say—backpedaling.

"You won't go all the way, but you'll go somewhere huh?" he pried further. He played it off like he was teasing or, worse yet, mocking. But he wanted to know; he knew his friend's intentions, but he didn't know yours.

You nervously bit your lip again. This was going to be the third revelation of tonight. Never in a thousand years would you have thought that you'd be having his conversation with your childhood best friend.

"Maybe... maybe, yeah... that's what I'm nervous about..."

The uneasy feeling had grown worse. Hajime swallowed even though his mouth felt dry. "Then just don't," he suggests. "You could always just hang out normally."

Another sigh escapes you and you decide to sit beside him—plopping down on the mattress. You ran your fingers through your hair, smoothing out any tangles that had built up.

"I just wanna experience something... you know? I'll only be young and in college once..." you admit. At this point, there was no use in hiding it. Hajime knew every substantial detail anyway.

This time, it was Hajime who sighed. Part of him still felt dread, but another felt pity for you.

"Jeez..."

Hearing his reaction, you felt the urge to stand up and find your bearings. But a warm hand grips your wrist before you could go. You turn to look back and see Hajime's determined expression.

"I'll teach you then."

────────────

Hajime was a 100% sure not a single rational thought was left in either of your heads. Somehow, he thought that if only you touched him and not vice versa—it would be fine. And, somehow, you agreed to it.

You gulped at the sight in front of you, Hajime leaning against the wall on his bed with his dick out of his sweats.

"Well... that's certainly... something..."

"Do you also plan on commenting about his dick when you see it?"

His sarcasm was hardly appreciated right now, especially since you were sure that your nerves would send you into a tailspin.

"No, of course not. I just—fuck, fine. Let's get to it," you say before scooting closer to him.

Carefully, you reach out and gently wrap your fingers around his shaft. Hajime hissed softly, but you were too concentrated to even notice.

Mesmerized, you swiped your thumb over his tip and gave him a soft tug. His jaw was clenched so hard, trying to act like none of this fazed him. But the way you treated him so delicately was arousing in its own way.

You begin stroking him faster. "Is this okay? It doesn't hurt, right?"

"No, but," Hajime pauses before placing his larger hand over yours. "You could do it better though."

He was now guiding you—actually teaching you how to jerk a guy off. Your eyes were fixated on the way both of your hands glided up and down his shaft, slippery from the immense amount of pre.

But his eyes were on your face. Oddly enough, he found it endearing how focused you were at the task on hand (quite literally). He watched every time your face scrunched, how your mouth was a bit agape, and how your eyebrows would quirk up sometimes.

It was cute, he thought.

As soon as you figured out the pace and pressure, he let go of your hand, allowing you free reign over his dick. You felt it twitch. It was most likely a good sign at least. Even better now that he had his eyes closed, head thrown back against the wall.

Maybe this was easier than you thought. Maybe you could do something else. So your hand slows and your eyes trail up to his face. "Hajime."

"What?"

"Can I use my mouth?"

All the air was knocked out of his lungs upon hearing the words that left you. "Huh? What for?"

"No one's gonna be impressed by a handjob. Guys already do it on their own all the time," you reason.

Hajime clicks his tongue. "You don't have to do that kind of thing yet when you're this inexperienced."

He tried staying stern despite the almost pleading look on your face. Hell, he wasn't even sure why he was denying you. He could have your pretty lips wrapped around his cock in a second and here he was—acting like a righteous fool when he doesn't have to be.

Again, he clicks his tongue. But, this time, not because of you. He's annoyed at himself for having no restraint... for having no shame that he's kind of taking advantage of his best friend's naivety.

But to hell with it.

"Okay," he relents. Hajime watches as you get even closer to him. Only then do you feel the nerves consume you once more.

The newfound confidence you had earlier had quickly dissipated as soon as you began leaning down. It didn't help that his natural manly scent was intoxicating. It was warm—you felt it against your face—and it was achingly hard.

You pucker your lips on instinct, accidentally kissing his tip instead. Hajime thought you were doing it on purpose to fuck with him, not realizing that you were tripping out of nervousness.

"Don't be a tease."

"I'm not!" you countered before quickly wrapping your lips around his cock. The warmth of your mouth sent shivers down his spine. But the slight grazing of your teeth on his sensitive shaft made him uncomfortable.

"Ah shit.... less teeth. Gotta hollow out your cheeks a bit."

Your jaw was already hurting. Though it probably had less to do with your skill and more to do with his size. He seemed more manageable with just a hand, but now that you're using your mouth, the task seemed gargantuan now.

But you still try. You do as he says and you feel his entire body relax a bit. It takes a lot of your concentration to make sure your teeth were out of the way and your lips provided enough suction.

That alone had Hajime seeing stars. It wasn't the best blowjob of his life, but seeing that it was your head bobbing up-and-down on his dick was a sensation in and of itself.

After getting used to the basics, you decide to throw in a little bit of tongue action. It caught him by complete surprise and a soft groan spilled from his lips.

Scared that you had hurt him, you were about to lift your head to ask him, but his hand quickly places itself on top of your head. He wasn't rough nor did he forcefully keep your head down.

Instead, he began caressing your hair—starting from the top of your head, going down to smooth your locks. It was his way of reassuring you that he felt fine—amazing even. You were doing a damn good job for someone who hasn't done this before.

Hajime avoided using his voice throughout the whole thing to make it less intimate and more 'educational' if that even made sense. But he understood that you probably needed more reassurance.

"That's it," he started. "You're doing so well... so well for me."

Hajime had filthier things to say otherwise, but again, this was supposed to be 'educational'.

As much as you want to keep up the pace that you built, your jaw was too sore for that. A bit of a break wouldn't hurt, so you retract yourself—tongue lolled out with a string of saliva connecting your lips to his tip. The sight alone would have made him bust, but he kept his composure... somewhat.

"Oh fuck..."

His words spurred you on, however. You settled on suckling his tip while your hand worked on the rest of his length. Having the best of both worlds made his head spin. His leaking tip was the most sensitive it had ever been and the fast pace of your hand made the coil in his stomach tighter and tighter.

Hajime wanted nothing more but to come in your mouth—consider it as payment for him teaching you. His dick began to twitch again like earlier, but this time you noticed the way his abs would tense up. The dampness that had been pooling in your underwear ever since you had his dick in your hand was starting to become distracting. But you pulled through.

"Fuckkk... I'm coming in your mouth," he announced. Thick white ropes of hot cum painted your tongue. The flavor was odd—something you've never tasted before. It made your face contort a bit.

He tried catching his breath after that single mindblowing orgasm. But through his high, he noticed the hesitation on your face. "You don't have to swallow that you—"

But he stops mid-sentence as he watched you gulp down his fresh seed. You've gone this far—might as well.

Hajime swore that he felt his dick twitch back to life, ready for more. He wasn't sure what you did to him. But now he was certain that you absolutely shouldn't do this with anyone but him.

"Fuck... forget about that moron. Have fun with me instead."

©miyukisu do not repost/reupload/translate any of my works on other platforms

╰ author's note Wow... I'm actually kinda proud of this one?

[alinathinkstoomuch]

EX-FACTOR

pairing: aaron hotchner x ex!reader summary: hotch swears he's listening to rossi, except he can’t focus on a single word when you’re at the bar with another guy, based on this request. warnings: hotch is turning greeeeen from jealousy!! pining, hotch just wants his baby back word count: 0.6k

✧ masterlist | ✧ alina's 1k bar

Aaron was trying to listen to Rossi—really, he was. Something about a plot of land and investment potential and tax benefits or… God, he’d lost the thread ages ago. He nodded here and there, tossed out a half-hearted “yeah?” or “makes sense,” but his focus wasn’t anywhere near the conversation. Neither were his eyes.

They were glued to the crowd, more specifically to the gap in it. The spot where you used to be.

You’d disappeared ten minutes ago, and so had the guy who’d been flirting with you. Some twenty-something whose fingers grazed the side of your waist like he had any right to be even within six feet of you.

“And what exactly is your plan for tonight?” Rossi asked, swirling the last bit of his bourbon. 

“What?”

“The staring? Gripping your glass like it can breathe?” Rossi lifted his brows. “What’s next? You going to challenge him to a duel?”

“I’m just watching,” Aaron muttered.

“Mmm,” Rossi said, which was Italian for you’re full of shit but I’m going to let you dig this hole a little deeper.

Aaron didn’t respond, his eyes doing their seventh sweep of the minute. He wasn’t sure what he was hoping for the most, that you’d look back and catch him, or that the guy would spontaneously combust under the weight of his scowl. But for any of that to happen, he had to see where you were.

And he knew that he had no right. That it wasn’t his business anymore, that the only real authority he had over you these days was inside a briefing room with a suspect on the board. Because this? A bar, a night off, your clothes, your smile, a stranger’s hand on your waist? This wasn’t his jurisdiction. This was your playing field now. And Aaron was a benched sub who’d already had his shot and fumbled the pass, reduced to a spectator at best. A ghost, more likely. 

“She’s allowed to dance, you know,” Rossi continued, not unkindly. “Even allowed to enjoy it.”

“I didn’t say she wasn’t.”

“Good,” Rossi said, far too breezily. “Maybe she even left with him. Can’t see her anywhere.”

Aaron’s head whipped towards the exit so fast, it stirred a breeze around him. For a moment his stomach dropped in that cold, involuntary way it did when something went wrong on a case as he considered the possibility that, maybe you did go home with him.

“I’m kidding,” Rossi chuckled. “Relax. She’s by the bar.”

And there you were. Using a stack of napkins to fan yourself, the golden lights catching on your exposed skin, the small specks of glitter scattered across your bare shoulders gracefully. He could still remember the caramel-like scent that came with it, relying on memory alone now, because he no longer had the right to be close enough to smell it again.

The lights shifted, dimming, then bleeding into a soft pink, the kind that made everything—you—look dreamlike. You gasped excitedly, grabbing Penelope’s arm where she stood beside you. She lit up just like you did, and Aaron didn’t even realise he was smiling until you were already pulling her towards the dance floor, placing a hand on the guy’s chest and yelling, “I’ll be back. This is our song!”

He hoped you wouldn’t be back, not to him, anyway. Not really. He hoped you’d stay somewhere close instead, just within reach, orbiting near enough for his eyes to find you and no one else’s.

He was grateful no one around had mind-reading abilities, because if you knew how often he thought about you, you’d probably never speak to him again. Or maybe you would. That was the thing about the two of you, the friendship had held, maybe too well. And maybe that was the problem.

Neither of you could move on. 

“You’re torturing yourself,” Rossi said plainly. 

Aaron didn’t look away. “I know.”

tags - @fandomscombine @pastelpinkflowerlife @hazzyking @bernelflo @risenqueen1521 @jazzimac1967 @camihotchner @abschaffer2 @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @pacmillo-blog-blog @stilestotherescue @kiwriteswords @anvdala @supersanelyromantic @yourallaround-simp @percysley @wowitsafemale @cinnamoncunt @keiminds @iyskgd @mystic-rox @insured-by-the-mafia @mggslover @star-crossed-sephie @tearykth @2dloveshp  @lovelystrawberry @imissaaronhotchner @justyourusualash @alexxavicry @storiesofsvu @ehedrick012110 @khxna

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[strangerstilinski]

𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: Person A falls first, Person B falls harder — With a slightly more literal approach. [ 5.7k ]

𝗰𝘄: fluff, hurt/comfort, gender neutral reader (but pls lmk if i missed anything), eddie does call reader "pretty" & "gorgeous", possibly probably incorrect dnd references, minor head injury, i am not a medical professional so don't yell at me, reader is mentioned to have flyaways but no other hair descriptions. don't mess w eddie bcos he can & will prank you <3

𝗮/𝗻: initially based off of this post but, oops! somewhere along the line the og plot ran away from me. still might fuck around and write a version more similar to the original post in the future! :)

divider by @/hellfiremunsonn

Eddie's head throbs with the kind of strength that feels a little bit like he's been hit by a car. Or a semi-truck. Or a fucking train, maybe— Because holy shit, it fucking hurts.

His lips part on a strangled gasp. He manages to pry his eyes open just long enough for the sun to pierce his retinas like a goddamn knitting needle being stabbed straight through his skull and quickly pinches them shut again with a pained groan. He's cursing like a sailor through clenched teeth, dirt and grass rubbing into his clothes when he rolls to one side, feels a stupid dandelion tickling at his nose, and then promptly rolls onto his back again. Jesus, are his ears ringing? He can barely hear the sound of his own expletives over the rush of blood in his veins. 

Jesus, he is such an idiot. He'd actually walked straight into a fucking lamppost. Like some bumbling imbesile in the Sunday Funnies. Eddie doesn't know where you are now — in any other situation he'd be desperately hoping that any bystanders somehow missed the painfully (ha) embarrassing blunder — But the only thing he can spare the brainpower to think about is the ache blooming sharply at the front of his skull. 

Then he feels the stupid, scaldingly bright sun warm him until the back of his neck prickles with sweat, and for just a moment in his melodramatic heart—Eddie knows. 

He knows he's a deadman. He's sure of it, in fact. 

No point in driving himself to Hawkins Memorial to wait around in the ER, he was already a goner. As good as dead. His gravestone would read: Here lies Edward Munson, killed by his infatuation with the relative stranger who sits behind him in Economics and his own short attention span. (But in his humble defense, your smile is bright enough to rival the sun itself, and Holy hell you looked gorgeous today. Sue him if he'd wanted to stare at you just a little longer.) 

Eddie is still rocking side to side in the grass when the sunlight over his body thins with a shadow. As if to add insult to injury, something knocks him in the ribs only a moment later. Eddie is still grumbling profanities when the fog in his ears clears enough to hear another voice, distantly familiar and so much nicer than the sound of his own. 

He dares to open his eyes again, fighting against the pain in his head to squint against the harsh glare of the sun shining out from behind the– 

Huh. He really must be dead. 

Because Eddie is pretty sure there is an honest-to-god angel kneeling over him. Shit. 

Five Minutes Earlier

You're sitting outside during your free period on one of the first few truly warm days of spring in Hawkins, trying to soak up as much fresh air as you can before the cold snap of 40 and 50 degree days the coming week has in store can wring out the final dregs of winter in the midwest. 

The past weekend had been a beautiful respite. Friday it had been sunny and seventy-five by lunchtime. It was a tease of what's to come, so close you can practically taste it. 

Finals, graduation, summer. 

Today is much the same, so by the time the bell rings to signal the start of your free period, you’re already outside basking in the warm weather and attempting to make use of your good mood by finishing the reading for your English assignment, dull as the material may be. 

You nearly drop the book cradled in your lap when the doors to the school suddenly burst open just ten feet from your sunshine-y spot in the grass outside the Hawkins High School science wing. The slam of metal hitting brick is jarringly loud. You flinch in surprise, gaze snapping toward the disruption as your heart rate works frantically to re-settle in your chest. 

Your eyes find Eddie Munson. 

He's standing tall in the doorway, his favorite leather jacket forgone with the warm weather, but he still has his seemingly very well-loved denim vest layered over a tshirt. His eyes are wild, his footing restless. His body seems to be thrumming with unsettled kinetic energy, leaving him wavering in place. He's searching for.. something — that much you can tell. His mouth presses anxiously against his knuckles as he spins in a jerky circle, cursing under his breath while the heavy doors slam shut once again behind him. 

You watch as Eddie looks longingly to the edge of the student parking lot, just barely visible around the corner of the building. His face scrunches up in deliberation for a moment before his head jerks to the side, as if listening to some noise beyond the doors that doesn't quite reach you. He turns toward the line of bushes along the side of the building, just a few feet from where he still hovers at the side entrance. It seems as if he's debating something to himself before he gives an unsure shake of his head, and then suddenly Eddie is diving into the greenery headfirst. 

The sight has you nearly choking on a gasp-turned-laugh. You watch the scene beginning to play out, feeling a bit like you must've been transported straight onto the set of I Love Lucy— like at any moment all color will fade from the world around you and leave behind only shades of gray. Cue the tinny laughter of a live studio audience. 

The doors are slamming open once more before you can so much as blink. The jarring sound of metal colliding with the brick wall again meets your ears just as the last bit of Eddie's denim-clad leg disappears within the thicket of poorly tended branches and leaves. You take in the sudden barrage of green, white, and gold that emerges from the building. Letterman jackets hang loose over the shoulders of the two jocks who have stormed out after Eddie, deep scowls on their faces, expressions pinched and nostrils flared in annoyance. 

“Damn it! We lost him-” 

“Where the hell did he go?” 

“How should I know? Shit, how's the freak so fucking fast?” 

You huff a quiet laugh of amusement, shaking your head as you attempt to refocus on the book in your hands. You've barely finished re-reading the start of the paragraph you’d unwillingly abandoned during Eddie's dramatic exit when a voice slices through your focus. 

“Hey!” One of the guys calls out. 

You catch the way he relaxes his posture into something less intimidating the moment your gaze settles on him. One hand raises above his head in a halfhearted wave, a gentle smile on his face that you're familiar enough with to not fall for — It's dripping with the same faux-charm that you've seen rake in unprecedented extensions for late assignments or subservient smiles in the place of tardy slips. He fixes that same smile on you now, the kind of efficacy that could probably land the guy a leading role in the upcoming Drama Club production. 

“–You, uh, you seen Munson around?” 

Your own acting skills are put to the test when the bushes rustle just slightly at the mere mention of his name. It's an honest-to-God challenge to swallow down the laughter that threatens to spill from your lips. You do your best to paste on an look of confused nonchalance, taking a moment to school your expression while you slide your bookmark into place and valiantly fight the urge to flick your eyes toward the white, rubber soles poking out from beneath the shrubbery beside them. 

“No, sorry.” The lie itself comes easy — The feigned apology etched into your expression, however, proves a little more difficult, “Haven't seen him.” 

The guys look to one another with clear frustration. They begin to mutter back and forth, too quietly for you to make out their words, but from the obvious anger between them, you're able to put the pieces together fairly well. You've watched Eddie Munson piss off more than enough people from afar to make an educated guess as to the motive behind their current hunt. 

The ever-magnetic Eddie Munson. 

A majority of the time it's far more difficult for you to not get sucked into his tirades and rants than it is for you to simply allow your attention to be drawn straight toward him. The captivating boy with wild brown curls, and dimpled cheeks, and expressive eyes, and a laugh brighter than life itself. 

You don't know Eddie, per say. You've never actually had a conversation longer than a few mundane interactions. During one of the more memorable ones, Eddie asked to borrow a pencil that he never actually returned — Instead he'd fixed you with an all-too-charming, lopsided grin at the end of the class and asked if he could use it for the rest of the day, seeing as he couldn't find his. Because apparently he owned only one pencil or something-

And Eddie had sauntered into class every day for the next few weeks with that very same pencil tucked behind his ear. His teeth carved little indents into the soft wood when he gently gnawed on it in thought. He'd drummed the eraser softly on his desk during quizzes, fidgeting with it teeter-tottering between his fingers while he pondered over multiple choice. The utensil whittled down more and more each time you saw him, until it was a mere stub shorter in length than Eddie's thumb — but still, he continued to use it even then. His dedication to keeping track of it for so long was endearing enough that you’d never once asked for it back. 

Point is, Eddie is kind of a secret sweetheart. And you do think you know enough to be confident in the assessment that even Eddie's craziest stunts are nearly always some sort of retaliation in defense of those he deems in need of his protection. The losers and the freaks and the outcasts. Those who would normally allow the abuse and ridicule from their classmates without putting up any real fight. Because if there is one thing you’re certain of, it's that under all of that bravado — hidden beneath layers of leather, ripped denim, and the illegal ink scratched into his skin — Eddie Munson is quite possibly the most genuine, well-meaning person you've ever encountered. 

While you're sure he'd be loath to hear it… Eddie Munson is cute. There's something real that sparkles in that easy charm he turns on the teachers when he wanders into the classroom ten minutes late, or on the lunch ladies when he's angling for an extra scoop of mac and cheese.

And sometime around December Eddie had begun leaving little doodles beside the red pen marking your grade on quizzes and assignments— Adorably disturbing animations of otherwise cute animals, a smiley face adorned with devil horns, a surprisingly detailed hand displaying a thumbs up, a stick figure with the same bald head and frizzy hair around his ears as your teacher. Whatever he could get away with scribbling in thirty seconds or so before continuing to pass the stack of day-old papers back. 

There's a sweetly endearing boy threatening to sneak through the cracks in his facade — You'd noticed, and you've been quietly and embarrassingly smitten ever since. 

Which is to say, you're well-versed enough in his antics to know that while Eddie has surely gone out of his way and done something- He probably doesn't actually deserve the brutal ass-kicking that these two obviously have in store. 

“But-” You call out suddenly when one of the guys teeters a small, unintentional step in the direction of the metalhead's current hiding spot, “I've heard he sometimes hides out from Principal Higgins in the track and field shed,” You fib easily. “Maybe you could check there?” 

The guys seem to perk up at the suggestion, shooting you grateful smiles and waving as they bid you goodbye with a quick: “Yeah, we'll go give it a look! Thanks for the tip!” 

It only takes approximately five seconds from the moment the heavy door slams shut behind them for Eddie to tumble out onto the grass just beyond the line of shrubbery. He curses up a storm all the while, letting out a little yelp when he has to kick one of his feet free from a tangle of low-hanging branches. You can just make out a few of his grumbled expletives along with the tinkling of the chain wallet clipped to his belt loop, the sound of metal on metal and twigs snapping making their way to you despite sitting at the far end of the grassy knoll. 

He scrambles back to his feet in a rush, cheeks pink, wide-eyes flitting about in the distance until his gaze settles on you. Eddie's blush only darkens at the realization that you've seen his fall, but then his cheeks are dimpling with a wide, earnest grin, one hand coming up to shoot you a grateful wave as he takes just a few long strides in your direction.

“Hey, hi, it's you!” He calls out, kicking at the ground below him bashfully as his hands fall to his hips. “I mean. I, uh, thanks for the assist, there.”

“Oh, no problem,” You laugh, “Happy to help.” 

“Well, ah… Just, let it be known that your gentle misdirection was greatly appreciated,” He finishes with a gracious little bow, and feels silly for about half a second before he hears you laugh softly at his theatrics and then any and all traces of insecurity immediately fly from his head to make room for the abundance of affection and puppy love that fills his chest. 

As your laughter tapers out, a small beat of silence settles in the vast space between you. 

“Right.” Eddie nods to himself as he speaks, waving once more when he begins to backpedal toward the parking lot a few yards behind him. “Well, don't tell anyone, but I'm cutting last period, so-”  

You mime twisting a key to lock your lips, “Mum's the word.” 

“Oh, mum, you say? Shit, here I thought you'd just send anyone else who asks after me on a futile side-quest to the track and field shed.” Eddie jokes, moving another two steps back toward the sidewalk. “My own personal mastermind rogue.” 

The reference goes over your head, but the grin Eddie shoots you as he says it is enough of a thrill to have your stomach erupting with a small swarm of butterflies. 

“I'm practically aiding and abetting,” You tease, rewarded with a sharp laugh that has Eddie's eyes glittering even from a distance. “Better be careful. Too many people come looking for you and I just might have to start keeping a tally.” 

A hand flies up to his own chest, clutching at the fabric of his shirt, “Oh, but of course!” Eddie grins. “Merely name the time and place and I'd be more than happy to repay any and all debts owed.” 

“I’ll keep you updated.” 

You find yourself smiling back— can't seem to stop smiling, actually. You sort of wish he'd invite you to skip class with him, English assignment be damned. He won't, of course, it's not as if you're friends, but… The longing is there all the same.

“Right. I, uh.. Thanks again. I'll.. see you around?” 

Does he look reluctant to leave or is your mind playing tricks? 

“Yeah,” You pause for just a beat, “See you.”

Reluctant to look away from you just yet Eddie keeps moving backwards, his sneaker catching on cement for half a second before he steps up onto the curb behind him with only a small stumble. 

He laughs good-naturedly at his own clumsiness, hands joined at his lower back as he breaks the lingering eye contact with an embarrassed bow of his head.

You watch with bated breath as Eddie nears a lamppost at the edge of the lot. Your lips part on a warning that proves to be about half a second too late. 

Because Eddie has already turned on his heel and suddenly finds himself too close and moving far too fast to avoid walking into it— facefirst, at full-speed. Your entire body jolts just watching the impact from afar, your own yelp in your ears nearly drowning out the awful sound of his head colliding with metal. 

You're scrambling to your feet as Eddie staggers back a step on wobbly legs, and you're abandoning your things to rush in his direction as his knees give out and he lands on his backside in the grass with a choked-off gasp of pain and surprise.

By the time you drop to your knees beside him, Eddie's already cursing up a storm. He's rolling side to side in the grass, long legs kicking out as if the constant movement might actually be able to siphon some of the pain from his head. Your knee catches him in the ribs in all of his thrashing, but Eddie seems too caught up in his hurt and his own dramatics to have even noticed. 

“Fucking–” Eddie cuts off with a groan, long and drawn out as it rumbles in his throat. “Stupid piece of– What a stupid fucking place to put a god damn pole. Jesus H. Fucking Christ! Ouch–!” 

“Oh god! Are.. Are You okay?” You manage to get in over the sound of his breathy expletives. 

All of Eddie's writhing and flailing comes to a halt as he casts a look up in your direction, big brown eyes settling just long enough to be blinded by the sun behind you. He squints hard against the sheer brightness, his gaze instantly gone a little hazy. He looks at you for about half a second, empty gaze flitting over your face like he’s never seen you a day in his life.

“Ah.. Oh, damn it, you're pretty.” He manages before his eyes pinch shut against the onslaught of light penetrating his corneas with another curse, “Real pretty. Ah shit, did I fuckin’.. Am I honestly dead right now? Fuck.”

At least, you're mostly sure that's what he says. He's grumbling under his breath more than speaking, really. Regardless, you're going to reassure him, lips already parting to do just that, but Eddie hardly gives a moment of pause before babbling on faintly, words coming out worryingly garbled to your untrained ears. 

“I-I mean, don't get me wrong, angel, alright?” Eddie’s words slur together, “I am, uh, pleasantly surprised if it's you welcoming me to eternity.” It sounds as if each word is heavy on his tongue, or perhaps, like each one is being forcibly dragged from the depths of his chest and they've lost some of their clarity by the time they reach his lips. “‘m sure you know I'm not exactly in a place to turn away a free pass into heaven, but, uh, Jesus- Or, sorry- Ow.” He finishes inarticulately. 

You reach out cautiously, making for the area of skin hidden away beneath his fluffy bangs. Eddie startles the moment your fingers brush the welt forming on his forehead, despite how deliberately gentle you are with the movement. There's a bump, swollen under your fingertips and warm to the touch already, the injured skin flushed with heat — If the poor guy comes out of this with lasting brain damage, you're going to be seriously riddled with guilt for just existing to distract him in the first place. 

“Fuck.” Eddie grumbles again in discomfort, halfheartedly swatting at your hand until it retreats from beneath his bangs. 

His warm knuckles are such a stark contrast to your own, his fingers curling around the edge of your palm before you can fully retreat back into your own space. You ignore the way the metal of the ring on his middle finger pinches your skin when he squeezes your hand. You return his grip just as solidly while Eddie's head falls back to the ground with a dull thunk, your thumb swiping anxiously over the jut of his knuckle as he begins another round of disconcerting grumbling. 

“Ohh, if I die, my– My uncle is gonna be pissed, man.”

He sure is babbling a lot for someone with a head injury. You wonder if that's normal — If it's a good sign or a horribly bad one. 

You pull in a shaky breath, “You're not dy–”

Eddie doesn't seem to hear you over the light ringing in his ears. Rather, he's continuing on before you can finish, “Shit, he's gonna move ’imself back into my room ‘nd.. ‘N he'll see the state of my mattress. God. He's gonna see the shit stuffed under my mattress–”

You bypass the more obvious implications of his second statement (read: porno mags, drugs) despite your piqued interest, but you're far too stumped and curious to bite back a question regarding the prior. 

“What's wrong with your mattress?” 

It comes out quiet, but still, this time your voice works like magic at pulling Eddie's attention back on you lightning fast, as if he's noticing your presence for the first time all over again. 

Like some sort of divine intervention, a thin cloud passes over the sky then. The filtered sunlight allows Eddie's gaze to fully catch yours, wide brown eyes meeting your open, blissfully honest expression of curiosity. 

You're momentarily stunned by the way the molten chocolate of his eyes goes honeyed in the light, his irises glowing with an enchanting mosaic of brown and gold. 

Eddie, himself, is still squinting against the light, but this time the brightness doesn't hit him with the immediate need to pinch his eyes shut again. Instead, his brain goes blissfully blank, distracted by the way the sky seems to cast a halo around your head. A few of your flyaways sway in the breeze, sparkling so pretty in the sunlight. He murmurs as much, the words nearly incomprehensible aside from the quiet utterance of ‘pretty’ that you catch slip from his lips for a second time. 

“Eddie?” 

You cut through his tumultuous inner monologue with a soft voice, worry etched into your expression. You can't help the way you scrunch the denim lapel at his neck in your anxious fist. You pull, just a little. His shoulder lifts an inch or so off the ground before you’re releasing him again, smoothing the fabric out over his clavicle with gentle fingers. 

He still hasn't responded by the time you’re finished, so you try again.

“Hey, Eddie..” 

His eyes drop from where they've been stuck somewhere just above your own, trailing slow down the length of your torso. You watch him finally take in the extent of your proximity bit by bit; your hand in his own, your knees in the grass beside him, the way your folded legs brush his hip, the fingers you have resting where his shoulder meets his neck, the little flap of denim at the collar of his battle vest caught between your fingers. 

“What?” Eddie croaks after a few seconds of silence, the sound of your name falling from his lips immediately afterward fills you with a sense of relief the strength of which you've never quite experienced. “You.. Sorry. Uh, what’d you say?”

Still recovering from Eddie saying your name in that low, grumbly tone, your mouth quirks up at the corners of its own accord, a soft smile gracing your lips.

“You said something about the state of your m-” The words trail off, hand not currently trapped in his grip finding their way to the space between his brows. The pads of your fingertips brush featherlight over the microscopic hairs above the bridge of his nose, ever cautious in their ascent upward. “Nevermind. I just- Eddie.. Seriously. Are you okay?” 

“I, uh.. Honestly, angel?” He cracks open just one eye, shooting you a playful grin, “Think I might be concussed.” 

You laugh but it’s more in relief at his cognizance than genuine amusement. 

“Here, let me-” You reach out a hand and Eddie allows you to slowly help him to his feet with minimal resistance. He sways precariously for only a moment in a struggle to regain his balance, but your hands are right there on his chest to help hold him aloft. 

You carefully usher him back toward where you'd been reading in solitude earlier. Slowly, lest the metalhead suddenly collapse to the ground. You guide him by the hand, eyes flitting between Eddie's pain etched face and where his calloused palm is pressed firmly to your own.  

As the two of you reach your abandoned belongings, you release his hand to drop to the ground and unzip your bookbag. It only takes a moment of rifling through your things, you find what you’d been looking for: a half-frozen ice pack, tattered kitchen towel still wrapped around it to protect your sandwich from going soggy. 

You remove the towel now, turning to face Eddie right as he plops down in the grass beside you. He stretches out, long legs extended in front of him, leaning back on his hands with a casual coolness that makes your head spin. He's lounging next to you as if this is a totally normal occurrence. Like he skipped class and actually chose to come spend that time with you, of all people. Like he's not currently pretending there isn't a sharp ache in his head. 

“For you.” You hold the ice pack out in offering, the plastic already beading with condensation in the warm air. “It's not frozen-frozen, but it's still pretty cold. I could run to the nurses office real quick, though, if you-” 

“Nah. No need, sweetheart. No, this is great-” He takes the proffered item, fingers brushing yours again, “A Mastermind Rogue and a Healer. How lucky I am to have stumbled into your path this morning.” 

He flashes you that entirely too charming smile again, cheeks dimpling in a way that sends your heartbeat into overdrive. You can't quite believe that before today you'd never really looked at him this close. Plenty of class periods have been spent staring at the back of his head studying the pattern of his frizzy curls — Far more time than you've ever spent actually looking at the blackboard at the front of the room. But now you've gotten close enough to notice the freckles dotting the bridge of his nose, the long lines of his eyebrows usually hidden away beneath his bangs, the short, clean stubs of his fingernails and the green tint staining the skin underneath the ring on his index finger. 

You doubt you'll ever be able to overlook him again after this. 

Eddie must take your momentary silence for confusion, because he immediately delves into an explanation into DnD classifications. He uses simple terms, laying it out in a way that would make sense even if you had no prior knowledge of the game. It's no wonder he's in charge of the after school club, because while he’s boisterous and loud and sometimes a little bit wild and scary on purpose — He can also be so gentle and patient when the situation calls for it, especially when he thinks no one of consequence is paying attention. 

But you're paying attention. You're watching the way his full lips move. The way his one free hand gesticulates while he talks. You're watching a bead of water from the ice pack drip down the soft line of his nose. You're listening as his rambling explanation bleeds seamlessly into the concept for the summer campaign he's planning. You find yourself caught up in the whirlwind of his attention and his excitement and the sound of his fucking voice. 

Eddie's rambling pauses suddenly, and when he begins speaking again, his words come with a deliberate slowness. “Sorry, I- Sometimes I get going and I don't really know when to stop.” He smiles again but this one is more of a bashful grimace as he scratches at his head awkwardly. “You can just tell me to shut up and I won't even be offended. Promise. I, uh-”

A little bit of the light has dimmed from his eyes, and you can't fucking stand it. You don't want to tell him to shut up. Actually, you'd be far more inclined to sit right here listening to him talk about anything and everything until the final bell of the day rings out, hell until the sun dips below the horizon-

There's so much more nuance to Eddie than you'd expected when he mosied into Economics on that first day at the start of the school year and dropped unceremoniously into the desk in front of you. He is so much more than just a seemingly lacksadasal indifference to his education, or the wild storm of the constant chaos that seems to erupt in his wake. 

And speaking of that chaos…

“Hey, um. Can I ask…” You hesitate for only half a second before he’s urging you to continue. 

“Yeah, ‘course, anything. Go on.” 

“What did you do? To piss those guys off earlier, I mean.” 

Eddie drops the ice pack to his lap and twists his body toward you in a rush of excitement, leaning his shoulder against the trunk of the tree and grinning at you until you turn slightly to match him. His cheeks dimple again, eyes filled with a giddy mischief that tells you whatever tale of hijinks he’s about to bestow upon you is going to be good. Or, maybe, bad? 

Eddie makes a show of dropping his voice into a low murmur, “You ever smelled a hard boiled egg after it's been sitting in a hot car?” 

Your lips quirk, “Can't say I have.” 

“Nah, ‘course not,” Eddie replies easily. “Well, you're not the only one, apparently. Swear to God. I, for one, cannot imagine how bad those idiots’ jock-straps must reek… I don't think they even bothered looking for the source of the damn smell ‘til yesterday afternoon.” 

You try to hold back your laughter, but you don't quite manage it, and Eddie's own grin melts into something all-too pleased at the sound. 

“So, how long was the egg in his car then?” You ask in a hushed voice. 

Eddie matches your tone, leans in like he's revealing some great secret. His cheeks dimple, the freckles on his nose standing out in his proximity. 

“Remember that real hot day we had? Cracked 80 or so?” 

You nod, eyes wide. “That was Friday… Right?” Three days ago, your mind supplies. 

Eddie’s still grinning, “Yep. Stuffed it into the pocket on the back of his driver’s seat Thursday during lunch.” He says it proudly.  

“You broke into his car before the weekend-” Another laugh, but you can't help it, not when Eddie's looking at you like that. “And you just… hid a hard boiled egg?” 

“Well, see, it wasn’t locked, is the thing-” He divulges, “So… The way I see it, anyone could’ve done it. Could’a been one of the guys on the math team, or drama club, maybe a spurned cheerleader-” 

“Oh, yeah, sure,” You laugh at the unlikeliness of such a thing. An angry cheerleader, maybe, but the other two suggestions are outright preposterous. “Hell, maybe Mrs. O'Donnell did it.” 

Eddie throws his head back with a cackle, clapping his hands together in excitement. 

“Fucking O'Donnell!” He laughs, “Shit, Yes! Absolutely. You are absolutely right! Yep, O'Donnell’s behind it. Nothing more than a mean old woman's revenge.”  

You try not to get too caught up in the heady fog of approval that rolls over you with every peel of Eddie’s laughter, the joy in his voice, the sparkle in his eyes. 

“Lucky for you, I happened to witness the whole thing, so-” 

“Oh, so you've got my back, is what you're saying?” Eddie teases, bumping your shoulder with his own. “I can count on you to plead my innocence?” 

“I'll insist on your innocence,” You promise slyly. “Someone comes asking questions and I'll throw O'Donnell right under the bus. And anyone looking for you specifically will be sent straight to the track and field shed with the rest of the Munson manhunt. Obviously.” 

Eddie clutches a hand over his heart, “Damn, sweetheart. I'm not sure I can afford the interest rates on a favor like that.” 

You take a deep breath to steel yourself. “I guess you'll just have to think of another way to pay me back.”

“Oh yeah?” Eddie leans back a touch, his eyes assessing, unsure. 

He looks almost… Nervous? 

“Yeah.” You swallow around the lump of anxiety building in your own throat before speaking again. “I, uh, well. I'm not busy Friday night.” You offer over the sound of your heart pounding in your ears.

“No shit?” Eddie laughs quietly, mostly to himself. “You know what? It looks like I do happen to have plans on Friday.” 

“Oh?” Oh. You try to smile despite your heart plummeting to your stomach. It’s fine. It’s fine, you’re fine- 

“Yeah, uh… Dinner and a movie?” 

Your lips part in confusion, and Eddie seems to mentally replay his own words before shaking his head. His curls whip around wildly with the movement, one hand coming up to press the ice pack to his forehead once more. 

“Jesus, sorry, I- Shit, I'm fucking this up.” Eddie curses. “What I meant was uh, you wanna to go to dinner and a movie? …With me!” He adds after a moment. The embarrassment on his face looks almost pained. “Fuck. Would you like to-” 

“Eddie?” You interrupt.

“I… Yeah?” 

“Yes.” 

[punkssavior]

tired of you.

| cm punk x fem!reader

my wwe fic tumblr debut. feeling chaotic.

title is a foo fighters song!

“regret, anger, and a pair of gym shorts.”

content warnings: post breakup. smut. angst. pet-names. choking. mentions of blood/semi-blood play. pain kink. pnv, riding.

i definitely went off the rails and lost the plot along the way.

**installment ONE of the ‘ACE OF SPADES’ series.

SERIES MASTERLIST <- linked here! **

wordcount: 8.3k

There was something wrong with you.

Maybe, the problem was the pounding headache. The one that’s lasted three days so far and felt like a doldrum banging in your skull.

Maybe, it was the streaks of eyeliner that stained your lower lashes and wouldn’t wipe off no matter how hard you tried.

Or maybe, just maybe, the problem was the urge to reach for your phone and dial up the number of a man who you know wouldn’t right his wrongs.

Yeah, something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

It was a Saturday night— alone in your one bedroom apartment. A quiet, dreary week that led right into a hellscape of a weekend. You were always told that breakups were hard, but never this hard.

The stubborn heart that beats inside you almost took hold of the reins when the thought of calling Punk crossed your mind. But the more logical part of your body, your brain, ultimately decided that— maybe that wasn’t the best idea.

The breakup was far from mutual. If anything, it was completely one sided. The last thing you remember from that night a few weeks ago was standing in your apartment door with angry tears in your eyes as Punk drove away from your duplex in a torn down Chevy Malibu.

Like nothing even happened.

You weren’t sure how much longer you could stare at your TV in boredom, watching the same rerun of action movies that played every Saturday night around the same time.

It was getting late.

Maybe you should get some sleep.

But God knows your mind wouldn’t allow it.

As you stand up to gather the growing pile of blankets that collected in the midst of your ‘breakup-self-loathing’, you begin to fight that intrusive urge once more.

You couldn’t call. It was way too late. He was probably asleep, or out somewhere training like he’d do when he couldn’t.

You didn’t want to bother.

Because that’s the last thing you ever wanted to be.

Bang, bang.

Your head whips around; two loud knocks at your door almost rattled it right off its hinges.

Bang, bang.

With a cautious air, you walk to the door and rest your hand on the knob. Before you could even begin to twist it, there it was again.

Bang, bang.

Soon enough your heartbeat matched up with the rhythm of the pounding door— making you anxious enough to look through the peephole.

Low and behold, as if he could read your mind from the miles that separated your apartment from his, there Punk stood. Leaning on the bannister that held up your rickety old porch with his arms crossed tightly to his chest.

It was cold, about 30°, yet there he was in a t-shirt, long dark hair slicked back, like he’d just walked through the rain. You freeze in your tracks, hand shaky over the brass doorknob as you debate opening the door.

Would you let him inside? Would you banish him out to the cold and make him talk to you from behind the threshold? Would you finally stick up for yourself and act like you were asleep? Hoping maybe, just maybe, he’d fuck off and take a hint?

You didn’t want either of those things. You didn’t want him to stand out in the cold, or turn around and leave.

You’d been secretly waiting for the moment where he wouldn’t care about the consequences of his actions.

Nor did you want him to “take a hint”.

You swing the door open, acting completely on instinct. But your breath is caught somewhere in your larynx when you realize that he is actually standing there.

“Nice jammies, player.”

“What do you want?”

Your heart stops. The words you spoke were completely off rip, seeing him in person for the first time in weeks must’ve carried a lot more weight to it than you anticipated.

Punk’s straight face morphs into a smile, his eyes darting down your figure and back up again.

“Came here for the gym shorts you stole. I did my laundry this morning and realized they were pretty much all gone.”

“So— why didn’t you come this morning? Instead of trying to break my door down at midnight?”

You cross your arms over your chest, the black and pink heart pajama set that he had gifted you for Valentine’s Day this past year seemed to be the star of the show. The draft from the outside was cold enough to send chills up your spine, as Punk stood there and just looked at you.

Come to think about it, maybe it wasn’t the wind.

“I was busy. Surely you were too, no?”

“I‘ve been here all day. Maybe if you called and asked, you would’ve known that.”

As you stand slightly elevated before him in your bunny slippers, you can’t help but notice the way he keeps inching closer.

“Well, maybe if you’d answered my calls from last week, we wouldn’t be standing here in the cold. Face to face. At midnight.”

You freeze, as he rattles off, your hands moving to your hips.

He called you last week?

“You called me last week?”

“Mhm. Sure did.”

A puff of air leaves your chest, noticing the now rising goosebumps across his sleeves of tattoos, and feeling slightly guilty about keeping him out in the cold.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you call me?”

Punk chuckles, brushing a lock of that slick dark hair behind his ear. He looked amused, to say the least— maybe he just wasn’t grasping onto the concept of breaking your heart and smashing it all to pieces. Maybe he thought that reaching out to you would be the good little ego boost he needed to carry on his week in the training gym.

“I called because I wanted to check in. Y’know— see how you were doing.”

Your brow furrows, in an attempt not to show him your hand of cards. Truthfully, your heart skipped about seven beats at the way his voice softened, but what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

“You’re joking, right?”

“And why would I joke about that?”

Punk leans on the doorframe, his eyes darting behind your shoulder at the living room that the two of you used to cuddle up and watch movies in. Maybe the sight of it after the breakup was finally cracking that iron-clad cage around his heart.

You never understood Punk. Not fully, at least.

Despite a three year long relationship that ended abruptly on a random Wednesday night— there were so many layers to his character that you just begged and pleaded to understand. He was caring, but sarcastic. An open book, yet somehow there were pages stuck together by an immeasurable amount of glue.

You wanted to learn more, your only wish was to be able to speak in a language that the both of you understood.

You figured that maybe, three years just wasn’t enough time.

“Wanna come inside?” you ask softly, breaking the silence, your voice barely reaching the surface of the now whipping wind.

“Only if you’ll have me.”

As you step back and let him in, you just— watch.

You watch how he kicks his sneakers off in the same exact spot he always did whenever he’d get home from the gym. You watch him anchor himself onto the wall, as if he were about to dig into his pocket and hang up his car keys on the hook that’s remained vacant since he left.

Must’ve been a repeated habit, or muscle memory. But your chest tightened at the thought either way.

“Your shorts are in my dresser,” you hum, still fighting the feeling of heartburn as he moves fluidly through your living room, “I could go get ‘em if you want.”

“Like I don’t know where your bedroom is. You think I’ve got amnesia or somethin’?”

Looking at Punk felt like a slap in the face. A hard one, at that.

His tight, perfectly fitted t-shirt molded to his cut body, contrasted to the loose gym shorts that hung just above his knees made you want to scream at him for being so visually appealing. But instead, you just smiled warmly, and bit your tongue.

There’s a brooding cloud of silence looming over both of your heads. An unspoken tension thick enough to cut with a butcher knife. Punk was acting casual, a bit too casual for your liking. I guess he figured that those stupid, sea green eyes searing into your forehead were enough to let you forget about what happened in this very room.

“Look, maybe you hit your head on the way here because last I checked, you dumped me. And now— here you are, standing in my living room.”

A catty smile flashes across Punk’s face, his lip ring catching in the light above your kitchen island as he leaned on it with that familiar sense of cockiness.

The one you knew, the one that you unfortunately loved.

“Shit, okay— we’re taking a bit of a leap here, aren’t we?”

“Tell me the real reason why you’re here. And don’t fucking bullshit me.”

The jumble of hurt words you’d been pushing down your throat for weeks— finally had a target. Your voice betrays you at the end of your sentence, fleeting off into a much weaker tone than you anticipated.

“I already told you why. I’m here for my shorts.” His posture straightens as he speaks, putting up his guard as the tension rises.

“Bullshit. You know I fuckin’ hate when you lie, dude. What is this, a wellness check? Did you feel so inclined to check up on my sorry-ass to the point where it kept you up at night?”

Punks hands come up in defense as you move an inch closer, wagging a helpless, beaten down finger at him. Yet that smug smile painted on his cheeks remained, only making you more enraged.

“Wellness check? What the fuck is your problem?” his laughter is indignant, as if he were pitying you, “You really think I’d drive down here in the middle of the night to smile in your face and laugh at you?”

“Newsflash, dickhead. You’ve been doing that this whole time.”

In seconds, Punk’s face switches back to a blank slate. He seemed visibly taken aback by your words. His hand, still dawned in a piece of old wrist tape, clung to his chest.

“Wow. Well, I’m sorry— for trying to keep the mood light— and greet you at your door with a fuckin’ smile when I know damn well that I’m the last person you want to see right now… But have you ever stopped to think that maybe you’re not the only half of this mess suffering? Maybe you’re not the only one who stays up way later than they should, thinking about where everything went wrong?”

As he grows more animated, he nears closer, to the point where you could still smell the remnants of his cologne and see the drops of frustrated sweat beading on his forehead. You wanted to keep screaming, but your voice was caged behind gritted teeth. You guarded yourself with your arms, mimicking his posture as you crossed them over your chest.

“Well maybe you should cut some slack for the girl you left crying in the doorway, Punk.”

His stage name shoots off your tongue like poison, now in a heated face-off with the man you once loved.

And maybe still did, beneath the scratched up, broken down surface. That was the reason why this all seemed so complicated.

“Do you want your fucking shorts, or not?—”

“—Keep the damn’ shorts, Y/N!” He cuts you off before you could even dream of continuing.

Another silence falls over the room after all the shouting, only the TV in the background filling only half of the void that was your brain right now. Despite getting those harsh words off of your chest, a part of you felt inclined to say no more. You figured you’d done enough irreparable damage to both yourself and Punk. It was in your best interest to leave it be.

“Sorry for yelling,” you mumble, a bit sheepishly.

Punk still stood against your kitchen island, his hand now rubbing his temples between middle finger and thumb.

“Don’t apologize. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

Awkward. That was the word to describe it. After airing out grievances, finding out that you weren’t the only party in this sick and twisted dance with a lingering feeling that tugged on your heartstrings, everything else surrounding you was just awkward.

You stare at Punk intently, letting him shake his head and mutter curse words under his breath.

“I’m sorry for coming here unannounced. But what I said was true.”

“Hm?” you hum, worried that if you said too much, his vulnerability would be guised as a momentary lapse of judgement.

“I still think about what happened.”

A deep breath catches in your throat the moment his eyes meet yours. It was hard to look at him in general after all that you’d been through, but it was even more difficult to pull yourself away from the defeated, sorrowful expression on his face.

Being so openly honest and true to his inner monologue was a rarity for Punk. You could tell how much he hated the fact that he was admitting this to you, let alone standing once again in your living room after already breaking your heart.

“Seriously,” you begin to say, bridging the gap between your bodies with a sharp tug on his wrist, “Tell me why you came here. If it wasn’t for those two pairs of stupid shorts that you haven’t asked me about in two and a half years, then what was it?”

Punk grimaces, still beaten down by his own honesty, “You just don’t let up, do you?”

“Answer me, asshole.”

You were still aggravated, and the quickly tightening hold you had on his arm was proof of that.

“I came here because I missed you, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear?” A wave of something much more dreadful than relief washes over you— it seemed more existential and off putting than anything. “I missed your face. Your voice. The scent of your perfume. The way you bitch me out to get off and have a good time fuckin’ doing it.”

“I— I genuinely do not believe you,” you mutter, tripping over your words, slightly twisting the skin on his arm in pure, unbridled frustration, “There’s gotta’ be some other excuse.”

Punk’s face comes to a pinch, mulling over your words while simultaneously experiencing the burn from your untamed grip on him.

“There’s no other excuse,” he blurts, bordering a whine, “What? You want me to admit that I’ve been up for days? Unable to sleep, to eat, to wrestle, to fuckin’ unwind and jerk off without the thought of you crossing my mind? Is that what you want?”

Your jaw clenches at the rise you’re getting out of him, wanting nothing more than to smack him across the face.

“Maybe you should’ve said this all to me, what, a month ago? Instead of trying to pop by on a Saturday night like I’m one of your idiot friends?”

It was getting to a point where your nails were surely leaving marks, his arm fully surrendered to you as you took out your pent up anger on one of his innocent limbs.

Punk’s face tightens, the gap in his teeth visible as he writhes in discomfort, “Jesus fuck, you’re hurting me—”

“Touché.”

Having almost completely given up on trying to fight your cat-like grip on his arm, Punk does the unthinkable. With a crooked, masochistic smile, he wraps his free arm around your waist and pulls you straight into his chest.

“You wanna fight dirty?” he asks, his voice a low, rigid grumble.

Rather than replying, due to the sheer shock running through your spine, you just nod your head meekly.

“We can fight dirty,” a wry chuckle leaves his lips as he leans into your angry face, “Baby, those eyes of yours are quite telling.”

“I’m sick of your shit, Punk,” you spit, still tangled in his sultry words, “it’s too hot and cold with you.”

“Really? Tell me more. I saw how you froze up when I said that I haven’t stopped thinking about you. Tell me that my words didn’t leave a mark in that pretty head of yours.”

Holy fuck.

Holy fuck

This was getting to be too much.

You wanted to pull away; but the thought of tasting his lips again after you were forced away from them for so long just seemed intoxicating.

“I don’t have to answer you,” you mumble, trying your hand at defending yourself whilst simultaneously breaking your neck to ignore your desires.

“But I bet you really want to.”

You swallow hard at the feeling of his blistered palm trailing across your side. And your nails continued etching marks into his flesh; the closer he got, the harder you tugged .

“We’re not together anymore. I have nothing to fucking say to you.”

“There’s nothing wrong with speaking your mind though, right? That’s what you used to tell me…”

That burning feeling in your chest was back again— like hot lava rising up your throat. You wanted to retort, but couldn’t help but notice how he was completely ignoring the small pooling of blood from the gashes on his forearm.

“…Remember what you used to say to me, Bunny? ‘Don’t be afraid to show a little bit of that heart, Punker. Acting like you care won’t kill you.’ Man, if only you could see yourself right now. Being a damn hypocrite…”

“Stop it.”

The nickname he’d revived from the dead felt like a karate chop to the throat, all while he was still holding you tightly to his chest. His body language read passion, but his words oozed anguish.

He glanced down to your lips, eyeing them with a crooked smile.

“What? Stop what? Stop trying to get you to break down those stubborn walls of yours and be honest with me? I know I hurt you baby, but you can’t keep it all bottled up forever.”

You grabbed him tighter. Tighter. Tighter. Until his face came to a pinch and he was yanking his arm from between your bodies.

He hisses at the sight of trickling blood running down his colorful tattoos, eyeing you shamefully like you were a dog that just crapped in the house.

But rather than letting that anger carry over into another screaming match, he takes the hand that you’d held hostage, and runs it through your hair.

“Bet you needed to let that out, didn’t you?” Punk coos, a complete 180 switch in his demeanor, that same hand trailing down your cheek towards your neck.

“You’re insufferable.”

“Ditto, player.”

SMACK.

Your palm lays flat across the side of his cheek, his head whips to the side. A surge of searing anger seemed to free itself the moment your hand connected with his skin, a small splatter of his blood from your fingertips painting across his jawbone.

He shakes his head, and looks at you, that grip he had on your hip tightening as his eyes narrow, and bore into yours.

“You asked if I wanted to fight dirty, didn’t you?” your voice is weakened by the sheer force of that smack. But Punk just nods like a pompous asshole, a slow and desperate smile sliding across his face with the corners of his mouth coming to a Cheshire-cat-like point.

In moments like these, you had to remind yourself of a few things. Punk knew you better than anyone else— your friends, most of your immediate family, even the people you’ve met in passing and spilled your guts to on a whim. You and Punk would spend hours just talking. About anything. About nothing. There was something about his demeanor that drew out the most vulnerable, tucked away parts of your person.

He also had the ability to use what he knew against you. And from the facial expression he made, and from what you could tell from knowing him, he knew that smack held a lot more weight than just pure anger.

He was into it. You were into it.

With a low, practically inaudible growl, Punks hand slides up the front of your body. You could feel the roughness of his palms and the cool touch of his fingertips lingering from standing out in the cold, as he makes his way past the little plastic buttons of your pajama top.

“I love it when we fight, Bunny,” he grumbles, that hand making its way to your throat, “You wanna show me how angry I make you? How much of an asshole I am for breaking your heart?”

Your breath sputters when he clamps his hand down, gently squeezing the sides of your throat. You could only imagine how you looked to him right now— still a bit ticked off, but now a whole lot more desperate.

“I want— an apology.”

“Really? That’s all you want from me right now?”

As you open your mouth to squeeze out an answer, he presses the pads of his fingers into your neck, hitting that blissful pressure point and instantly relieving your three-day-long headache.

“Yes. That’s it,” you breathe, finding it hard to concentrate on only one feature of his face.

The hand of his that stayed stagnant on your hip began to travel downwards, following the curve of your ass all the way down to where it met your thigh. You swallowed, feeling the pressure from his hand fighting the building, anxious saliva from going down.

“Are you sure about that? You don’t seem very confident—”

“—Yes. Yes. For the love of God, please just—”

Your sentence becomes more and more incoherent as Punk slowly spins you around. Your body replaces his, leaned against the kitchen island, still feeling cowardly beneath his over 6-foot stature.

“Just what? Wanna hit me again?” his eyes narrow with challenge, the grip on your throat still in charge of this dance, “Do it. Hit me again. Show me that you’re not afraid to show me what’s on your mind.”

SMACK.

The sheer power from the second slap loosened Punk’s grip on your throat— you breathed out shakily at the loss of the contact, feeling the delayed sting that shot through your palm the moment your knuckle cracked his jaw.

He eventually frees your neck from his hold to aid his wounded cheek, rubbing it softly as those viridian eyes ask you for a favor that his words had yet to reach.

“Jesus Christ baby. You sure know how to lay a good one don’t ya?”

“Fuck you.”

Your palm began to throb in time with the beating of your heart, the surface skin now tender from two measly slaps to a man who gets hurt for a living.

“Fuck me? Alright. If that’s all you have to say then—”

SMACK.

“I hate you! God, I fucking hate you!”

That dry, fervid rage suddenly morphed into a mess of soggy tears— your words biting violently as they fanned across his now helpless face.

You couldn’t help yourself from crying. As if you hadn’t done enough. But now, in the same vein of feelings you felt the moment you saw his silhouette through the peephole, crying was really the only thing you could do.

“I—I am so fucking sick of you! Who the fuck do you think you are? Coming to my apartment, standing there with that stupid, shit-eating smile. Acting like you didn’t have any part whatsoever in ruining my goddamn life!”

“Y/N, I—”

As much as you wanted this to be a civil conversation, there was no turning back as the tears rolled down your face and onto the floor.

“I’ve been crying over you for weeks. Weeks. You left me. After telling me our relationship was practically meaningless. After dumping me with zero fucking explanation! I’m tired of you, Punk. So. Fucking. Tired.”

Silence.

The tears just kept on coming, there was nothing you could do to stop them from searing hot streaks down your face.

Nothing you could do to stop you from yelling now, either.

“Fuck you! Fuck your stupid hair. That stupid shit box car you drive. Your stupid piercings— and stupid tattoos that you refuse to get touched up because I said I liked them the way they were!”

Punk’s face was a blank slate. All it took was for you to start barking out your qualms with him, and suddenly he was at ease like a soldier.

In the heat of your tirade, you slither out of his arms, angrily marching over to the couch and picking up a throw pillow.

“I can’t fucking believe you. You would think three years meant something, right?! But noooo. Not for Mr. CM Punk. You got to carry on life as usual after you left my house that night. You got to parade around your ring, hearing a crowd of people chant your name like you’re the second coming of Christ! All while I was at home sobbing over gym shorts! Fucking gym shorts!”

The pillow you’d been smacking against your hand was perfect ammo to toss at his head; you grunt as you throw it, listening to the pitiful thud as it slams against the wall behind him.

“You want the shorts? I’ll give you the fucking shorts. The same way I gave you the hours it took me to sew your fucking name onto the tags like you asked me to!”

Your throat felt like sandpaper, your heart racing at 90mph and fluttering with every honest truth you spoke.

“I bet a selfish part of you missed having me around, didn’t you? Because without me, who makes you breakfast in the morning? Who else sits through your God-awful, mean jokes when nobody else is around to hear them?”

It was getting harder to stay away from him now, the adrenaline rush that came with smacking him across the face was the last little push you needed for your penultimate sentence.

“Who else is there, Punk?” the volume of your voice lowers when you take a hurried step closer to him.

SMACK.

“Who else fucks you like I do?”

For a split second, you see the glass in Punk’s eyes shatter. You see all of his rugged features soften and he searches your face for something, anything to say.

But just when you think he’s about to pull away, and curse you out for berating him with your spiteful tongue, his lips crash against yours in a bruising kiss.

You melt into him instantly, all of the pieces of your scrambled up puzzle falling back into place the moment his hands hold you against his body.

His cheek was tender, hot to the touch, and your hand was still lingering from that one final smack, yet he encouraged you to cup his face as it hovered in the aftermath.

The initial kiss grows more primal, a twisted dance of heavy breathing and knocking teeth brings Punk’s hands to travel.

Suddenly your mind is back where it started, an unshakable feeling of wavering uncertainty as he lifts your leg to rest on his hip.

“You— you don’t get to do this,” you stammer, not making any attempt to regain your composure, “you don’t get to just— walk in here and destroy everything I’ve been working so hard to rebuild.”

Your noses knock against each other as your breathing becomes one, Punk pulls away with a tug at your bottom lip.

“Then tell me to leave. Push me away. Kick me out.”

As you open your mouth to retort, his body rolls against yours, leaving your head to spin and freeze up like it always did whenever he turns you on.

“Go on, Bunny,” he continues his torturous drawl, bending down to nip at the sensitive skin behind your ear as he whispers, “Tell me to leave.”

A quiet whimper takes over whatever else you’d planned on saying. Any and all remnants of anger from your rant had suddenly disappeared.

“You—”

Your sentence is cut short by your other leg being picked up off the ground. You gasp, clinging yourself to his hips as he spins you, holding you between the wall and the rising warmth of his body.

“You know I can’t do that, you fuckin’ asshole.”

Another searing kiss, one that made stars pass behind your eyelids as his hands held you tighter. Tighter. Tighter. Surely the pads of his fingers would leave bruises in only the places he could see— he loved to know that he was the only one to touch you in the places that get hidden beneath layers of cotton and lace.

He always did. He always will.

A gasp flies past your lips, and his, as he adjusts his grip on you, nailing you higher to the wall with the sheer weight and force of his lips. His own twisted form of crucifixion.

“God, you’re addicting,” he mumbles into your cheek, his line of kisses getting sloppier as he can’t decide where to pay attention to, “You slapped me ‘till my face went raw… You scratched me ‘till I bled…”

A groan of his own interrupts his string of lustful sweet nothings, only for you to take it as your opportunity to grab his chin in your hand.

You look him in the eye, still feeling the burning sensation in your chest— but this time, it wasn’t anger. It wasn’t sadness. It was fighting that feeling that you could never quit.

As you look at him, you take your thumb, still stained with blood from before, and trail it across his bottom lip. His lips and chin are defiled with that perfect shade of scarlet — his eyes glittering as you paint him red.

“…And you cursed me out like a fuckin’ bitch,” he chuckles wryly, his tongue flicking out to catch the blood you’d left.

“And yet—” You cock your head to the side, your features fully softening for the first time since he arrived at your door, “—you’re still here with me.”

Before you could even think, Punk is grabbing at the buttons on your pajama shirt and anchoring you to the wall with his hips. His actions are frenzied, popping open the first, second, and third button.

“Fuck this,” he grumbles in frustration, fully surrendering, tugging at the bottom hem and lifting that black and pink heart printed pajama top over your head in one full swoop. You can’t help but chuckle as he tosses it behind his head, and gets straight to work on worshipping the valley of your breasts with open-mouthed kisses.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful, Bunny,” he breathes out between each time his lips press against you, “I wanna slap my damn’ self for breaking your heart.”

As he caters to you, you find your hands lacing through his hair, pushing it back to reveal a slit in his eyebrow. The same one he refused to shave back in no matter how many times you asked.

Maybe he thought that you seeing it tonight would help him get lucky.

And judging by the position you were in right now, it clearly worked its magic.

“All these sweet nothings aren’t gonna change the fact that you’re an asshole,” you state plainly, but finding it harder to speak due to him pinning you against the wall.

“You can call me— whatever the hell you want,” says Punk, tucking a strand of your frizzed up hair behind your ear.

The heated encounter had blindly begun to move towards the couch. You found yourself going limp in his arms the moment there wasn’t a sheet of drywall holding you up like a puppet on strings. Punk had you completely at his mercy— although fast-paced, steamy, extremely desperate sex was a staple in your repertoire.

“Is this how you planned on apologizing to me?” you ask, tailing off your sentence with a squeak as he tips you back to lay on the couch.

Punk crawls his way up your topless body, licking a stripe from your belly button all the way to the start of your jaw.

“Wasn’t planned, no. But I suppose that fucking it out to the point of forgiveness is better than a healthy conversation, right?”

Although forgiveness wasn’t a thing that crossed your mind until now, the events that had unfolded within the past thirty minutes had your head in knots. How could a man who you’d sworn off ‘till death come back into your life, simply with a bat of his pretty eyelashes and a flash of the gap in his teeth?

Maybe Punk’s visit was the universe telling you that you’d met your match. You simply couldn’t stay away.

After any and all clothes that barred access to the places he needed you most were removed, you found yourself swimming in a pool of dizzy, love-drunk thoughts. Punk took his time with you, yet still seemed as though he was rushing to get to where you needed him most.

“Fuckin’ Christ, I missed you. I missed you so much,”

Punk groans, taking a moment to stare into your soul before dipping down to bite at your bottom lip with his teeth.

You sigh in bliss, having not felt the touch of him, or anyone else for that matter, since the last time you saw him. As fucked up as it was, you missed this feeling.

You really missed him, too.

“Can I?” you begin to say, tugging at the hem of his t-shirt after another pick up of that steamy makeout session.

“Of course. Anything you want. Have me topless, have me naked, fully clothed, I don’t fuckin’ care.”

You chuckle at his eagerness, he helps you in taking off his tee, and your mind freezes up when you notice the beginning of a tattoo on his chest.

“Is this new?”

You trace the outline of ink with your manicured finger, following its shape all the way to the curve of his shoulder.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Been thinkin’ about a chest piece for a while.”

“Mmmh, yeah?” you hum, a fluttering feeling rumbling through your stomach the moment you realize that his hand had travelled to the waistband of your panties. “Chest tattoos are fucking sexy.”

Punk smirks, inching that wandering hand down past the waistband of your underwear towards your throbbing core. He bites his lip, that silver lip ring getting caught in the crossfire.

“Glad you think so, Bunny.”

An immediate wave of pleasure crashes over your senses the moment you feel his finger tease at your dripping slit. He always took the time to make sure you were fully ready— but you were afraid that your screaming match from earlier had you more hot and bothered than you’d like to admit.

“Punk, c’mon—” you whine indignantly, writhing beneath him as he slowly starts to spread your own wetness across your folds, “Not getting any younger here.”

“Impatient now, are we?” he bites back, making it a point to slowly, tauntingly dip in and out of your entrance with his slender finger.

You can’t help but moan out in purse frustration— impatience, as he called it.

“If you don’t hurry this along and fuck me already, I’ll send you home with blue balls and no gym shorts.”

As he opens his mouth to retort, you shoot your hand down to catch his wrist, shaking your head at him disapprovingly.

“Don’t remember you ever being this desperate to get fucked, Bunny,” he chuckles lowly, keeping you and your stamina on its toes as he flips your position to have you straddling his lap, “And here I was thinking you were a fan of the slow, sappy shit.”

“People change, y’know,” you shrug, finding a comfortable position to grind your hips down onto his bulge as you slide your hands up his chest towards his throat, “I think you may have ruined me for good.”

Punk was an athlete. He was quick on his feet, and even quicker to get into the minds of anyone he deemed a worthy opponent. When it came to you, the most worthy of them all, he read you like a book. Cover to cover.

“Ruined you?” he asks, watching your hands climb his chest towards his throat, “Is that why you felt so inclined to almost kill me earlier?”

You clasp your hands around his throat, pushing out a shaky sigh from his chest. A smile spreads across your face like wildfire, your hips now wielding a mind of their own against the hard-on in his shorts.

“Oh, come on. Don’t be dramatic— Are you going soft on me, Punker? I thought you liked it a little— rough.”

When you looked back down at his face, what you didn’t expect to see was an airy grin. Punk must’ve done a lot of thinking in the time you were apart— because the Punk you knew a month ago wouldn’t stand for a second of this role reversal. But now, it seemed as though he was basking in the art of submission.

Safe to say, you had him whipped once again.

Fucking finally.

A low rumble from Punk floats to your ears, the first sign of his bleeding impatience. His eyebrows furrowed, the tip of his nose twitched, all while your hands were still wrapped around his neck and gently squeezing the pressure points on either side.

“I really meant it when I said you ruined my life, y’know,” you coo to him quietly, rolling your hips down past his crotch in order for your mouth to be level with the new ink traced on his chest, “Because now, I can’t think of anyone else who makes me feel the way you do.”

“Bunny…” Your nickname sounds like prayer in his gravelly voice, as you take your time and nip at the sensitive skin above his peck. Your teeth leave bruises in their traces, but you knew he didn’t mind.

“I really did try to forget about you. It’s true— but I just couldn’t help myself… Thinking about those big, sad, green eyes every time I slid my hand between my thighs t’ try and get myself off.”

A trail of bruises adds on to the weight of your words— all of which were true. You thought you’d had it all under control the moment your relationship with Punk ended. But the harder you tried to forget about those aforementioned eyes or the spiteful, sarcastic bite of his tongue, the more you really fucking missed it.

“You’re fucking evil, you know that?” Punk gasps, a broad hand flying to brush rogue hair from your forehead.

“What about me is so evil? The fact that you loved me so good and fucked me so hard that you stained my conscience?”

In a lingering spike of anger, you dig your nails into his abdomen, watching his muscles flex beneath the grapple you held. Punk winces, returning the favor with a tug at your hair.

“I don’t think it’s evil. I’d say you left your mark,” you add onto the torture, dragging your nails past the tattoo on his stomach towards the waistband of his shorts, “And now, I think it’s only fair that I leave mine.”

The speed in which your lips reattached to his should've been a worthy competitor to the speed of sound; moans catching between heaving, desperate breaths as Punk held you like you were the last thing he’d ever touch.

“Take your fuckin’ shorts off—” you demand, a lightning bolt of confidence shocking through your spine as he follows your orders without question. All while your lips were still entwined.

You blindly reach down past where the hem of his shorts were, a sloppy frenzy of movement as you feel his cock free itself and spring up from the confines of his briefs.

A moan is caught in your larynx as your hand finds his thick shaft, locking eyes with him the second that skin touches skin.

“I— I bet you’ve been dreaming of this shit. Beatin’ the hell outta’ me, bossing me around—”

“—Oh please. I could do this in my sleep. I was always just worried about bruising that big, dumb ego of yours.”

You bite your lip, and Punk just sighs, his head hitting the throw pillow that you didn’t choose to launch at him while he stood against the wall.

“The biggest and dumbest. Yet you loved me more than anything. Isn’t that strange?”

Your eyes narrow at his smug expression. Despite being on the short end of the stick, he sure did have a mouth for the ages.

“But I’m not the one that came here all mopey, trying to put on a fuckin’ show because I missed incredible sex and the smell of vanilla perfume.”

“You didn’t deny that you love me.”

Your lip twitches at his smug expression. You’re almost tempted to rear that same hand back and slap him once more.

“Bite me.”

In a haze of rough, needy kisses and enough love bites to kill a man, you’d finally felt that your teasing quota was met. One final peck to the tip of his nose had Punk gasping for air, as you slithered your hand between your bodies and palmed his cock. You lift your hips, his pupils blown like he’d just seen the center of the universe.

“Missed seeing you on top of me—” Punk blurts out, looking shocked at the delicacy of his own words.

You flash him a wicked smile, not wasting any time in pushing your panties to the side and teasing his tip at your entrance.

“Bet you missed this pussy too, hm?”

Your condescension only adds to the fire raging in those evergreen eyes. Punk can only nod into submission as you lower yourself onto him, stretching out your walls around his cock and reinstating your title as the perfect fit.

Collective sighs fill the air, but there was still a small amount of unspoken tension that lingered above your heads like a storm cloud. There was only one way to release that tension— and it was the best way that you knew how.

Before you know it, the pace of your rocking hips picks up in speed, and the trembling breaths leaving Punk’s parted lips sounded like church bells ringing in your ears.

“Oh my God, fuck— Bunny—” he grunts, his hands grabbing tightly onto to your waist like clothespins as he guides you up and down his cock.

“Say my name. My— real name.”

Now that demand was something you knew he hated to do.

Although never showing any distaste for your real name, he had an aversion to using it. Only allowing himself to use it was of the utmost importance.

For himself, he preferred you just call him Punk, simply because ‘Phil’ just felt too mundane for his eclectic, brooding tastes.

The same went for you. The phenomenon of a ring name was something that got him more hot than bothered— and since you weren’t a wrestler, nor were you planning to be, he was left to his own devices to give you one. That was when ‘Bunny’ came about.

He may have chosen ‘Bunny’ for a multitude of reasons—it could have been for the fuzzy boots you wore on the winter night you’d met him outside of an indie show, or the way your nose crinkled up every time he said something that made you wince. For a while, you’d assumed that he’d forgotten your real name.

But you never really questioned his logic. Hell, you rarely questioned any of his idiosyncrasies at all.

If Bunny was what he liked to call you, then Bunny it was.

“Say my name, Phil. Fucking— say it.”

An impetuous moan breaks you out of your reminiscing, feeling that rage inside of you bubble back up into the desire to cause him more than just emotional pain. You take your hand and cup his jaw, fiercely pulling his spaced out eyes back into yours.

“Ah, fuck— fuckin’ Christ, you’re a lunatic.”

Your grip on his jaw grows tighter, watching him fight a smile with the ruminating thought of his masochistic ways in the back of your mind.

“You love this shit,” you pant, still rocking your hips with an utmost force that eventually brought the coffee table beside you to rattle, “Admit it. Tell me you love it and say my fucking name.”

An array of sloppy sounds fills the room once again, you can see, and feel, Punk’s shoddy attempts to fight back your ruthless aggression with his hips.

He slams into you upwards, a ping-pong of changing power dynamics, your entire body somehow feels like it weighs a ton.

“Kiss me. Bite me. Do it— do it ‘till it hurts.”

Suddenly, you’re crying out, loosening your hold on his jaw to run your nails down the front of his chest. He winces in pure, unbridled lust at the feeling of that brief sharp pain, and snaps his hips up even faster.

“Say my name first,” you barely squeeze out the words.

“Shit— Y/N— I fucking love you.”

Your wish was his command.

As you continue to bounce on his cock with enough force to drive you off the rails, you duck down, and slam your lips against his.

It was almost as if that final kiss was what he needed to send him to the brink of climax— his rhythm suddenly sloppy and his hands now crawling across your back to keep you pinned to his chest. You almost go weak in his arms when he bites at your neck, running his hand through the back of your hair and holding you closer— as if closer than you were right now was even humanly possible.

“Punk, oh my God— just like that, yeah. Right— right fuckin’ there—”

The rhythm of his hips was hitting every single mark— your walls tensing around his thick shaft with each snap of his hips and every glance into his needy eyes. He groaned for you, that poor, beaten up face of his looking as though you had him under a spell.

“Nobody fucks me like you do,” you breathe out, hoping your words were everything he needed and more to push him to the edge, “I love you. I still love you— so fucking much.”

A symphony of moans breaks you out of your bouts of praise, his hips snapping upwards with utmost force and bringing your entire body to tremble above him.

“Oh fuck. Fuck, Y/N!”

And suddenly, as if you were whipped through space and time, stars and fireworks fluttering towards the pit of your stomach— his cock twitches inside of you with an unspeakable amount of desperation and desire, reaching his climax in tandem with yours.

“Jesus Christ,” you sigh, sinking down to lay your cheek atop the fresh ink on his chest.

Punk lets out a low whistle, one that sounds familiar, and oddly comforting to you. It is reminiscent of a sigh of relief, as if having you wholly again was the one thing that kept his sarcastic quips and shitty ego afloat. All of that tension that lingered in the doorway of your apartment disappeared in an instant, his hands wrapping around you tightly as you attempted to level your breathing.

“You really know how to wear a man out, don’t ya?” Punk comments, tracing hearts and stars across your shoulder blades.

“I feed off souls, it's how I stay young.”

A simultaneous, hearty chuckle shakes both of your bodies. There was a feeling brewing around in your head that you couldn’t quite place your finger on. Maybe it was regret, but it was far too early to tell.

Especially with him still being inside of you.

“A succubus of sorts, hm?” says Punk, picking up your chin.

“Maybe. Maybe my mystifying, witchy-woman powers are what brought you here.”

“Or maybe I’m the one who can sense sadness. Don’t think I didn’t see those kicked-puppy-dog eyes when you opened the door...”

There it was again. The Punk you knew and loved. Defensive, yet somehow still able to make you swoon.

“...Gotta admit, there is a bit of magic between us.”

After laying in Punk’s arms for a long while after, that overwhelming sense of impending doom had dissolved completely.

You watched Punk scramble up and down the stairs of your lofted apartment to grab you everything you needed. A warmed washcloth and a glass of water; the two staples in your aftercare routine.

“Need anythin’ else?” You hear his disembodied voice from the kitchen above the running water.

“Actually, I do,” you comment, sitting up fully on the couch after he’d re-dressed you in your pajamas, “I need you to admit that coming here at midnight to bother me about a pair of gym shorts was a stupid fuckin’ plan.”

Punk freezes in his tracks, a sly smile sneaking onto his lips as he reaches over to dramatically turn the faucet off, “Guess I didn’t really think it through. I was more focused on seeing you. I needed an excuse to cover my own ass— the shorts were the best I could do.”

“Do better,” you snarl, “Still want ‘em back?”

Before replying, Punk slides beside you on the couch, his arm ready to cradle your head into the crook of his neck. He presses his lips against the side of your head, keeping there as his breathing slows.

“You can keep the shorts, Bunny. Just as long as you take me with ‘em.”

[sundives]

Magnets ✶ lhs.

Either way, you have me at my wit's end.

Summary: Lee Heeseung, according to your sort of college crushes, falls under the category of the unreachable. One being he's a bandmate and friend of your younger brother, (which automatically means he's off-limits), and two, he's popular, intelligent, and every girl's dream guy, which still validates your sort even if we cross out the first reason. And yet, a small part of you wondered, if Lee Heeseung can be just at an arm's length. 

And somewhere, in the middle of your junior year, a mystic force somehow pulled you and Heeseung together. A push and pull of feelings that had you wondering if he’s really unreachable. (or not, you just don’t want to assume really.)

✰ Song Inspiration: Magnets by Niki, Sway covered by Beabadoobee (original by Bic Runga), Take A Chance With Me by Niki

✰ Word Count: 25.6k

✰ Tags: Tooth-rotting fluff, best friend’s older sister, kinda realization of feelings, jealousy, drunken confessions ig, a bit of angst, smut! Yang Jungwon as reader’s younger brother, band au! College settings, classmates! Bar parties, mentions of alcohol. Heeseung is such a natural flirt (and is an epitome of mixed signals.) He is also in a band, mentions Enhypen members, mentions of kpop idols, Yunah and Karina as your best friends. Jungwon calls reader “noona.” He’s also so protective that he can be an asshole sometimes. Reader is kinda delusional but in denial but I get her. Heeseung has a high-alcohol tolerance for the sake of the plot. Switch of POV at some point of the story. 

✰ CW: Smut! Plot with little porn, p in v sex, unprotected sex lmao (pls don’t) drunk sex, creampie, oral (f and m receiving), aggressive making out, mentions of blood, fingering, squirting, light spanking, multiple orgasms, names (pretty, baby), grinding, cowgirl, aftercare!!! Multiple smut scenes because I’m practicing for my next fic but still shitty. Hope you enjoy though.

✰ Asul’s note: It’s Heeseung’s story this time! Third installment of Arcanum series. I also kinda made Enha members same-aged in this series, (hyung line are juniors while maknae line are sophomores, and idk why I am telling y’all this now lmao.) This one is lighter compared to my other stories hehe. Some talks about “The Virgin Suicides” because I love that novel sm and I’m going to nerd the hell out of it. 

And kinda spoiler? But the self-composed song of Arcanum is actually this song! (give love to the og singer pls) I just remembered Heeseung covered this during Fate Concert in New Clark City (and he did posted a short cover of it WTF.) The song and lyrics matched the story that’s why I included it here. Anyways, enjoy this not proofread, tooth-rotting story.

You can check the other member's stories here: Jay | Sunghoon

✰ Taglist: @kiikiisblog @chuuyaobsessed @k1ttyjwon @bussolares @rosepetals09 @m1kkso @dearestdreamies @dreamiestay @cloud-lyy @iamliacamila @heeseungsgf26 @dulcetnostalgia

-

According to your list, you have two types of crushes. 

The first ones are the reachables. Meaning, your crushes that you can potentially date or maybe pull if you’re lucky.

The first one being Jake Sim, who’s an orgmate of yours. You two only started as a staff for the Student Aid Organization during your first years in college, assisting students with their grievances. It wasn’t until Jake became the vice president of the said organization while you became his executive assistant, wherein you two became much closer. Jake was the ideal boyfriend. He was smart, good-looking, and fun to be with. You might have a chance with him if he reciprocates your small crush on him. 

The other one is Lee Chanyoung, a sophomore who is the rookie of Decelis University’s swimming team. He’s tall, handsome, but was a shy kid that you interviewed back when you were part of Decelis Publications. You remembered flustering him with your compliments, making the poor kid blush hard. You don’t mind dating him if only your interaction with him becomes frequent, but for now, he’s just an eye candy crush. 

Then, there are the unreachable ones. Your crushes who will forever remain in the crush-zone. Those crushes of yours that you had 0.0001% chance to date with, and so what? It’s just a crush, a small admiration to them.

Like Kang Taehyun. The most popular student in your department. He just happens to be the president of the Education Department’s student council. He holds a good reputation among his peers. Friendly and has a good aura around him. You had a few interactions with him and the rumors about his kindness exceeded you. Despite that, he remains (and will remain) unreachable due to the fact that he has a girlfriend. — you don’t want to ruin a relationship of course. 

Then, there’s Lee Heeseung. The one that you considered as the most unreachable crush of yours. 

There’s not enough words to describe Lee Heeseung, but he was everything. That man is everyone’s dream guy. Considering that he’s been a classmate of yours since freshman year, it’s undeniable that he’s an intelligent student. Considered as one of your department’s top students. 

Aside from that, he’s like Decelis University’s Troy Bolton. Heeseung lives a double life of being part of your department’s basketball team and playing in a band. While Decelis’ official basketball team tries hard to recruit him, Heeseung refuses to join because he knows that he’ll have to dedicate every minute of his time for it. Meaning it has to be his top priority and nothing else.

And everyone knows why. Heeseung can’t leave his band. How can he when he’s the one who formed the band and is basically the center of it? Lee Heeseung just happens to be the vocalist and guitarist of the band Arcanum, a university band that he formed along with some other students, that includes your younger brother — which leads you to another reason why he’s unreachable.

Your younger brother, Yang Jungwon was Arcanum’s drummer. His passion in music had convinced him to join the band, befriending his seniors and forming a bond with them through making music. 

That’s when you found yourself as the older sister who comes home to her house that served as a band practice for Arcanum. Perks of living in a house just a few blocks near the university.

Heeseung being Jungwon’s friend automatically meant he was off-limits since both you and Jungwon found it weird dating his friends, (in vice versa, so does the thought of Jungwon dating your friends.) Even though you and Heeseung were classmates first, and somewhere there, you had a crush on Heeseung first before he became friends with Jungwon, you decided that he’s automatically off-limits the moment Arcanum was formed. 

Still, in your mind, even if Heeseung wasn’t Jungwon’s friend, he is still unreachable. 

Heeseung’s aura and charisma can be seen from the way he controls the stage up to how he presents himself in court and classroom. He’s proud of it, and can be defined untouchable like the rest of his bandmates.

He’s like a star that is far from your reach. Hundreds of girls would die to be his girlfriend. There’s not a day where he receives confessions. But Heeseung would just laugh it off, rejecting it with a kind tone and apologies, and everyone knows why: Lee Heeseung isn’t looking for a relationship at the moment, which crushes every girl’s dream of becoming his. 

And that sort of includes you, but you know that you’re far from becoming Heeseung’s girlfriend. There were prettier, curvier, and even smarter girls who got rejected by Heeseung. That’s why you know it’ll never cross his mind to even spare a glance at you — his friend’s older sister. 

You’re decent, average grades, and probably being an independent sister who looks after her younger brother is the only thing that you can brag about. Still, that doesn’t make you stand out of the crowd. That’s why you’re long convinced that Heeseung wouldn’t even notice you, hence making him more unreachable.

Yet, there has always been a small part inside you, wondering — probably yearning, if Heeseung can still be reachable for you. 

-

Second semesters are always hell. For some reason, you feel like there’s a curse in the second semester because the course subjects always feel heavy and draining as if it’s challenging you to give up before the academic year ends.

“This project will take about 60% of your midterm grades, so I want everyone to be crucial in this paper,” and to make it worse, you choose an elective that demands more than your major subjects. A straight thin line forming on your lips as you jotted down the instructions that’s currently flashed on the tv screen.

“You can choose your own partner in this project, but you can also opt to do it solo, just kindly inform the class beadle and have her send me the list by the end of the day, any questions?” You stared at your notes. Although the paper analysis will be heavy for you, you’ll rather do it solo than do it with someone who’ll probably slack off and leave you to do all the work. 

The professor dismissed the class. Everyone was scurrying on their desk, eager for lunch while you took your time putting down your things inside your bag, even grabbing your phone to check any message from your friends that you didn’t notice the figure approaching you.

“Y/n hey,” you felt someone tapping you back and as you turned around, you saw Heeseung standing in front of you. You only stared at him and his boyish smile while his hands were in his slack’s pockets. His backpack swinging on his right arm while he had his hairstyle like he just messily brushed it using his hand and yet, it doesn’t look like a mess. 

God, you always forgot how handsome Heeseung was up close, but that's not what you had in your mind right now. 

“Hi,” you said, barely audible. Confusion got into you since this is the first time Heeseung approached you. 

“Can we be partners for the project?” he asked, and it took you a minute to process what he just said. 

“Why?” you immediately blurted out, hopefully it didn’t come as offensive as you intended it to be. Just surprised.

“Well, you’re the only one I’m kinda close with here,” Heeseung pointed out, and that made you confused. “And you’re good at this kind of project.”

Now the second sentence made sense. “Lee Heeseung, I’m not going to carry your ass in this project.”

Heeseung’s eyes widened, “wait, that’s not what I meant. What I’m trying to say is that I trust you not to give us low grades, we’ll work together of course.” 

You only blinked. Together. For the years you and Heeseung had been classmates, this is probably the first time you and Heeseung become partners for a project. Sometimes, you two do end up in a group but this one’s different. It’s just going to be the two of you. Alone. And the fact that he asked you to be his partner had your heart going crazy. 

“You can’t do it alone? Like, genuinely?” you asked once again. 

Heeseung looks away embarrassed, “have you seen me reading a whole novel? I’ll doze off before I can go to the second page. Plus I think two heads are better than one.” 

You looked away. A part of you is panicking inside. Screaming “Emergency!” the more you interact with him, the more you’re going to be convinced that he’s reachable. But another part of you is screaming, “go get that bag!” this is your chance! You shouldn’t turn it down. 

“Fine. This one’s a month-long project, the deadline is during the examination period but I prefer passing it a week before our exam so that I can focus on my other subjects,” you explained. “Is that okay with you?”

In the end, your crush on him is bigger than your rationality. Brain short-circuiting and just convincing yourself that this is a good idea. 

“All good for me — oh right, we have a band practice in your house later after class, we can meet up there so that we can choose what novel we are going to analyse and distribute the task, how’s that sounds?” he suggested. 

See this is why Heeseung is such a dream guy. He knows how to balance his academics, even with the hectic basketball practice and band practice, he can still find time to prioritise his studies and even acing it out. 

You hate that he’s so admirable yet out of your reach, and even though he’s standing in front of you, asking you to be his project partner, you can still feel the barrier between the two of you. 

“Fine, but I might go home a bit late, I have dinner with my friends.” that was the only thing that you said before grabbing your bag. “Is there anything else that you need?”

“Nothing else, I got the instructions on my notes too. So, see you later?” Heeseung smiles. 

“See you later Heeseung,” you only said, trying your best to act nonchalantly even though your heart’s going to explode any minute.

“Oh right, eat well! Bye!” and with that, Heeseung leaves you alone there standing, caught-off guard with his words. 

What the actual fuck. You cursed internally. His words loop in your mind until you’ve met with your friends. 

“Eat well!? Girl! You should eat a lot, not spend your lunch with iced coffee!” your best friend Karina, shrieks. 

The three of you are at some small coffee shop outside Decelis for lunch. Of course, you’ll have to report your interaction with Heeseung to your friends, who were almost celebrating because of it.

“If he says that to you, then he should’ve given you money to buy your lunch so that you’ll eat well,” Yunah added, almost laughing. 

“Stop it guys, you two are being too loud,” you said in defeat, but the faint blush on your cheeks gives off the fact that you were flustered. “Okay fine, I’ll buy a sandwich and fries.” 

“Oh Heeseung’s impact~ I mean if my crush told me that, I’ll buy myself food too,” Karina teases.

You could only roll your eyes in annoyance. Standing up from your seat to buy some food for you — and not because Heeseung told you to eat well, but because you know that iced coffee wouldn’t suffice. 

You returned to your table with a tray of selected savory breads instead. Karina and Yunah are still eyeing you teasingly, which makes you cautious all of the sudden. 

“Have you ever thought about why he approached you to become his partner for the project?” Yunah asked. 

“He did say I’m the only one he’s closed with in our section,” you explained. 

“Close? Since when are you guys close? He’s much closer to Jungwon than you,” Karina rebutted.

Karina wasn’t lying. You and Heeseung aren't close. He’s the only one you interacted the least out of Arcanum. And whenever you think about it, it’s probably because your romantic crush on him makes him intimidating to you. 

“Okay? Well at least we know each other?” you weren’t sure why Heeseung did approach you, and you were holding yourself to not jump into any other conclusions. “It’s just a project guys, it’s not like he’s asking me out on a date.”

“See, what if that project of yours will lead to that conclusion —”

“You guys got to stop feeding into my delusions, I’m still not going to date him, he’s Jungwon’s friend,” 

“And if he doesn’t?” Karina asked. 

“I told you guys this about a hundred times, Heeseung’s not looking for a relationship at the moment, means he’s not serious about commitments, while I prefer committed relationship,” you explained further. 

“Okay and? You might be the girl that’ll make him commit,” Yunah added. 

“Guys oh my god, stop enabling me! You two are just making it worse!” you frustratedly laughed, making the two of them laugh. 

“But I’m still suspicious about Heeseung, you need to update us girl!” Karina eagerly said. “My bet is that Heeseung does have other intentions on approaching you,”

“This is nothing guys, I swear.” you casually said to them, even though deep inside you wanted to trust your friends’ words. Because, what if really? There’s a reason why Heeseung approached you all of the sudden?

The remaining afternoon classes went on. Reports, lessons, and recitations were done with ease even though you almost dozed off in one subject. The afternoon slowly darkens, with the orange sky welcoming you as you step outside your department building. 

You’ve met up with Karina and Yunah to have early dinner at a small local eatery outside Decelis University. The sun had completely set but the three of you remained at the eatery, spending a few hours gossiping and talking shit about your classmates. Later then, you three decided to leave the place and opt for frozen yoghurt as dessert. 

Yunah bid goodbye first, since her dormitory is just nearby the yoghurt place. While you and Karina walked towards the bus stop since she lives an hour away from Decelis. Conversations never stop until your friend’s bus arrives. You hugged her goodbye and as you watched the bus leave, that was your cue to go home. 

Your home, the house that you grew up in, is located just a few blocks away from Decelis. Your parents were always away due to their job, rarely home only during important events like holidays or graduations, that’s why you’ve grown accustomed to its silence. Back when you were kids, you had servants attending you but now that you and Jungwon are old enough, it has always been the two of you now, learning independence while your parents aren’t around. 

As you reached the front door of your house, you could already hear the faint sounds of their instruments, you glanced at your watch and noticed that it’s already seven-thirty in the evening, which means that they had started practice an hour ago. They’ll finish it around nine but that doesn’t mean they’ll be going home by that time. Sometimes they would play games or have snacks, either way, you’re used to it. 

You open the door quietly enough to not disturb them, removing your shoes and placing it on the racks near the doorway before you make your entrance. 

They continued practicing but all eyes darted on you, making you walk faster. A few nods and soft “hi” and “hello” were exchanged as you passed by them. It has become a usual scenario wherever you go home by the time they’re practicing, you’ll greet them out of decency.

You’re careful not to disturb them in their practice, that’s why you’re always in your room whenever they’re practicing. They do sometimes ask you to join them for dinner, which you’ll gladly do for free food. Usually, you’ll just sit there and listen to their conversation, but most of the time, they do include you in their talk. Jay and Sunghoon, being the most talkative, made you comfortable around them. 

“Noona, we have pizzas on the dining table!” Jungwon shouted, not even stopping from playing the drums. 

“I’m already full! I’ll be in my room!” you shouted before going upstairs towards your room. It wasn’t that soundproof but it was muffled enough for you not to be annoyed by the noise. 

You took a short shower before changing into a fitted shirt and pajamas, wearing a zipped jacket in addition because you were feeling cold that night. As you sat on the edge of your bed, your mind was racing all of the sudden, remembering that Heeseung was supposed to meet you tonight for the project.

Coincidentally, a knock on the door startled you, and as you opened it, Jungwon was standing in front of you. 

“Heeseung hyung is looking for you,” he said, and you can see the weird look he was giving you. Like a cat judging your whole existence.

“Did he tell you why?” you asked him.

“He said something about a project, you two were partners,” noticing the way Jungwon cringed when he said “partners.” 

“Okay, just a minute,” you grabbed your iPad and phone before going out. Patting your brother’s shoulder before you push him to start walking. You two went downstairs where the boys are on the couch, drinking some colas and eating the cold pizza. 

“Hi y/n, want some pizza?” Sunghoon offered as soon as you’re near them, but you only gave him a smile. 

“Thanks still full,” you said as you approached Heeseung who immediately darted his attention to you.

“Should we start now?” he asked, round eyes staring at you. “I’m still eating.” 

“Okay fine, why call me now then?” you crossed your arms. 

He raised the bitten pizza before giving you a smile. “Want some?”

His bandmates looked at him like they were judging his whole existence. While you only stared at him for a second before a “Huh?” escapes your lips, immediately brushing it off with a soft laugh. 

“I already told you guys, I’m still full.” you repeated. “I’ll be outside by the patio, just call me if we can start the project.” 

Heeseung watched as you went towards the hallway where the backdoor of the patio is located, his stare went for long until he felt a crumpled tissue land on his face. 

“The fuck was that?” Jungwon asked in a serious tone. 

“I’m just offering her some food,” Heeseung shrugs. “You didn’t call out Sunghoon, he’s the first one to offer.”

“Well, if you had known that I offered her first, you wouldn’t have offered either,” Sunghoon rebutted. 

“Maybe she’ll eat it if I’m the one who offered her food.” The vocalist said so casually that it made his bandmates laugh. 

“Wow, that’s rich coming from you,” Jay taunted. “You guys aren’t even that close.” 

“Yeah, that’s why it’s okay if I offer her pizza, we’re close,” Sunghoon added, a hint of teasing in his voice.

“Stop talking about my sister like I’m not here,” the youngest groans. “Really, hyungs, not only you, Heeseung hyung. Seriously —”

“Don’t date your sister, we know Jungwon, that’s like the first thing you said during our first practice in your house,” Jay answered. 

“And you have nothing to worry about? I’m literally engaged while Jay’s still yearning for that mystery girl of his.” Sunghoon stated the obvious. 

“Okay maybe you can get worried about Heeseung,” Jay grinned. 

Heeseung immediately sat up from his seat, an awkward chuckle leaving his lips. “You don’t have to worry about me too, I am not looking for a relationship you know that.” 

“Sure Hee, whatever floats your boat,” Jay mocks. 

“Yeah sure, now if you excuse me, I’ll be going to the patio because y/n and I are going to discuss our project which is a novel analysis, and you have nothing to worry about Jungwon,” Heeseung explains, saluting mockingly to Jungwon who could only do nothing but watch his friend go towards the hallway where the backdoor was. 

“Not going to stop him?” Sunghoon teased.

“I don’t want to be that annoying brother who’s too protective,” Jungwon replied, taking a sip on his drinks. 

Jay lets out a sarcastic laughter. “You didn’t just fucking said that right now.” 

Meanwhile, you're sitting peacefully on the long couch of your patio. Reviewing the instructions given by your professor when you heard the metal door creaking. Startled, you glanced at it and saw Heeseung leaning against the doorframe. 

“So, our project?” he started, approaching you as he sat on the other chair, immediately, you fixed your position, sitting legs criss-cross as you tried to act as normal as possible even though your heart was racing, mind panicking internally. 

You couldn’t even look at him for so long that you immediately scrolled through your iPad, trying to act serious even though you're palpitating inside. Is it the iced coffee you had for lunch or just the thought that Heeseung’s sitting near you? You don’t know but it’s not helping at all.

“Right, any suggestions on the novel we will be choosing? Prof. Jeon told us we can choose any novel that we wanted as long as we were able to make a good argument about why we chose it,” you explained, still eyeing your iPad where your notes were. 

“Hmm good question, you choose our novel, I don’t even know what’s good or not,” Heeseung suggested. 

That’s when you only look at him, “Heeseung, I told you I’m not going to carry you in this project.”

A nervous chuckle escaped his lips. “No, that’s not what I meant! You suggest a novel and I’m going to read it, even buy it for our project’s sake, and try my best to understand it. I’m just really not that great at this type of project so please help me with this one.”

You only blinked. Staring at him who’s pleading at you, which is funny because you never expect Heeseung — one of your department’s top students, to be failing in some areas.

“Okay but why did you even choose modern literature as an elective?” you asked suddenly confused. 

“Ran out of slots in analytical economics.” Heeseung casually said. “Come on, don’t leave me with this one y/n, I can’t fail this elective.” 

“I’m not, don't worry,” you laughed. “I’m just surprised that you’re not good at this one.” 

Heeseung chuckles because of your statement. “What? What makes you think I excel in everything?” 

You stopped for a second, “I mean — you’re one of our top students, Heeseung, that’s why.” 

“Hey, I’m not that smart, I just study hard,” Heeseung nonchalantly said. “Going back to our topic, how about we go with your favorite novel?”

“Okay, no need to flaunt it,” you sarcastically remarked. “My favorite novel? It’s The Virgin Suicides.”

“Does this involve actions and stuff?” 

You laugh at his words. “You really think a novel titled ‘The Virgin Suicides’ involves actions and stuff?” 

“I’m just kidding! Watch the movie and sure, let’s go with that one.”

A chuckle of disbelief escapes your lips, “you’ve watched the movie?”

“Hey, it’s a Sofia Coppola movie.” Heeseung pointed out. 

“So you’re a cinephile of sorts? Is your favorite movie American Psycho or some 1980s Korean independent film that has low budget but great cinematography?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes I do love watching movies but no, my favorite movie is Toy Story 3.” 

Another laughter escapes your mouth, hearing Heeseung’s laughter made you forget the reason why you two were at that patio. You don’t know whether to believe his words or not, but hearing his soft laughter just made the butterflies in your stomach flutter so hard that you’re trying your best to conceal the fleeting feeling. 

With the cold breeze of the summer night, along the thousands of stars in the night sky, made the atmosphere lighter. Brighter along with the soft yellow lights around your patio. Heeseung’s smile never left as he stared at you, which made your smile turn into a thin line. 

So, this is what talking to your ultimate crush feels like. You thought. And for a moment, your heart stopped, realizing that this is too good to be true — making you snap from reality. That’s why you diverted back to the reason why you and Heeseung are talking in the first place. 

Going back to your meeting, you two equally divided the parts. The project seems to be lighter now that your task has been divided. Heeseung suggested that you two should brainstorm after finishing the novel, which you mindlessly nodded, jotting down the deadlines you two made so that you can finish the project in no time. 

“You know it’ll be interesting if we compare the movie adaptation to the novel,” Heeseung suggested as the two of you decided to finish the meeting. Going inside your house, but stopping midway in the hallway. 

“You’re really dedicating your time for this project huh?” you teased. “I mean I don’t mind at all.”

“Oh great! We should watch it together, what do you think?”

“What —” you were caught-off guard. Did Heeseung just ask you to watch it together with him?

You became quiet for a moment. Recalling your friend’s words — how Heeseung has other intentions on why he approached you for the project. Is this the reason? You’ve got to be kidding because why would Heeseung ask you to watch The Virgin Suicides with him? For a project that’s only a novel analysis? There’s got to be another reason why. 

But from the moment you were too quiet, too deep in your thoughts, a loud clearing of the throat snapped you out. You glanced and saw Jungwon raising an eyebrow at the two of you. 

“Jay hyung and Sunghoon hyung had left a while ago,” Jungwon stated. “They said you’re taking your time with y/n.”

“Ah shit, now I have to commute back home,” Heeseung groans. “Sorry Won, we just want to make sure our project’s perfect and organized.”

Jungwon only shrugs before glancing at you — that’s when you remembered.  

“I’m okay with it, let’s just do it after finishing the novel,” you answered Heeseung. “I think that concludes everything about our project.”

“Yeah sure, well thanks for your time y/n. I have to go now before Jungwon kicks me out,” Heeseung laughs. 

“I really am about to,” Jungwon said with a glare. 

Heeseung gives you a small smile and wave before walking towards Jungwon who only followed his friend, leaving you standing there, heart bursting out any moment. 

You could only curse internally. You didn’t just fucking spent a few hours with your ultimate crush alone in your patio. God, your preconceived notion of him being everyone’s dream guy with all the brains and charisma is the tip of the iceberg. He just happens to be pathetic in some areas but at the same time, still knows the littlest details in niche topics. You want to curse the gods because why would they create such an ideal man but make him unreachable for you. 

You could only stomp your feet out of frustration before calming yourself for a minute. Taking deep breaths, you decided to call it night, leaving the hallway and going upstairs when midway, your younger brother called you, watching him climb the stairs before standing next to you. 

“So, you and Heeseung hyung —”

“Are partners for our elective project, nothing more, nothing less,” you replied immediately. “It’s normal Won, we’re classmates remember.”

“Just reminding you noona, about our agreement,” Jungwon heaves out a sigh. “Don’t want you to fall for Heeseung hyung, he kinda tends to give girls mixed signals.” 

“Funny that you’re saying that when he’s a friend of yours,” you pointed out. 

“He knows it himself too,” Jungwon shrugs.

“Don’t worry about it Won, I don’t think Heeseung finds me attractive though.” you answered, thinking that Arcanum sees you as ‘Jungwon’s older sister.’ 

“Hey! You’re pretty, what on earth are you talking about?” your younger brother immediately replied, seeing him all worked-up, you could only laugh as you pat his shoulders.

“You’re just saying that because we’re siblings,” you teased. “You don’t have to worry about anything Won, this is just a project. Okay, I’m kinda tired now, so let’s just go to sleep.” 

The two of you went upstairs together, saying goodnight to each other before proceeding to go to each other’s room. The beaming silence makes you lost in your thoughts. You made your way towards your bed and as you lay down there, clutching on your iPad, the smile on your face never faded, heck it even grew wider at the thought that you have reasons to grow closer with Heeseung. 

Of course, it’s still under the disguise of the fact that you two were project partners, but it’s a way to show to you that Heeseung is, somehow, reachable. 

-

The next few weeks were nothing but a fast forward in your life. 

You continue going on with your routine, with one sudden turn — the novel rests idly inside your bag. Rereading it for the project, and as you turn every page you wonder about your partner. 

It halted to you that everything was actually for project purposes. You and Heeseung remained the same. The barrier between the two of you going back to the same height and him returning to your unreachable category — and you were okay with it, no more heart burns and an imaginative mind clouding your delusional self.

Of course, Heeseung continued coming over to your place. Their band practices went normal where you would just greet them with short conversations before you lock yourself in your room. No more private conversations and such, you can tell that Jungwon felt at ease, thinking what you and Heeseung had is just some academic collaboration. 

But by the end of the week, you were surprised when Heeseung approached you. 

“I’m like halfway through the novel and there’s a lot of scenes that were so important but weren't included in the film, we need to brainstorm that.” Heeseung told you.

“I thought you'd be the type to doze off before proceeding to the next page?” you teased. 

“Well I need to lock in because I’m required to read it, but it's an interesting novel though,” he replied. 

And just when you thought you'd be at peace. Heeseung asked you for a short brainstorming. “Alright, you choose when and what time since you’re the busy one here.”

“I’m thinking Saturday, it’s my free day. I literally just sleep and play the whole day, so I wouldn’t mind spending my free day with you.” 

You tried your best to ignore his words. Cursing him internally because why does he always catch you off guard? You let out an awkward chuckle before glancing at him. “Okay, Saturday — wait, this Saturday right?”

Heeseung only nods. “Cool — uhm, what time and where?”

“Wait, how about we exchange numbers? So that we can contact each other.” 

Woah. This is going to be the end of you. Lee Heeseung asking for your number? Now that’s a reach. You mindlessly nod, letting out a squeaky “sure” before grabbing your phone for him to type his number — same goes with him on your phone. 

“There, I even put my photo there too,” Heeseung laughs, giving you back your phone. 

“You’re fast, I would’ve put a meme photo on your contact list.” you only replied as you gave him back his phone. You glanced at his contact number wherein his selfie is already plastered on his contact photo. You can tell that he just took the photo just now and why the hell does he know his angle? Now you’re just frustrated because he’s too good with everything he does. 

“You didn’t put a photo of yours,” Heeseung said, looking at the dull contact. “Come on, I’ll take a picture of you.”

And as if his words were like a spell, you only smiled in front of him as you held out a small peace sign. Heeseung smiles as he captures the photo, saving it as your contact photo. 

“Cute, now, we match,” Heeseung flaunts his contact photo on you, which only made you chuckle. Trying so hard not to give his words meaning. 

“Just tell me the details Heeseung, see you on Saturday,” you told him. “I have to go now, my friends are waiting for me.”

“See you! Stay safe!” he said, waving lightly as you left. 

You wanted to scream. Really, you’re internally screaming. You need a pillow where you can muffle your screams but the only thing you could do is cover your face with your hands as you scream. Both Karina and Yunah looked at you teasingly as you dropped on your knees inside Yunah’s dorm room. 

“No, why would he do that!? Why!?” you whined, as you dropped dead on the floor. 

“See I told you he has intentions,” Karina pointed out. 

“No! He can’t! Maybe he’s just nice —”

“Girl, are you serious? He said, and I quote “I don’t mind spending my free day with you.” and you’re going to conclude that he’s just nice!?” Yunah frustratedly shouted. 

“Let’s break it down y/n. First, he asked you to meet him on a Saturday, his supposed free day but he doesn’t mind spending it with you. Then, he asked for your number, and he fucking took a photo of you! And what did he say afterwards? You two match? What the actual fuck because the last straw was him telling you “stay safe!” if that doesn’t conclude anything other than he’s interested in you, then I don’t know why you’re so in denial about it.” Karina summarized.

You could only let out a deep sigh. Karina had summarized EVERY hint that Heeseung may be into you, not until you remember — “But Jungwon said he’s a mixed signal type of guy, I just don’t want to jump into conclusions guys,” you immediately rebutted. 

Both Yunah and Karina looked at you, a furrow of eyebrows and forehead creased before a disappointed “ahhh” escaped their lips.

“I mean, have you seen the guy? He has a natural flirty attitude! So the tendency is girls will really think that he’s interested in them — even me! But I don’t want to assume anymore but ugh!” that’s when you grabbed Yunah’s plushie and smashed your face right into it. Letting out a muffled scream for five seconds before looking at your friends once again with a pitied look. 

“We get it, your long-time crush, who you always say is unreachable suddenly became reachable midway junior year, your crash-out is valid girl,” Yunah assured. “But don’t forget to address the other problem, he’s Jungwon’s friend.”

“Fuck, I forgot that one,” you only let out a breathy laugh. “Okay, I’m calmed now. This is just a crash out, just a small vent because Heeseung approached me and asked for my number. This is nothing guys! It’s totally nothing.” 

“If he really is a mixed-signal giver, then just be careful y/n, those are the worst type of guys,” Karina huffs.

“I know, just don’t enable me anymore! You guys are at fault in this one too,” you pointed, making your best friends laugh. 

-

When Saturday arrived, you and Heeseung agreed to meet at a small coffee shop near Decelis after lunch. 

By the time you arrived at the coffee shop, you quickly noticed Heeseung near a corner. He’s reading the novel, even wearing glasses that you assumed were fake yet, it suits his visual. You only smile before walking towards him, who immediately felt your presence. 

“Hi” he greets, smiling as you sit in front of him. 

“Hi, have you ordered coffee?” you asked. 

“I did, how about you?” he asked you back.

“Maybe later, since I’m still full from lunch,” you simply said. “Should we start our brainstorming or do you want to read more pages?”

Heeseung softly chuckles, closing the book as he looks at you. “No wonder this is your favorite novel, it’s a good novel to be honest.”

A skip in your heart was all you felt when he said those words. Smiling, you said, “really?” as Heeseung continued explaining to you why he liked the novel. You only sat there, watching Heeseung ramble about the novel — your favorite novel to be exact.

You know that this is only for academic purposes but hearing Heeseung talk about “The Virgin Suicides” tugs your heart with joy. It’s your favorite novel! It felt like he was getting to know you through your favorite stuff.

“How about you? Don’t tell me, you’re not reading it anymore because you’ve read it?” Heeseung suddenly blurted out, making you laugh softly before grabbing your bag, revealing your old copy which was full of anecdotes and bookmarks. 

“Woah, that’s impressive,” he said, grabbing your copy and skimming through it. 

“I have notes and have bookmarked my favorite quote and everything, but it’s not bad to reread it again in case I missed something,” you simply shrugged. 

“Glad I chose you as my partner in this project,” Heeseung casually said and you only stared at him for a second before taking a sip on your coffee. 

“Consider yourself lucky,” you stated, trying hard to conceal your flusteredness. 

As Heeseung returned you the book, your phone suddenly started ringing. You immediately grabbed it from your bag, and saw that it was Jungwon who’s calling. 

Heeseung watched as your soft expression turned into a different one in a span of your call with Jungwon, your tone rising higher than before like you were lecturing your younger brother. He only smiled as you rolled your eyes along with your frown. 

“You owe me Jungwon,” you told your brother before ending up the call. 

“You need to go now?” Heeseung asked. 

“No, but maybe later. Jungwon and I were supposed to do groceries but he’s busy he told me, he’s going to cram a whole lesson for their quiz, and you know how he is when he’s too focused on reviewing,” you explained to Heeseung. “Now I have to go to the store alone —”

“I can come with you,” Heeseung volunteered. 

“What? No, it’s okay Hee, I’ll just book a car on the way home —” 

“Still, it’s heavy for you to carry it, come on, I don’t mind,” he insisted.

“You might end up going home late,” you rebutted, praying internally that he’d take the hint. 

“And I don’t mind at all,” Heeseung stands up from his seat, and that’s when you realise that you’re doomed. “Come on now, we managed to make progress with our project. Let’s go get those groceries.”

The supermarket is just a bus stop away from Decelis. Once you two entered the busy store, Heeseung automatically pulled a cart which made you stop, glancing at him who only gave you a smile. 

“Go on, I’ll just follow you behind,” Heeseung gestured and you only nod, going straight for the nearest aisle. 

You’re not going to give meaning to everything. You chanted internally. It’s just Heeseung accompanying you to go on your weekly groceries run, because your brother ditched you. He’s just there to accompany you. Nothing more, nothing less. 

But curse the movies and novels because you know groceries. They’re sweet and cute, and have a touch of domesticity in it. Catering to each other’s references, choosing what kind of cereal you two will buy or something. 

The thought of you doing groceries with Heeseung had your imagination go so creative that you almost bumped to the fruit stand. If it wasn’t Heeseung who pulled you immediately, you would’ve knocked down the pyramid of oranges. 

“Careful there,” Heeseung laughs. “Going to buy some fruits?”

“Maybe some bananas since Jungwon likes snacking on them — oh, strawberries too.” you awkwardly walked away from his touch and proceeded to the selection of fruits, eyeing on the fresh looking ones. 

Heeseung could only stare at you as your brows furrowed, grabbing every container, staring at it for every second before moving on to another. It wasn’t until you picked the best and proceeded to the other section. 

He follows you quietly. Watching you grab some products as the cart started to become halfway full, and you two haven’t gone to the other sections. Heeseung silently observes you as you mumble some words like how you’ll probably cook the chicken by Thursday, or you need this ingredient. 

Now, he understands why Jungwon still depends on you even though their drummer tends to have a matured streak. His older sister is reliable, and he thinks that that’s admirable of you. 

“You’re taking these groceries seriously,” Heeseung blurted out, snapping your thoughts. That’s when you realized that you spent a few minutes walking around and picking up products while Heeseung only followed you behind, pushing the cart for you. 

“Sorry, I’m not really fun to be with, especially in a grocery store,” you apologetically replied. 

“It’s not like that, but you look cute to look at,” Heeseung pointed out. “You’re pouting too much just staring at what kind of tofu are you going to buy.”

A faint blush rushed over your cheeks, you awkwardly laughed as you looked away from him. “Just a habit — come on now, I know you’re dying to go to the snacks section.”

As the two of you went through the snacks section, you skimmed around the aisles of chips, grabbing your favorite along with Jungwon’s. As you returned to Heeseung, you noticed how he sneaked in some snacks for him, while he innocently looked away.

You only smiled as you placed down the chips, “fine, I’ll buy it for you Heeseung.”

“Wait, I’m going to pay you with cash,” Heeseung argued, grabbing his wallet when you stopped him.

“A compensation for accompanying me,” you rebutted. “So that you have your own chips in our house.”

Heeseung only has an embarrassed look on his face as he grabs another one. “Fine, but I’ll add another one.”

You two were able to finish the groceries after a half an hour, paying it with the credit card your parents left. Now, the two of you are by the small food court beside the supermarket, buying some snacks for the two of you. 

“This is nice,” Heeseung said. The bowl of instant ramen is warm in front of him as he blows off some steam before eating it. 

“You’re much more patient than Jungwon,” you replied, taking a small bite on the fish cake. “I always wanted to try the snacks here, but Jungwon would prefer going home after.”

“Then next time you go buy your groceries, text me so I can accompany you again,” Heeseung suggested. 

“You’re just here for the free snacks.” you jokingly said.

“That, and I don’t mind accompanying you.” Heeseung rebutted. “Something about doing groceries feels nice, not gonna lie.”

Who would’ve thought? Lee Heeseung doesn’t mind doing groceries with you? The thought sounds nice — sweet if you’re being exaggerated. Heeseung helped in placing the products inside the box, even carrying the box so that you wouldn’t lift a finger. But you know that this is just a one time thing. Jungwon will kill both of you if he discovers that Heeseung accompanied you to do groceries.

-

A few days had passed and your progress in the project was halfway done. Just a little smoothing on the analysis and adaptation comparison (which wasn't from the instructions but you and Heeseung put it in in hopes of gaining additional points.), and you can pass the project even earlier than you two had scheduled. 

Heeseung’s analysis and reports were on spot. No need for you to revise since it was clear and concise, and you’re glad that you agreed to become his partner. You weren’t stressed throughout the paper, making you admire Heeseung for his dedication in the project. 

Now, you’re sitting on your couch, biting on your nails as you remember that today was the day that you’re half-anticipating, half-dreading for — your movie screening with Heeseung. 

Considering that you’re just doing it in the abode of your home, and considering that you two are just project partners who insisted on watching the movie together, you call it a movie screening rather than a date. (and you consider that your younger brother might join in case something happens between you and Heeseung — which, your very imaginative mind shouldn’t have clouded your thoughts but anyway.) 

A ring on the doorbell startled you, almost tripping as you tried to put on your house slippers. As you opened the door, there stood Heeseung in his glory, wearing his department jacket with a fitted sleeveless shirt underneath that hugged his leaned body. Not to mention, those baggy denim pants and cool sneakers.

Your first thought is why he’s overdressed for a movie screening but fucking hell, he’s so handsome that your mind short-circuited especially when he’s holding a helmet. Did he just drive all the way here using his motorbike? God forbids Lee Heeseung to be ten times more attractive than what you’ve thought. 

“Come in,” you said in a quiet yet high-pitched tone that as Heeseung passed by, you physically cringed because of it. 

“So, are you ready for some movie date?” Heeseung asked, slumping on the couch comfortably. 

It’s a movie screening. A movie screening, not a date. This doesn’t look like a date — “of course! Just open the tv, I already selected it there. I’ll just go get some snacks.” you said, going towards the kitchen where your stock was.

“Need help?” Heeseung asked.

“No thanks! You’re a guest, make yourself comfortable!” you answered, because deep inside you’re about to burst any moment.

What the hell. Of course, Heeseung doesn’t know how to take a hint because he stood up from the couch like the gentleman he is and followed you towards the kitchen. You let him wander around as you placed the microwaveable popcorn inside the microwave, and while waiting, you opened your fridge to grab a few drinks for the two of you. Placing it on the tray as Heeseung found the pantry of snacks. 

“Hey, my snacks are still here,” he laughed, grabbing the bag of chips and sweets you bought for him last week.

“You didn’t eat it when you had practice here?” you asked. 

“I told myself I’ll just eat it during our movie date,” Heeseung casually said, and you are holding yourself back from asking him why he keeps on saying that this is a date.

Mixed signals. Mixed signals! Heeseung probably didn’t mean it. You gave him an awkward smile before shifting your attention towards the microwave where just in time, had just finished cooking the popcorn. 

“Heeseung hyung? You’re here?” the two of you stopped when a familiar voice echoed inside the kitchen.

“We’re going to watch a movie for our project,” Heeseung casually said. “Wanna watch it with us?”

As you turn around, Jungwon gives you a knowing look. The “our agreement, don’t forget.” look and you only gave him a nod as he glanced back at his friend. 

“No thanks, you guys enjoy it though — hyung what I told you!” Jungwon warns once again, making Heeseung chuckle. 

“I know dude, calm down,” then, he looks at you. “Let’s go?”

As the two of you arrived at the living room, you two opted to sit on the long couch — sitting on both ends of the couch. You relaxed your legs on the extension of the couch, hugging the throw pillow while Heeseung had his legs sprawled on the space between the two of you. 

Jungwon passes by, glancing at the two of you, contended that you two are a few feet apart, he returns to his room and that was your cue. You grabbed the remote and clicked play, the sound of the movie slipping through the speaker, and there, the two of you watched in peace. 

For the duration of the movie, you two were too immersed with it. Only eating the snacks as both of you were too focused on the scenes, trying to understand the plot and narration, especially since both of you know that the movie’s adaptation is far from the novel. 

“I hate Trip,” Heeseung suddenly blurted out midway through the movie. You only glanced at him, clutching the pillow you were holding. “He’s such an asshole, leaving Lux on the field alone? That’s so sick.” 

“All of the guys are assholes,” you explained. “They don’t even know these girls, they just fantasized about them.”

“Yeah that too, but Trip’s the most jerk out of all of them,” Heeseung laughs. “After stealing Lux’ virginity, he immediately dropped her.”

“All guys do that,” you bitterly said. 

Heeseung didn’t say a word, immediately catching your bitter tone. He glances at you as you munched a few chips to ease the tension. 

“You don’t have to answer it but…saying from your experience?” he asked, body shifting to face you. 

“My ex-boyfriend he…it was after prom too, everything was special and wholesome — from what I feel, then a few weeks later he broke up with me,” you laughed bitterly. “But that was back in high school, I shouldn’t have dated high school guys, they’re immature and horny.” 

“Woah, that’s shitty of him,” Heeseung could only say. “Does he study here?”

“Why? Are you going to hunt him down? He went overseas, and don’t worry, Jungwon gave him a punch and kick in the shin,” you laughed.

“Is that why Jungwon’s so protective of you?” Heeseung asked out of the blue. 

“Half of it is the reason why,” you answered. “My ex was already a walking red flag before we got together, Jungwon warned me and I didn’t listen to him. So when it happened, he kinda had that ‘I told you so’ look but at the same time, he didn’t push it. Simply because I was really hurt at that time.”

Heeseung nods, watching as you shrug with your words, like you’re over it.

“I mean Jungwon’s not that overprotective at all. He’s not the ‘they have to go through me’ type of younger brother. He doesn’t care who I date but because of my experience, I pretty much held a high standard on dating guys.” you laughed.

“Oh really?” Heeseung lazily leans on the couch. “What’s your type then?”

You blinked at his words, knowing damn well that your whole ideal type is in front of you.

“Are we really pausing the movie midway for that question?”

“Come on, in exchange I’ll tell you my type,” he bargained.

Now you’re curious, wondering what kind of girl Heeseung wants, so you bite on it. 

“Okay, I want someone taller than me — that’s the only physical trait that I want. He’s got to be smart and handsome because Jungwon will judge me if I date an ugly and stupid guy. What else? I prefer a straightforward guy because mixed signals are shitty, I don’t want to waste my time overthinking your words.” you replied. 

You saw Heeseung's expression shift when you mention ‘straightforward guys.’ His jaw slacking before quipping a small smile before he spoke, “that’s all?”

“Do you want it to be really specific? Like he’s good at cooking or what type of sport he plays? I don’t go there, just be genuine and straightforward with your feelings for me, and we’re good.” you brushed off. “So, your type?”

“My type?” Heeseung ponders it for a moment, before glancing at you, his stare on you was too long but he doesn’t notice it — but you do. “Probably someone who’s mature and independent, but not too distant that she’s not open about her feelings. You get it right? I don’t mind their physical appearance. I just don’t want girls who are too clingy that it’s suffocating but at the same time, I still want them to be affectionate to me.” 

Not what you expected. Most boys would describe their ideal firstly by their physical appearance. Some want short girls, long hair or short hair, even the skin complexion. While Heeseung’s ideal type doesn’t rely on those, you can still conclude that his standards are high. 

“Sounds like your dream girl needs to be invented in a lab.” you teased. “Have you ever thought that maybe your dream girl is one of the girls you’ve rejected?”

“I know this kinda sounds egoistic but most girls, those who would confess their love to me, they sometimes just like the idea of being with me, Lee Heeseung. Most of them really don’t know who I really am and wouldn’t bother knowing me.”

And to think that you’re one of them gave you a hint of guilt. You have a lot of preconceived notions about Heeseung, assuming that he’s this dreamy guy that’s charismatic and everything. But with the small interactions that you had with him, you slowly realized that he’s more than what you thought. 

A small smile escapes your lips as you shift your attention to the paused screen of your tv, grabbing the remote and fiddling with it as the awkward silence hovered between the two of you. 

“So you’re just like the Lisbon sisters?” you gawked, and Heeseung stared at you for a second before bursting out into fits of laughter. 

“You have your way with words y/n,” Heeseung stated. “But you could say something like that — except the suicide part because my parents are actually decent people who wouldn’t put me on house arrest.” 

You two continued watching the movie. Both falling into a tranquil silence until the end of the movie. The ending credits were rolling but neither of you moved. That’s when you grabbed your phone to check what time it was — it was almost eight in the evening. 

“Great movie,” Heeseung started. “Cut out a lot of scenes from the novel, but Coppola managed to retain the whole vibe of the novel.” 

“I think our project will be successful, given that you had a lot of things to say, I feel like Mr. Jeon should give us additional points if we exceed his maximum number of pages.” you jokingly pointed out. 

“Hey, I’m sure you have much more to add to our project than I do,” Heeseung assured. “Either way, we’re a great team don’t you think?” 

Heeseung raises his hands, smiling at you who didn’t sink in what to do first. Not until Heeseung waves his hands one more time before you clasp his hands, shaking it as both smiles become wide. You didn’t miss the way Heeseung’s hands squeezed your hands lightly before letting it go. 

“We have a week before our agreed deadline, let’s get this done so that we can focus on our midterms,” Heeseung said, standing up from his seat. “I should get going now, Jungwon might wonder why I’m still around.” 

You only laughed as you stood up to walk him towards the door. “I enjoyed the movie Heeseung, take care on the way home.” 

But what surprised you is Heeseung suddenly brushed the stray hairs that almost covered your face, smiling as his hands linger near your cheeks a bit longer than you expected. 

“Goodnight y/n, I enjoyed the movie too,” Heeseung smiles. 

You watch as Heeseung hops onto his motorbike, waving at you before starting its engine and driving away. You stood there speechless in front of your doorway that you didn’t even notice that Jungwon had witnessed the scene. 

So when you turned around, you were surprised when you made eye contact with your younger brother. 

“Have you been there the whole time?” you asked, heart beating fast like you were a deer caught in the headlight. 

“No, I just got down,” Jungwon lied instead. “Heeseung hyung went home now?”

“Yeah — he just did,” you said, almost stumbling to your words. “It’s almost late, do you want to eat dinner or —”

“I’m curious, with the way Heeseung hyung acts around you, have you ever thought of having a crush on him?” Jungwon said, and that made your world stop. 

Were you that obvious? There’s no way Jungwon was able to catch it but then again, this is Jungwon we’re talking about. Your younger brother who’s observant and quick to pick up things. He’s the only person that knows you damn well.

“Why would you think of that?” you immediately asked instead.

“I mean, he’s a guy, he’s also handsome and how he acts — as a girl, have you?” and relief was all you could feel because Jungwon wasn't able to pick it up. 

“Jungwon, whenever I see Heeseung, I see him as your friend, and we’ve said it many times, it’s weird to date your friends.” you answered quickly, since it has always been your excuse. 

“Well, if he wasn’t my friend?” Jungwon asked, crossing his arms.  

You raised an eyebrow, now there’s a sudden change in Jungwon’s tone. Like he was asking you hypothetically. “Where is this going Won?”

“Nothing nothing,” Jungwon said, shaking his head as he headed towards the kitchen, with you following him behind. “You two have been close lately, that’s why. I’ve already told you about Heeseung hyung.”

“And I’m not going to give meaning to everything he does,” you assured, pinching your brother’s cheeks which made him scowl. “I’m not that stupid girl anymore Won.”

Despite internally, you were celebrating every interaction you had with Heeseung, you know that you’ll never have a chance with Heeseung. 

You can only hold on to the fact that Heeseung may be considered reachable in your sort. But of course, just like your other crushes, whatever you feel about Heeseung was just a crush. A fleeting feeling of admiration along with the butterflies in your stomach. Nothing more, because the deeper your feelings may go for him — it’ll just end up hurting you. 

-

You submitted your project just a few days before your planned deadline. Everything was perfect for you and Heeseung. The flow of the paper was readable, arranged properly with a clear analysis of the novel. Light revisions were made before passing it to Prof. Jeon. Your professor was impressed that you two were able to pass it earlier compared to others. Making you two confident that you’ll receive a passing grade from it.

But submitting the project also means that there’s no reason for you to approach Heeseung. But you find that situation better than getting closer than him. It’ll just save you from falling from him deeper. No more crash outs, no more venting of feelings, and assuming that everything Heeseung does has meaning —

“Hey, you’re going to that art exhibit?” Heeseung approaches you suddenly.

You glanced at him twice before your mouth moved, “wait, the one from Prof. Lee’s subject?”

“Yeah, I mean it’s voluntary but you’re interested in art right? I remember you told me that one time.” 

You couldn’t even recall when you told him that. Was it when you two were on your ride home from your groceries? Or was it when you two were discussing your novel analysis but got segue midway? Either way, you found yourself surprised to hear that from Heeseung. He remembered something that you’ve mentioned. 

“Oh — well, I do of course,” you stuttered. “Why?”

“Let’s go together? I also wanted to see it, they seem interesting,” Heeseung casually said. 

“Right, Saturday?” you asked. 

“Saturday afternoon? I’ll see you at the museum? Or should I just pick you up?” 

And let Jungwon see the two of you? “No, let’s just meet at the museum, around three?”

“Sounds great, see you!” Heeseung waves goodbye to you and you almost melt from where you were standing. 

Who would’ve thought that after the project. Heeseung will still find a way to approach you. Should you give a meaning to this one? Because there’s no way in hell that he asked you to go see an exhibit that is voluntary, on a Saturday, as what? As friends? You don’t even know if you could consider him as your friend. 

You tried to conceal your beating heart, but anytime it’s going to burst out at any moment. You wanted to go to an empty, hollow place and scream into the void, because as much as you want to deny it, you couldn’t help to conclude that you’re going out with Heeseung, alone, with no Yang Jungwon watching you two like a hawk. 

Yet, the thought of Heeseung being Jungwon’s friend was thrown out of the window the moment Saturday arrived. You stood there outside the entrance of the museum. Your hands clammy and sweaty as you stood there awkwardly, internally cursing yourself for arriving ten minutes earlier than your agreed time. 

You were wearing a white maxi skirt, pairing it with a baby tee and thin cardigan, not your usual get-up but you wanted to at least look decent in front of Heeseung. The art exhibit was located inside the museum of the art. It’s an exhibit dedicated to children’s rights. They displayed hundreds of drawings and paintings drawn by kids alongside important and historical paintings. 

Your professor, Ms. Lee was an advocate, that’s why she encouraged your class to visit the exhibit. While you’re thinking of going there along with your friends — Heeseung approached you first. 

Speaking of Heeseung, your eyes landed on him who’s walking towards you. The smile on his face widening as he stood in front of you. He was wearing a long-sleeved buttoned shirt, tucked in front of his washed denim pants. Some silver jewellery on his hands and neck, and to compliment it all, he was wearing his fake eyeglass with his hair bangs down.

“You look beautiful,” Heeseung started, and that’s when your heart started to beat rapidly.

“Thanks, you look good too,” you complimented him back. “Should we go inside?” 

The two of you made its way inside the entrance. Signing up for the exhibit before going inside the first room of the museum. 

It was quiet, a bit cold, and there were a lot of people who came by to visit the exhibit. You and Heeseung walked side by side, stopping at every painting just to read the description, and perhaps fawn over it even though it was obvious it was a kid’s painting. Sometimes, you gawk at the historical paintings. Despite visiting the museum a couple of times, you never failed to be mesmerized by it. 

“This one’s cute,” Heeseung pointed out. It was a painting of a kid’s pet — obviously, it looked like a monster rather than a dog. 

You stifle a laugh as Heeseung glances at you with a confused look. “Why? Did I say something wrong?”

“Nothing, you seem to be enjoying this one,” you pointed out. 

“You think I’m not the type of guy who would go to museums or some art gallery?” Heeseung asked. “Guess you don’t know me at all.” 

You became quiet for a minute, “I actually don’t, I’m surprised you agreed to come with me here.”

“Couldn’t miss the opportunity, it’s great to see kid’s scribbles beside historical paintings,” Heeseung laughs. 

“You seem fond of kids,” you told him. 

“That’s why I chose education, I always wanted to teach kids. I know they’re hyper and loud, but better to teach the alphabet than high school chemistry,” Heeseung explained. 

“Oh so education has always been your first choice?” you asked, surprised. 

“What? Surprised that a guy like me actually wanted to become a teacher? Yeah, a lot of people say that.”

“I don’t know, I’m just used to education students who weren't accepted to their first choice so they ended up choosing it,” Heeseung glances at you and you give him a smile. “I know because education wasn’t my first choice.”

“Wait right there, what?” Heeseung asked, surprised. “Not gonna lie, you give off the vibe of a girl who wanted to become a teacher.”

“I was planning on taking architecture but I failed the drawing test, so here I am,” you simply shrugged. “But I learned to love education too, so don’t come at me mr. education is my first choice.”

A small chuckle escapes on Heeseung’s lips, “I guess we really don’t know each other that well.”

“Right.” you only said. Realizing that you two are still on that stage where you two aren’t friends, but aren’t more than that — acquaintance? Maybe you’ll put you two in that category. Contended with that conclusion, you hum lightly as you shift your attention towards the paintings. 

The two of you continued walking around the room. You were simply amazed at the historical paintings but it’s funny seeing a six-years-old’s painting of her family beside it. But you can only feel nothing but small jumps of joy looking at it. 

Heeseung, on the other hand, seems to be more immersed in the gallery than you. Eyeing on every display the museum has. Laughing at some kid’s painting but at the same time, cooing at it. Finding it precious and innocent for him. 

As the two of you moved to the second room, only a few people were there. There weren’t any kid’s paintings anymore, only artifacts and displays but you and Heeseung decided to completely tour around the museum. 

“Why don’t you ask me a question?” Heeseung blurted out of nowhere. 

“What for?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Well, we don’t know each other very well,” Heeseung stated. “And you seem to have a lot of misinterpreted impressions about me.”

“Sounds like you just wanted to talk about you,” you grinned. 

“No, this is like, twenty questions. After you ask a question, I ask you a question back,” he said. 

“Alright,” you hum, thinking of what’s a decent question to ask him. “Will you still continue performing after graduation? You seem like you really wanted to become a teacher.” 

“Big question already? That’s hard,” for a minute Heeseung pondered about it, glancing at every display before looking at you. “I don’t mind, actually it depends on the others. Jay and Sunghoon wanted to, Jungwon isn’t still quite sure especially since he’s a year below us. We’ll talk about it next year.” 

“I’m pretty sure that Jungwon wanted to play for the band, he loves being part of Arcanum,” you shared, making Heeseung smile.

“Okay my turn, if Jungwon didn’t establish the ‘don’t date my sister’ rule, who would you date out of all his friends?” 

You awkwardly chuckled. “Why are you asking that?” 

“I’m just curious,” Heeseung nonchalantly replied.

“Will it boost your ego if I chose you?” you teased, and Heeseung scoffed in disbelief.

“It’s a hypothetical question y/n.”

“Fine, hypothetically I’ll choose Jake.” you answered. 

Heeseung’s brows furrowed. “Jake?” 

That’s when you laugh, “What? You thought it only revolved around Arcanum? Aren’t there like seven of you?” 

“Yeah but — Jake?” His tone surprised more than ever.

“It’s a hypothetical question, Heeseung,” you grinned. “No explanations, my turn and since we’re talking about dating, why are you still single?”

“I’ll get back to you y/n, but to answer your question, I just like being single. Having a girlfriend isn’t what I have in mind right now, and I don’t do casual shits too.”

“Jungwon told me that you’re a mixed signal giver,” you snitched, and Heeseung only laughed. 

“Everyone thinks that, but trust me, I don’t leave girls hanging. I guess they just assume that my gestures have meaning to it, that’s why they think I’m into them,” Heeseung explained. “I mean if I helped you carry some heavy things, would you give meaning to it?”

It’s funny because he did accompany you to do groceries one time. “That depends, if you helped me numerous times, then I’ll give meaning to it.” 

“Yeah well some girls don’t, one time, I helped a girl cross the street one time, and she thought I liked her,” Heeseung explained. “I’m just being nice!”

You only laughed at his words. “I mean if a handsome guy helped me cross the street, I’ll assume a lot of things too.” 

Heeseung groans, “whatever, I’ll just keep rejecting them, I enjoy being single. It’s chill and no love problems, look at Jay and Sunghoon, I don’t think I can do that to myself.” 

Your smile faded. Shifting your attention towards the display. Thinking that whatever you two are doing right now is probably a friendly date.

But at the same time, this is different from him helping someone cross the street. Heeseung could’ve asked his friends to accompany him, but Heeseung asked you and that’s all because he remembered that you like art. So how can you not give meaning to it?

“Okay my turn, so why Jake?” Heeseung changes the topic. 

“You’re seriously not going to let go of that one huh?” you let out a small chuckle before letting out a sigh. 

“I don’t know, he’s the first one that came to my mind,” you simply said, and in some ways, your answer wasn’t wrong. “He’s the one I’m closest to the most, maybe that’s another reason why.”

“How come you and him are closer than you and me?” Heeseung asked. “We’ve been classmates since freshman year.”

“I think it’s pretty normal, I’m not even close with most of our classmates either,” you laughed.

“I hope we become closer after this,” Heeseung blurted out. 

You stopped midway, glancing at him who only gave you a smile. 

“You’re too obvious you want me,” you teased, joking with your words.

“What if I told you that I do, want you?” he grins, before grabbing your hand as he pulls you towards the next hall. Surprised by his answer and gesture, you remained quiet as his hand remained on your throughout the whole exhibit. 

You two decided to have dinner outside after finishing touring the museum. At a fast food chain because you were craving their burgers. You two continued the twenty questions, until it was almost late and the traffic had slowly dissolved.

By the end of the day, Heeseung drove you home, even opening the car of the passenger seat for you. You could only smile as you find not only the action sweet — but your whole day with Heeseung.

Not only that but Heeseung walked you towards the front door of your house. He watched as you pressed the doorbell, before looking at him. 

“I had so much fun today,” you told him. “Thank you Heeseung, I didn’t expect that you would remember that I’m interested in art.” 

“I pay attention to what you say, I also had fun too,” Heeseung casually said, acting like it’s nothing but for you, it meant something. 

“Goodnight Heeseung,” you waved, but before you went, Heeseung suddenly grabbed you by your shoulder. 

Surprised, you only stood there. His round eyes staring at you like he doesn’t want you to leave yet. But what surprised you the most was when he faced you towards him. 

Close. Way too close. Heeseung’s eyes never left yours. You can feel it, your cheeks heating up, your heart beating fast like crazy. You don’t know what to do as Heeseung's eyes darted to your lips before glancing back at you — like he’s asking for permission. 

But before you could utter another word, the door swung open and you almost fell flat when you pushed yourself away from Heeseung. 

“You guys think that I’m fucking stupid!?” Jungwon stood there, his tone dripping with anger as you were frozen from where you were standing. 

“Jungwon, it’s not what it looks like —”

“I told you many times, you can fool any girl that you want but not my sister!” Jungwon pushed Heeseung on the chest, but Heeseung didn't move.

“Dude calm down!” Heeseung shouted instead.

“You know it yourself that you’re not ready for a relationship then what the fuck is this? Taking her out on a date and almost kissing her? Stay the fuck away from my sister!”

But a mocking laugh escapes on Heeseung’s lips, looking at Jungwon like he was taunting the younger one. “I wouldn’t be surprised if y/n ends up being single forever, you’re scaring guys away,”

“Guys like you hyung! You’re not even that serious when it comes to love.” Jungwon pointed out, making you realise that he was right, but that doesn’t give him the right to get angry at Heeseung. 

“Jungwon, we weren’t doing anything, Stop it,” you butt in.

That’s when he darted his attention to you. “I’ve warned you about Heeseung hyung many times, but you never listen to me — you never listen!” he shouted, and hearing those words felt like you’re in high school again. Remembering how angry Jungwon was when he discovered what happened to you. 

You stood there as the disappointment in Jungwon’s face became more clear. You wanted to defend yourself when Heeseung stepped in.

“Jungwon stop that. She’s older than you, have some respect.” he stated.

“Don’t interfere hyung, this is between me and my sister.” Jungwon coldly said. 

“You’re the one who should stop. You know you’re suffocating y/n don’t you?” a taunting smile forming on his lips. “She’s her own person, and she couldn’t even move because you’re breathing under her neck.”

Jungwon didn’t say a word, he didn’t rebut Heeseung’s words because deep inside, his friend was right. Still, a pissed expression was written over the younger’s face. Shooting glares at Heeseung. 

“I’m not that stupid to hurt her Jungwon, maybe you should try trusting her instead of caging her.” Heeseung added, and you wonder what he meant when he said that. 

But you watch as Heeseung walks away. Leaving you and Jungwon alone there. Your lips were tightly sealed before your brother faced you. 

“Do you like Heeseung hyung?” Jungwon corners. “Don’t lie to me noona.”

You stared at him for a moment. Guilt rushing in you because in some angle, there’s a part of you who’s at fault. “Fine, Jungwon, I have had a crush on him since freshman year but it’s just a crush.”

Jungwon could only laugh in disbelief. “So all the times I told you to stay away from him were useless?” 

“No, because from the start, I know I never stood a chance on him,” and every word you said hurts you. “Even now, our hangouts, whatever this was, and every gesture he does, I’m not going to give meaning to it. I don’t want to make an assumption unless he really confessed to me that he likes me.”

“You’re just leading yourself to a cliff,” Jungwon raised an eyebrow. “Why would you still entertain him even though you know you don’t stand a chance. I don’t get you — both of you actually.” 

“Maybe Heeseung’s right, you should just trust me instead of caging me,” you answered instead. “I know what I am doing Jungwon, maybe you should just let me make my own choices this time.”

Jungwon stared at you for a whole minute, before heaving out a sigh. “Don’t come at me when Heeseung hyung hurts you, I’ve already warned you many times.” 

But before he could leave, you grabbed your brother by his arms. “Don’t be mad at Heeseung, I don’t want to be the reason why you two fought — or worse, Arcanum disbanding.”

“You should’ve thought about that before you even interacted with Heeseung hyung, the same goes with him.” Jungwon swatted his arms harshly, glaring at you before going inside the house.

-

Despite that night, Jungwon’s words still managed to stop whatever you and Heeseung had. 

It was weird. For the past few weeks, the two of you are always beside each other, talking about ‘The Virgin Suicides,’ getting to know each other through oddly specific details, and planning meetups casually, followed by a museum date, deeply knowing him more and almost kissing each other — then the next thing you knew, you two were back to being strangers.

Back to normal. You could say. Band practices continued in your house, tension seeping away with you giving them small greetings before going inside your room, and the way you and Heeseung ignored each other — both knew that whatever you two had was pointless.

For the past few days, there were no more Lee Heeseung approaching you and everything. And somehow, that should ease you — reminding you that he’s unreachable. 

You almost fooled yourself, but with the way Heeseung distanced himself after defending you from Jungwon, you were quick to conclude that he still respects his friend’s decision to not go near you, just like you should with dating your brother’s friend. 

And if Heeseung had distanced himself from you, so should you too. 

But somehow, you still ended up wherever he was. Now, he’s sitting in front of you, at a noisy bar, along with your classmates who were celebrating the end of midterms exam. The table is full of alcohol, different ones — beer, cocktails, tequilas, and vodkas. All assortments that will have everyone passed out drunk before the night ends. 

You have a decent alcohol tolerance, you’re not that close with most of your classmates and you don’t even like going out but here you are, because you overheard Heeseung joining the night out.

Avoiding him was the best option, you know where it all leads if you continued talking to him — Jungwon getting furious, Arcanum might disband, and hurting your own feelings. Lee Heeseung should’ve remained unreachable, but for all the times of him noticing you, flirting and almost kissing you, you want to know more. 

There’s an itch inside you that wants to confront him, and your normal self would get flustered if you approached him first. That’s why a bit of alcohol and drunkenness might help you gain the courage that you need. 

The night was still young. You can do your confrontation later but for now, you’re spending the first few hours enjoying and laughing along with your classmates, trying your best to socialize not until a classmate of yours raises her glass. 

“Let’s play, truth or shot!” Sieun suggested. Because all of you are seated at a long table and a spin the bottle won’t suffice, everyone gets to do it. No one wants to ruin the mood, and perhaps it was because most of them are tipsy, everyone agreed to join. 

You watch as all of them get daring questions, somewhere bold to answer the questions while others choose to drink the shot. 

“Y/n, it’s your turn!” Sieun announced excitingly, clapping her hands as she stretches the shot glass towards yours which is a mixture of tequila and beer.

“Do you guys have a question for her?” she asked the crowd. 

“I have!” Lily said, obviously drunk. “Kiss, marry, fuck, Arcanum members except your younger brother of course.” 

The whole table hollered in excitement, patting Lily because the question was too good. You only laughed at their teasing but everyone was insisting that it’s a hypothetical question especially when one specific member is present at the table. 

Heeseung looks at you, eyeing every move you make as you look at the shot glass, wondering if you’ll answer it or not. 

But you were brave. It’s just a stupid drinking game, there are chances that they won’t remember it by tomorrow. “Okay hypothetically? I’ll kiss Sunghoon but on the cheeks! And it’s a platonic kiss because I don’t want to be a homewrecker!” you laughed before pondering between the two, too long that all of them are starting to get impatient.

“Girl, Heeseung is waiting for your answer!” Sumin shakes your shoulder but you only laugh as you stare at Heeseung, a smirk forming on your lips. The alcohol clouding your mind as a bright idea popped into your mind.

“I’d marry Jay, and I’d fuck Heeseung,” you answered truthfully, which earned amountful teasing and screams from your classmates, banging the table as you could only take the shot in front of you despite answering the question. 

“We need an explanation!” Lily insisted. 

“Well Jay is the most husband material out of them, and since Heeseung mentioned that he prefers being single. A one-time sex wouldn’t be bad, right Heeseung?” you fired the question towards Heeseung who only smiled in disbelief. 

“I’ll give you a good fuck then,” Heeseung answered back, completely shutting you off. You sat there frozen as Heeseung took a sip on his beer, even wiggling his eyebrows like he was teasing you, while both your classmates continued teasing both of you. 

“Since the topic is on you Lee Heeseung, would you date y/n? If you’re not such a stuck-up guy who insists that he likes being single?” Sieun interrupted, giving the shot glass in front of Heeseung. 

Heeseung looks at the shot glass for a moment, before glancing at you, an evident smirk on his lips that makes you nervous. 

“Yeah, why not?” he said casually which made the table noisy again. 

“Oh my god you two, just make out already!”

“I dare the two of you to kiss for five seconds!”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if the two of you ended up together after tonight.”

The table had placed the attention on the two of you. Your classmates continued the teasing which only made you laugh while Heeseung remained in his seat, drinking his beer and completely ignoring the dumb request your classmates had. 

But it wasn't the peak of the night. More alcoholic drinks were ordered. There were some strangers going to your table, flirting with your classmates, asking for their numbers. Some were already crying as the song in the club reminded them of their ex, others went out for a smoke, while you remained at your table, doing some stupid game along with your classmates. 

Slowly, you’re losing yourself. Your eyes are getting heavier and as you glanced at your watch, it was already 3 am. The table was still full of your classmates when you stood up, almost falling if it wasn’t for your classmate quickly guiding you. 

“I need some fresh air!” you shouted at her. 

“Okay, do you want me to accompany you?” she asked. 

“No, I can do it!” you giggled, grabbing your purse before going outside the bar.

The cold night welcomed you, mixed with the smell of smoke of strangers talking and smoking on the empty road. You could only close your eyes as you sat at a pavement beside it — not caring if it’s dirty. Your head is spinning, everything is blurry but the only good thing is that you don’t feel like you’re going to vomit anytime. 

You looked at your watch and saw that it’s almost late. Your energy’s all drained out, you don’t feel socializing anymore, and you just want to slump against your bed and doze off. You have to tell your classmates that you’re leaving, but your butt is glued to the pavement, too tired to move that you could only lower your head and groan louder.

“Get up,” you looked up and there he was. A serious expression written on his face, like he was disappointed in you. 

“Hi Heeseung,” you laughed, finding the situation too funny. After the exchange earlier, this is probably the first time you and Heeseung had talked throughout the night. You wanted to ask him questions but your mind was spinning and everything was just too blurry for you. 

“Come on now, let’s get you home,” he offered, approaching you as he only brushes his hand on your shoulder.

You only hummed at his words, “home? Sure, I also want to go home now — wait, I have to go back and pay my share.”

“I already got it, and I told them we’re going home. Come on now, can you walk?” 

“Of course! Wait —” you stood up from the pavement but you almost fell, Heeseung immediately grabbed you by your waist. Guiding you as you could only lean on his touch, eyes almost close. 

Heeseung carefully guided you towards his car, opening the door of his passenger seat while you almost stumbled inside. 

“My head hurts,” you groan as soon as Heeseung gets inside. 

“Just sleep for a while,” Heeseung advised. “I’ll wake you up when we get home.”

You only nod as you close your eyes, Heeseung starts the engine and drives away from the bar. 

But fifteen minutes into the drive, you regained your consciousness, head still spinning but you try your best to think where you are right now and then realise that you’re not inside the bar anymore — nor at the pavement you were sitting on. 

Then it hit you, looking at the interior of the car as the smell of a familiar perfume made you glance at the driver. And there he was, driving you home. 

“You’re allowed to drive?” That was the first thing you said. 

“I’m not even tipsy y/n,” Heeseung said. “I can’t say the same thing to you.”

“I’m never going to do that again,” you mumbled to yourself as you could only lean on the car’s window. Watching how Heeseung drove smoothly towards the empty streets of the city. 

“Considering all the things you’ve said and done tonight, I am not surprised,” Heeseung taunted, that’s when you looked at him, a teasing smile formed on his lips. 

“You also said some weird stuff tonight,” you rebutted, words slurring out of your mouth. 

Heeseung turned to a familiar street, his smile never leaving as he parked in front of your house’s gate. “Would you put a meaning to it?”

“Why would I put a meaning to it? It’s just a dare.” you answered, dodging his question. “Like mine, it’s a hypothetical question.”

“What if I want you to put a meaning to it?” he boldly said. “What if I told you, that night when we went to the museum, I really wanted to kiss you?”

It took your drunken mind a minute to process everything. “What?”

“I really want to kiss you right now.”

Heeseung was serious. He was looking at you with much intensity. The atmosphere became quiet, but suffocating due to the tension between the two of you. You could only blink as your eyes darted on his lips. Thick and soft, pinkish and tempting that it made you bite your lips.

“Fine, just a kiss,” you said, removing your seat belt as you faced him. There’s no harm with a short kiss right?

You watched as Heeseung unbuckled his seat belt too. Leaning towards you as he cups your cheeks and without any hesitation, crashes his lips onto yours — too fast that you weren’t prepared for it.

That’s why it didn’t take a few seconds for you to separate from him, worrying Heeseung as he looked at you, confused.

“I’m sorry —” you laughed. “This just doesn't feel real to me.”

Kissing your long-time crush? That crush of yours who you always convince yourself that you don’t stand a chance? Wanted to kiss you? And had kissed you just now? Sounds like a dream for you, something that the alcohol inside you had convinced was real. 

“Then let’s do it again,” Heeseung said before pulling once again for a kiss. This time, softly like he was being careful with you. Unknowingly, you kissed him back, along with soft whimpers escaping from your lips. Try your best to balance yourself as Heeseung’s kisses become sloppy, almost breathy.

As you pull out from his lips. The two of you only stared at each other, the tension was rising and the inside of the car started to heat. Something in his eyes screams that he wants more — hungry for you and that’s when you felt your heart beating fast. 

“Come here,” Heeseung adjusted his seat further to the back to make space for you. He pulls your body and the next thing you know, you’re on his lap while his hands are on your waist as he pulls you to a feverish kiss. 

You must be dreaming, you muttered to yourself as Heeseung’s soft, plump lips are all your lips could feel. The taste of alcohol mixing along, bitter yet sweet for you while both hands became busy with feeling each other. Your hands trailed mindlessly to his shoulders down to his chest, wanting to feel that this is real for you.

While Heeseung’s hands made a bold move by brushing it on your clothed chest. Breaking the kiss, Heeseung leans towards your left ears, murmuring sweet words while his hands work on its way to cup your soft tits, wanting more to feel the skin beneath your clothes.

“I want you,” he whispered huskily. Planting kisses on your jawline down to your neck. “Want to feel you good — fuck, your lips are so soft.”

It didn’t help that his words go straight to your core. His flirty words that made you fall more deeply into him. Soft whimpers escaping your lips as he pushed you closer towards him, making you grind on his dick underneath, clearly printing on his pants. Guiding you as you rocked your hips towards it, earning moans from Heeseung. His lips leave your neck trailing towards your opened collarbone, softly and dangerously near your cleavage.

His hands slipped underneath your shirt, and in a snap, your bra is undone and he’s playing with your breast, flickering your nipples as he grinds his hips upwards to create more friction with you.

“Fuck — feels too good,” you moaned loudly as you continued to grind against him. Panties soaking wet due to the action.

“We can stop here. I don’t want to push you further if you don’t want it.” Heeseung stated before planting a kiss on your ears, and you know very well what he meant. 

But despite his sweet gesture, Heeseung wasn’t subtle, his gleaming round eyes had a stare lust-struck on you. Pleading but wanting, and you know that you can just stop right there — afraid of the consequences. 

Having sex with Heeseung doesn’t sound that bad. He’s your crush, and everything about this is mutually agreed. This is like a dream come true to you. But having sex with your younger brother’s friend? That’s a different story. It’s forbidden, and you’re breaking the only rule you and your brother established.

Jungwon had warned you many times about Heeseung. He’s a mixed signal giver. This might be nothing for him, but for you, sex was supposed to be intimate, a gesture only lovers should do. 

But as you look at his soft, round bambi-like eyes, you just can’t help but to be lured into it. You know the moment you two kissed, you two have crossed the line — and the swirl of alcohol in your mind is eager for more.

Biting your lips, you could only brush his messy hair as you whispered to him, “Let’s go inside,” fuck it, you don’t know if it was the alcohol that’s talking, but it gave you the courage to say those words. You’re convinced that this is a one time thing, and you’ll have no regrets whatever happens tonight. 

Heeseung turns off the engine before the two of you enter your house. Empty and quiet given that it was almost 4 am. Heeseung was wary at first, knowing that Jungwon’s asleep in his room. While you're a drunken mess, laughing and almost stumbling as you remove your shoes, tugging Heeseung with you. 

“What about Jungwon —”

“He’s having a sleepover with Sunoo at Riki’s dorm.” you casually replied. “We have the house all by ourselves.”

Those words are all it takes for Heeseung to push you against the wall. Trapping you with his knees in between your thighs, almost brushing on your core that a moaning gasp escapes your lips. 

“No wonder you’re so bold,” Heeseung smirked. “We can be as loud as we want to.” 

“Make me,” you challenged, grinning as you boldly palmed his cock, even squeezing it teasingly making him groan.

“Remember what I told you earlier?” he leaned towards you, stopping an inch in front of you, nose almost touching yours as he smirked, gaze menacing. “I’ll give you a good fuck.” 

A soft chuckle escapes your lips before Heeseung leans in for a kiss which you gladly reciprocated. Pulling him closer as he grabs you by your waist, almost lifting you with your clothed cunt resting on his right thigh. Grinding against it as the kiss turned harsher, both hands eager to touch each other as it trailed on each other’s body. 

It didn’t take seconds before both bodies started to feel hot and sweaty. Heeseung shrugged off his shirt while quickly doing the same with yours — along with your bra. Both half-naked, you didn’t care that your living room might be witnessing something scandalous. Sex were supposed to be intimate for you, but now, you’re just eager to be fucked by your long-time crush. 

Heeseung lowered his head between the cave of your breast, kisses trailing around it as he sucked and flickered your left nipples with his tongue. His large hand cups the right side, fondling it and making you more sensitive than ever. 

“So pretty for me,” Heeseung grins as he continues to play with your tits, earning soft moans from you. 

Heeseung removes his touch from you for a minute and kneels on the floor. Hands holding your thighs as he pushes it for you to open it. 

You look down on him, surprised but dazed to see him kneeling in front of you. Your heart starts to beat fast when his face is just a few inches close to your clothed pussy, breathing heavily as he touches the end of your skirt.

“Wearing this flimsy thing, you never fail to surprise me huh?” he teased, lifting it up to see your laced red panties. “Fuck, keep the skirt on, pretty.” 

Heeseung kisses the insides of your thighs, slowly and soft like he was worshipping it. Every touch feels like heaven for you, his hands making their way to hold your thighs firmly as Heeseung lightly as he presses his lips on your cunt. The wet patch evident where he swiped his tongue languidly on it, knocking you out of your breath. 

You can feel your body becoming more sensitive than ever. Heeseung didn’t hesitate to pull down your panty, displaying your pussy out which only made him groan. 

“Gorgeous for me baby,” he looks up to you. Eyes darkening as he grabs your right leg, swinging it on his shoulder so that you could put a weight on him. He doesn't care that his knees are aching red on the marbled tiles, Heeseung watches as you fall for him the moment he kisses your pussy’s lips.

Gently, he wanted to taste every inch of you, his mind hazing as your musk drunkens his mind. That’s when Heeseung started to swipe his tongue on your core, making you let out a loud moan that almost echoed inside.

“We got the whole house for ourselves right? Make those lovely noises for me,” Heeseung taunted before he continued eating you out. 

It felt better than when you touched yourself. You can feel your body heating up twice, sensitive and eager for the rush of climax. You were shameless in making sounds, moans and whimpers escaping your lips, wanting Heeseung to know that you’re feeling good because of him.

Heeseung lightly grazed on your clit, making you twitch which made him gripped on your leg harsher. The heel of your feet digging his back. 

“Stay still for me baby,” he ordered, tugging your body closer to him as he started devouring you again. Tongue lapping on your lips and clit simultaneously until he decided to use his free hand to insert a finger inside you.

“Fuck —” 

“You’re feeling good baby? Moan for me, let me know how good I make you,” he inserts another finger. Circling inside your gummy walls as he continues to play your clit with his tongue, faster and harsher that your body starts to shake. 

You couldn’t help but to grab his hair for balance, unconsciously grinding your hips for more. You can feel your orgasm coming, and you were eager to chase after it. Your breathing started to become unstable, trying to hold on to the feeling of being pleasured not until Heeseung’s slender fingers curled into a specific spot that made you moan loudly. 

“That’s your spot baby? Come on don’t hold it back, cum for me,” Heeseung orders, his fingers bruising that spot that it didn’t take you seconds for you to whimper, body shaking as your orgasm came rushing to you. Heeseung savored every drop of your release. Latching on your pussy as he drinks it sloppily, juices trailing down on his chin as he continues to eat you despite reaching your orgasm.

You could only cry as you tried to remove Heeseung out of your cunt but he presses himself further, clit brushing on his nose making you whine louder as he holds your shaking hips tightly that it’ll leave a bruise. 

“Heeseung — shit, fuck —wait!” your incoherent babbling didn’t stop Heeseung. 

“I bet your ex couldn’t even make you cum,” he taunted, looking up at you. Seeing you all messy, sweating, and panting, made him want to devour you more. He wanted to hear more how you weaken in front of him.

Thumb grazing on your clit, you started to cry loudly again. Eyes shut harshly as Heeseung inserts his fingers inside you once again. Your walls trapping his fingers that Heeseung could only wonder how your tight walls would feel around his cock. The thought made him hard and aching.

“Want to make you cum more, make a mess for me baby,” Heeseung stated, lapping on your pussy once again. You could only cry in pleasure, feeling something coiling inside you which isn’t your orgasm. 

Heeseung continued abusing your pussy, tongue sucking your clit while his fingers scissored your inside, finding the spot that had made you cum. Fingers curling and pumping in a harsh manner until something gushed out of your pussy. A messy and clear liquid which Heeseung didn’t hesitate to taste. 

“Fuck,” he laughs devilishly. “Did you just fucking squirt? Shit, that was so hot. Come on, I know you can do more.”

“I don’t know —”

“Come on, do it for me again,” Heeseung encouraged, fingers continued pumping inside your pussy, until your legs started shaking once again. Another wave of orgasm hits you, squirting shamelessly in Heeseung’s fingers. 

Too fucked-out to understand anything, you didn’t notice how Heeseung carried you towards the couch, placing you down on the extended part of the long couch. 

“Told you pretty I’ll fuck real good and that’s just the start.” Heeseung stated. Hastily, he unbuckles his belt along with his pants’ zipper, pulling his pants down enough for him to release his huge dick. Red and aching to be inside your pussy. You whimper in pleasure as you stare at Heeseung who spits on his hand, stroking his dick slowly as he eyed on you lustfully. 

Heeseung pulls you closer before he flips you on the couch. Pressing you down with your stomach flat against the couch. A heat of embarrassment churned in you as you felt like a doll being manhandled by Heeseung. 

It didn’t help that Heeseung pulled your skirt upward, revealing the curve of your ass in front of him. He can feel his dick twitching just by the sight. 

“Look at you, all pretty for me,” Heeseung hums. Slapping your ass cheeks making you flinch. The pain felt good that it went right through your core. 

“Gonna fuck you so good, you’ll be shaking til morning,” he mumbled to you. He pushes your back further to flatly lay you down on your stomach, face pressed down on the couch as Heeseung lifted your hips enough for him to see your entrance.

He brushes his tip lightly on your pussy’s lips, sensitive from your previous orgasms, you couldn’t help but to crawl away from Heeseung — not until he pulls you back. 

“Still sensitive —” you stopped midway when you could feel his tip protruding your entrance. A muted cry escapes your lips as slowly Heeseung pushes it inside. 

“Don’t worry baby, I'll take care of you,” he assured, brushing the stray hairs that covered your face before planting a kiss on your temple. 

Heeseung carefully thrust inside until he’s fully sheathed inside you. You could only groan as you feel yourself full.  “God — so fucking tight, bet you’re a virgin again because you’re so tight for me.”

Slowly, he began to move, earning moans from you as your sensitive pussy started to shape Heeseung’s huge shaft. Ramming into the places that your fingers couldn’t reach. You could only leave hefty cries as your knuckles turned round from the pleasures. 

“Look how your pussy is sucking me in,” Heeseung taunted, slapping your asscheeks once again before gripping the left cheek, turning red against his hands. He could only smirk as he felt nothing but heaven thrusting inside your warm walls. — never in his life would’ve thought that he’ll be fucking his friend’s sister, the one that his friend always told him to stay away.

He’s sorry for breaking the rules, but you were just so fucking sweet and the way your pussy is clench everytime his tip abuses your cervix, he has no remorse to it anymore. All Heeseung knows is that you’re so fucking good for him. 

He pulls you upwards, your back pressed against his warm chest. Both sweats started mixing togethers as his arms wrapped around your stomach. That’s when Heeseung continued to thrust faster, eager to leave you breaking into loud cries.

“Feel how you’re taking me baby, you feel so tight that I’m bulging in you,” he whispers to you. His hands press your palms below your stomach, feeling his dick rail you made you moan more louder. Everything just feels so good and you’re just too dazed that the only thing you can feel was how Heeseung’s dick continued to slide through your g-spot. 

“Hee —” his right hand started playing with your breasts once again, flicking and pinching your hard nipples as he busied his mouth on your shoulder, leaving kisses and faint marks that had you praying that it wouldn't leave a mark. 

“More — please,” you cried as you felt your stomach coiling, your breath becoming louder and heavier as Heeseung became rougher than usual. 

“Fuck, you’re coming again baby?” he asked, removing his hands from your tits, he slid it onto your clit, rubbing circles that made you moan. “Go on, cum for me baby.”

Heeseung grabs you by your cheeks, locking you to a torrid kiss. Heavily making out as he thrusts your pussy harder. You’re too fucked-out to kiss him back, moaning on his lips as his fingers rubbed your clit harder. 

That’s when your another orgasm came, you felt your body turning into a jelly as you melted onto Heeseung, your body shaking as tears fell from your eyes. Heeseung slowly laid you back but he didn’t stop ramming his dick inside you, his thrust became faster as you could hear his breathing becoming harsh along with soft groans escaping his lips.

Heeseung chases after his orgasm, thrusting inside you a few times before pulling out, you could only whine loudly as Heeseung moans while he pumps his dick through orgasm. Cum spilling all over his hand and painting your ass and back. 

It didn’t take a few seconds when you felt Heeseung’s hands on your back, brushing your hair away as he kissed your nape softly. 

“You did good,” he whispered to you, planting another kiss on your right temple. “Just stay there okay? Let me clean up the mess.” 

You’re too tired and sticky to move. You could only hear Heeseung shuffling to put on his pants as his light footsteps made its way towards the main bathroom — you only lay there naked with nothing but your skirt as everything felt overwhelming to you. Slowly, you closed your eyes, wishing that you’ll be awake by the time Heeseung returns. 

Heeseung returns with a wet towel he found inside the bathroom. Noticing that you’ve passed out, he lets it be, knowing that you’re probably too drunk and tired. Carefully he tugs off the spoiled skirt to clean your body, wiping your cunt which made you whine softly by its touch, along with the cum on your back which he made mental notes for him to apologize to you the next time you two meet. 

He picked up the discarded clothes on the floor. Cleaning every spot you two have touched, and hopefully it won’t smell like sex and sweat by the morning. 

That’s when Heeseung decided to carry you towards your room — the first time he ever did that to a girl he had slept with. He just couldn’t bear to leave you there on the couch especially when Jungwon might walk in later in the morning. 

Heeseung places you down on your bed. Looking at your naked figure, he felt a bit ashamed to just leave you like that. Luckily, he found a decent shirt and shorts on your clothing rack. Clothing you before tugging you neatly underneath your blanket. 

He stared at you for a good minute. Seeing that you’re peaceful in your slumber, he lightly brushes off your bangs before kissing your forehead. 

“Sweet dreams y/n,” he whispered.

“Heeseung…” you mumbled before Heeseung could even open the door. 

Heeseung remained quiet, observing if you’re going to say anything. A few minutes had passed and that’s when he twisted the doorknob — seconds just for you to mumble some words again. 

“I…like you Hee…” you said. Although it was soft and almost mumble, yet, Heeseung was quick to comprehend what you meant. 

He was frozen from where he was standing, his hands remained on the doorknob. Staring at your sleeping figure, wondering if those words meant something. 

-

Your words had Heeseung thinking throughout the weekend. 

He remembers the saying, drunk words are sober thoughts. Even if you were intoxicated, he’s not just going to let your words slip away. He wonders if you truly meant those words, or just a whirlwind slip of a post-sex haze. 

But the way you said it, mumbling, like you were being careful to say it. Thoughts started clouding in his mind throughout the weekend, he barely had sleep and he wanted to blame you for putting him in that situation. 

When Monday arrived, you went to school like a normal student. A bright expression on your face as Heeseung watches you pass by him. Not even a hi or hello. His lips turned thin as he tried to act like you ignoring him didn’t hurt him a little. 

Classes went on pretty normal, but Heeseung’s mind is still afloat. Eyes darting towards you every minute, stealing glances on you. But you only had your head low, writing on your Ipad and looking only upward towards the direction of the screen in front, making Heeseung realize that he’s like a fool looking for your attention. 

Heeseung isn’t usually like this, so he wonders why he's acting like this. Heart racing, mind afloat, and it’s only your words that kept him occupied. 

But it’s right there. The answer is just right there but Heeseung doesn’t want to acknowledge it, somehow a part of him isn’t ready for it. But as he looks at you, a lingering what-if crosses his mind. A thought of committing on to something that he’s been avoiding throughout his college life.

His intuition wanted him to do it, but he’s still holding back, and Heeseung knows that the only solution to it, was you. 

That’s why the moment the professor dismissed the class, he hastily placed his things inside his bag before going towards you. 

“Y/n,” he called out, almost loudly, that some of his classmates looked at him. 

“Hey,” you smiled casually, and Heeseung swore that it almost knocked the breath out of him. Have you always had this effect on him? Why did he just realise it right now? 

“Can we talk?” he asked, and saw your eyes surprised by his words. 

“Sure,” you only nod before the two of you leave the room, going to a small corner by the hallway. 

“About what you said that night,” Heeseung asked. “Is it true?”

You raised an eyebrow, “Did I say something? I barely remember anything even the…you know.”

Heeseung felt like his world crashed. Of course. You’re too drunk to remember everything. Even what you two did, you barely remember, and that made him scoff in disbelief. 

“Did I say something weird or?” you asked nervously. 

“You said you like me y/n,” Heeseung said in a serious tone. “Now tell me if it’s true.”

Heeseung watches your eyes widen in realization. A breathy curse slipped out of your mouth. That’s when he knew — that’s when his heart also knew.

“Listen y/n, it’s okay, I also —”

“Heeseung, you’re Jungwon’s friend,” you interrupted. “I can’t date you, I really — look, I like you, yes that’s true. But I care more about your friendship with Jungwon, and whatever happened that night. That’s just it, but please don’t tell Jungwon. He’ll get angry at you too. I hope you understand that.” 

Heeseung blinks. Looking at your pleading expression, that’s when it hit him that it’s not that Jungwon is caging you, but it’s the fact that your love for your younger brother is stronger than your romantic feelings for him. 

You two know that what you did was wrong. Both lines were crossed, and rules were broken. Jungwon trusted him not to go after you, and so do you. It’ll not only ruin friendship but Arcanum. Heeseung knows that you know how much Arcanum means to Jungwon, and it might even result in him leaving the band. 

And seeing how you’re willing to set everything aside for Jungwon, Heeseung couldn’t do anything but to admire you — even if it means he will not continue his confession to you. 

“Plus, you enjoy being single right?” you said lightheartedly, trying to ease the atmosphere. That’s when it slipped into Heeseung. 

An awkward laugh escapes his lips. Ironic because he was planning to throw it away for you, but talking about wrong timing because you got him first. “Right — you’re right. No worries y/n, I won’t tell Jungwon.”

You gave him a smile, patting his shoulders as you mumbled your thanks before leaving him there alone. Watching you walk away, Heeseung could only lower his head as he walked towards the opposite direction — not knowing that you turned your head towards him once again. 

That should be it. In the end, the two of you are some ways forbidden because of Jungwon. You’re right. Heeseung knows that he prefers being single. Right? Maybe what he’s feeling right now is just a temporary attachment to you because you two had sex, plus your confession caughting him off-guard. It’ll pass. Hopefully, for him, it’ll pass. 

But it didn’t help that a few days after you two had a talk, Heeseung caught you together with Jake. 

He knows that you two are orgmates. Coincidentally, you’re Jake’s executive assistant. Heeseung shouldn’t give meaning to it, especially when Jake’s not exempted from Jungwon's rule. 

It shouldn’t bother him. Who is he even anyway? An obvious frown forming on his lips when he saw your instagram story with Jake, you two went to eat k-bbq alone. One would think that you two are actually dating. It’s the way that you’re leaning towards Jake who’s smiling widely, holding the barbecue tong. It's cute, but all Heeseung could feel was annoyance.

Heeseung remembered your conversation with him. Out of all Jungwon’s friends, Jake’s your choice to date. And seeing you two together, Heeseung doesn’t know why but there’s a strange feeling growing inside him. Something ugly because why would he feel that to you? Someone who he’s not allowed to date, and to Jake, who is a close friend of his.

He shouldn’t feel that bubbling jealousy brewing inside but it didn’t help that there are days where Heeseung sees Jake waiting outside the department building. Jake would even smile and wave at him who only gives him a small smile back. Then, he watches you pass by him, going straight towards Jake who only ruffled your hair while you punched his shoulders lightly. 

Sweet. Way too sweet. Heeseung almost wanted to report you two to the disciplinary officer for pda. But as he watches the two of you walk away while laughing, leaving him alone there standing like a fool, that bubbling feeling continues to grow no matter how hard he concealed it. 

It didn’t help either that when they went to your place to practice, he immediately noticed a familiar pair of shoes by the doorway.

“Isn’t that Jake hyung’s shoes?” Riki pointed out. 

“Oh right, he told me he’ll be here early, he’s with noona,” Jungwon explained nonchalantly as he removed his shoes. 

“How come you’re not wary of Jake being too close with y/n?” Sunghoon asked, but there’s a taunting tone in his words. 

“They’re orgmates, y/n noona directly reports to Jake hyung. I trust Jake hyung to not break the rule.” and Heeseung is pretty sure that Jungwon gave him a side eye when he said that.

“So you don’t trust us?” Jay teases.

“I didn’t say that,” the younger one went inside first, while Jay and Sunghoon only laughed at the conversation.

As the rest of them entered the living room, they saw you and Jake by the couch. Heeseung raises an eyebrow, seeing you two together, by the couch — where you and Heeseung fucked, had his jaw tightening. Finding it funny how you pretend that everything’s normal. 

Files sprawled all over the coffee table along with some half-full iced coffees and a box of donuts. Jake is seated on the floor, glasses on top of his head with his expression as serious as always. While you’re seated on the couch, still wearing your uniform with your laptop on your lap, typing some documents needed. 

“Hi guys!” you greeted them first, with Jake following after.

“Y/n noona! I miss you!” Sunoo shouted with glee, sitting beside you and hugging you sideways. As always, you reciprocate the younger’s action. 

Heeseung lightly scoffs at how Sunoo can be so close to you, even hugging you while Jungwon doesn’t bat an eye on it. 

“I miss you too Noo, how’s part-timing at The Rabbit Hole?” you asked, shifting your seat to face the sophomore.

“Tiring, the new part-timer was so lazy! I have to multitask with everything,” Sunoo sulks, even pouting as he leans on your shoulder, glancing at your laptop’s screen. “What are you doing?”

“Some inquiries and grievances from students and incoming freshmen. Others wanted to transfer programs and also, student assistant job opening,” you answered before scrolling through your file. 

“Soobin hyung wanted us to finish it before the end of the school so that we don’t have to worry about the turnover for the next term,” Jake added, letting out a deep sigh as he grabbed the mountful of papers in front of him. 

“Well, we’re not disturbing you guys right? We’re going to start our practice,” Sunghoon asked, setting up in the huge empty space in front of them. 

“We can move to the dining room, so that it wouldn’t be too loud — are you okay with it?” Jake suggested, glancing at you who only nodded. 

“That would be better, we can continue there,” you answered, knowing that you’re still wary around Heeseung. 

As Arcanum set up, you and Jake moved your things on the dining table. From there, you can still hear Arcanum practicing, but with the divider and displays, it’s enough to cover you and Jake for privacy and muffle the sound a little. 

You and Jake sat together to continue your reports. Heeseung could only glance at the two of you. Seeing how close you two are, both heads are almost touching. If Jungwon had seen it, he would probably be throwing knives now. But Jungwon was too busy practicing the beat on his drums, and instead of knives, Heeseung’s darkening glare is what’s putting a hole on you and Jake.

He hated how close you and Jake are. He hated how he could hear your soft laughter just by looking at you — and you weren’t looking at him, you’re looking at Jake who’s probably cracking some jokes. He couldn’t believe that for the past few weeks, the two of you were together, but now, you’re with somebody else. 

And it’s not just somebody else. It’s Jake. A friend of his, the person you’ll hypothetically date if Jungwon’s rules doesn’t exist. The guy that has more chances of dating you than him —

“Heeseung!” A light kick on the shin snapped Heeseung out of reality, turning to his left where Jay looked at him confused. 

“We’re good to go, should we start now?” Jay asked, and that’s when Heeseung realized that he’s been staring for too long. 

“Oh — yeah, we’ll start in three,” Heeseung replied, signaling them with a countdown.

Riki and Sunoo cheered for Arcanum, sitting on the couch comfortably while Heeseung tried to focus, closing his eyes as he started to strum his guitar. 

“Your type of mind, so hard to find,” he sang, cold yet desperate like he was yearning for someone. A soft yet heartbreaking song to start their practice. He can hear Sunoo’s gasp while Riki lets out a whistle. 

Heeseung sings the song with feelings, something about the way he sings a song captivates their audience. But Riki and Sunoo were quick to notice how Heeseung’s eyes kept on looking to his left — by the dining room where you and Jake were seated.

Both sophomores looked at each other, a deciphering stare before glancing back at Heeseung whose eyes are still glued to you. It all circled back to them, realizing that there’s something their friend is hiding. 

With the way he sings, it doesn't sound like he’s just covering the song, it felt like every word, every lyric came straight from his heart. And looking at you, they know that he’s dedicating it to you.

As they finished the song, they were quick to start for another song. A low strum on Jay’s electric guitar — different from the first song. 

“I wanna be your vacuum cleaner. Breathing in your dust,” Heeseung sang in a low tone.

“Woah, Heeseung hyung’s good,” Sunoo mumbled. 

“It’s like he’s captivating someone under his spell,” Riki added, glancing at Sunoo who only nodded, knowing what he meant as the two watched as Heeseung sang. His head turned to his left once again.

“Secrets I have held in my heart, are harder to hide than I thought. Maybe I just wanna be yours,” Staring darkly, as he holds onto the mic stand, head turned towards your direction as he continues the song. Dark and tempting like the original. 

As the song finished, the band had a short break. Jay looks at Heeseung, a teasing smirk evident on his lips. 

“Seems like your audience is somewhere else,” Jay teasingly said. 

“Shut up Jay,” Heeseung brushes it off, but it was evident that he immediately shifted towards your direction once again. Like he was hoping that you’ll turn around. 

But not even a spare glance was given to them throughout the whole practice. By the time Arcanum finished their practice, so did you and Jake with your reports. Food arrived a few minutes later and the eight of you spent dinner in the living room. 

“Can you hear their practice in the dining room?” Riki asked. 

“Yeah, but it’s a bit muffled so it wasn’t distracting us, don’t worry,” Jake answered casually, not noticing how Riki and Sunoo snickered at each other. 

“You guys seem to be too busy with your reports, that you guys weren’t distracted by Heeseung hyung’s singing,” Sunoo added, tone hinted in a teasing manner. 

“Well, Jake insisted on finishing it tonight, and I heard you guys are drinking after dinner,” you laughed, not being able to catch the sophomore’s tone.

“And we did, because y/n is such a great assistant,” Jake compliments, making the other guys holler in teasing. 

“Jungwon, did you hear that?” Sunghoon nudged Jungwon who got confused immediately. 

“Hey Jake, don’t forget Jungwon’s rule,” Jay added, earning laughter in the living room — that including you and Jake. 

“I only said she’s a great assistant! Is it bad to compliment her?” Jake defensively replied.

Meanwhile Heeseung could only roll his eyes discreetly as he continued stuffing himself with rice. From there, Jungwon chuckles — a different reaction from his usual get-go wherein he’ll be pissed the moment they got linked to you. 

“Shut up hyungs,” Jungwon could only say. “By the way, you’re not going to join us noona?”

“I think I’m going to avoid drinking from now on,” you answered, knowing that the last time you drank, disaster happened. 

You could hear Heeseung clearing his throat, but you chose to ignore it and took the last bite on your food. Standing up from your seat before thanking them for the dinner, and reminding Jungwon to clean up the mess after. 

It was nine in the evening when you decided to call it a night, the remaining of them stayed in the living room with some alcohol to drink the night away. You’ve already known that they’re going to stay overnight — and probably will wake up by lunch. 

Saying goodbye to them, even drinking one shot because they insist, you went to your room and had your alone time. 

After taking a shower and changing into your sleeping clothes, you grabbed your laptop to do some last minute write-ups. Reviewing every page you’ve written, and then closing the tab to watch some youtube videos. 

You don’t know what’s going on downstairs. You sometimes hear their loud laughter and teasing, it was muffled enough for you not to be disturbed, and as the night deepens, the noise downstairs slowly becomes quiet. 

That’s when you decided to go to sleep. Closing your laptop, and locking your door. You turned on your nightshade and closed your bedroom’s light. As you nestled underneath your blanket, you closed your eyes, immersing yourself with the silence.

But it didn’t help you relax at all, you can feel your heart beating fast and as you open your eyes, that’s when it hits you that you’re not sleepy yet. 

Thoughts running inside your mind that whenever you close your eyes, and shuffle through different positions, you just can’t bear to sleep. You placed your hand on your chest, feeling your heart still palpitating and you’re blaming it on the coffee you bought. 

Frustratedly, you sat up to grab your phone, noticing that it’s already past one am. 

You don’t know what to do, so you scrolled through your social media in hopes that sleep might knock you down. But minutes turned into an hour and you became frustrated furthermore. 

Your frustration was interrupted when a knock on the door startled you. You let out a sigh because you already told Jungwon that he doesn't have to knock on your room if he’s going to inform you that his friends’ are going home. 

But instead of your younger brother, your eyes widened when it was Heeseung who’s in front of your room.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, whispering. “You can’t be here!”

“Don’t worry, they’re either passed-out drunk or deeply asleep,” Heeseung laughs, the smell of alcohol reeking on his breath as he leaned on your door frame. 

“What do you even want, Heeseung?” you asked, crossing your arms at him.

But Heeseung looks at you drowsily, “you’re one of a kind, you know that?”

You didn’t say a word. Slowly, he enters your room, making you step backward. Quietly, you watch him close the door even locking it — and you let him be. You didn’t stop him nor pushed him away. You remained from where you were standing, because deep inside, you wanted to know why Heeseung suddenly barged into your room in the middle of the night. 

“I’m still thinking about that night, about us, everything about us y/n — you’re driving me crazy you know that?” you can hear the frustration dripping on his tone. 

“Heeseung, you’re drunk.” you answered instead. 

Heeseung only laughs at your words. “Oh no sweetheart, I didn’t even drink that much. So I know damn well what I’m saying, and since you’re sober and completely awake, I’m confident that you won’t run away from me anymore.” 

You didn’t say a word. Heeseung gives you a smile. The boyish sweet smile that tugs your heart.

“After you told me that you like me, even though you were drunk, it made me realize something,” Heeseung became quiet for a second. “I really thought about it. Even convincing myself that being single is fun, but fuck it, maybe I prefer being with you.”

It wasn’t a direct confession, but you know what he was trying to say. You stopped your tracks, softly glancing at him who slackens his jaw. 

“I was ready to tell you that but you shut me off first, because you know how important Arcanum was, and you don’t want to ruin my friendship with Jungwon.” Heeseung explained, and that’s when it hits you. That talk you two had, he was supposed to say something but you cut him off. 

“And I respected that y/n — that even made me admire you more. You were willing to set aside your feelings for Jungwon. I even convinced myself that maybe the single life is for me,” Heeseung heaves out a sigh. Brushing his hair before glancing at you, his eyes darkening. 

“Really, I tried my best to respect your decision, but seeing you with Jake? What was that? Are you playing with me?” 

“Heeseung —”

But Heeseung lets out a mocking laughter, finding himself stupid for accusing you of that. “Of course you’re not, I’m just overthinking and who am I even to overthink? I’m just your brother’s friend.”

Silence. For a moment, no one said a word. Heeseung approaches you darkly, making you step backward until you hit the edge of your bed, clumsily making you sit at it. Heeseung boldly hovers over you, both arms trapping you as he leans closer to you, face an inch close to you. 

“But maybe I don’t want to be seen as your brother’s friend anymore. I want to be yours instead, I want to be your boyfriend.” he whispered to you, surprising you with the statement that your eyes could only widen. 

“And I don’t care about Jungwon anymore, he’ll have to fucking live with that fact.” He stated. Heeseung doesn’t care about the consequences anymore. All he wants is you, and if it means ruining friendship, he’ll be willing to fight for your relationship with him.

“Heeseung —”

“Don’t think about Jungwon anymore y/n, I like you — hell, I think I’m in love with you. I want to be yours. Just tell me that you want this too.” Heeseung pleaded, and you just couldn’t believe it. Heeseung begging for your love? You know that this is too good to be true — too good that it’s forbidden at the same time. But as you look at Heeseung’s soft, round bambi eyes, you just couldn’t help but to melt for him.

“I just never thought that you’ll be within my reach.” you confessed, hands cupping his cheeks. “Heeseung, I’ve liked you since we were freshman, but you’re just so unreachable for me.”

“Unreachable? y/n, you’re the unreachable one, you’re basically locked in your younger brother’s rule.”

“Not what I meant but, everything just feels so surreal for me, everything about us — is this even real?” your mind is still clouded, but your heart was racing rapidly. It’s celebrating inside. There were fireworks, butterflies, any fluttering feeling that you can feel to convince you that Heeseung, the guy that you’ve been yearning for years, likes you back. 

“I’ll make it real for you then,” Heeseung leans closer, locking you to a kiss. Immediate and hungry, feeling his soft lips against yours made your knees weak, the fluttering feeling becoming too good that your heart is going to burst at that moment. Tasting the alcohol on his tongue as it swipes it lightly on your lower lips. Moaning against your lips as he bites onto your bottom lip harshly that his teeth scratches a wound to it. 

You broke from the kiss, catching your breath as you tasted the blood on your lips, but Heeseung grabs your face, pulling you for another kiss. Feverish as he sucks the blood oozing from your lips, making you whine as his tongue laps on the wound. 

“You were pretty drunk that night we did it, how about I recreate it for you? Show you that I mean everything?” he swore the moment you two broke the kiss once again. 

Gently, he pushes you down to your bed, crawling over you and crashing his lips on yours again. But it’s softer this time, gentle like he’s trying to memorize your lips. 

He started peppering you with kisses, full of love as he began lowering his lips on your neck. His lips raveling every skin as he planted marks near your collarbone. One, two, three — until every skin around your neck and chest is full of marks. Heeseung stands up to see his art. Lust-struck stare as he looks at you, teary-eyed and swollen, wounded lips. His heart swells with pride because you’re his to keep. 

“God, look at you gorgeous,” he whispered, as he started to unbutton his school uniform. You followed his actions as you sat up from your bed, taking off the thin, old shirt revealing your naked chest underneath. 

“Want you,” you told him, round, innocent-like eyes staring at him as you boldly palmed the print of his cock underneath the slacks. 

“Go on,” he gestured, giving you a kiss on top of your head as you unzipped his slacks, pulling it down along with his boxers. 

Heeseung’s cock sprang free. Your eyes wide at how it’s huge despite being soft. Remembering how it pounded into your holes. Feeling your core pulsing at the sight, wanting for it to be inside you but your mind wants to return the favor. You wanted to pleasure Heeseung like what he did to you. 

You started by giving its head soft kitten kisses. Glancing at Heeseung who only nods, hands finding its way towards your hair, holding it like a makeshift ponytail which was your approval. Your tongue started to find its way. Swirling on the tip, salivating every inch it can reach until you gathered enough saliva to drool on his almost hardening cock.

You hold his cock in a soft grip, stroking it as your hand lubricates it with your drool. Looking up at Heeseung with lust-drunken eyes before slowly sinking your mouth on his cock, and Heeseung could only throw his head out of pleasure. A breathy moan escaped his lips as you started bobbing in and out of his cock. 

Adjusting to its size, you started slow and gentle, just enough to make him hard. Heeseung’s grip on your hair started to tug, unconsciously pushing your head which made you fasten your pace. Cheeks hollow as your lips sucked him. Tongue trailing along with it, licking its underside. 

“Fuck just like that, a pretty girl is sucking me hard,” Heeseung moans as his dick twitch inside your warm mouth. Knowing that it’s been so long since a girl has given him a head, Heeseung would’ve never thought that it’ll end him being sensitive. 

You continued bobbing your head, fast and hard leaving Heeseung moaning and whining as he unconsciously bucked his hips towards you. The tip of his dick hitting your throat, making you gag by the action but that didn’t stop you, it only had your cunt throbbing.

“You can be rough with me,” you said as you pulled away from him, something inside you awakened. Teary-eyes looking up at him, and Heeseung swore that you even looked prettier than ever. 

“You sure? I don’t want to hurt you,” Heeseung asked with a worried tone. 

You only roll your eyes, “You’re acting like you weren’t rough that night.” you said before you sucked him once again.

“I’m not holding back then,” he started by thrusting his hips inside your mouth, earning another choking gag from you. “You’re so warm, your pretty little mouth is so tight for me too.”

Both hands find its way on your head, holding it steady as he started to fuck your mouth. You could only hold onto his hips for balance as his thrust became fast and harsh that drool started to trail down your chin. 

“You feel — fuck,” Heeseung moans. “So good to me — can’t believe you’re mine.” the sounds Heeseung made had you throbbing more than ever. Your eyes are pooled with tears as his bulging head continues to abuse your throat.

“Want you to be inside you,” Heeseung breathes, mercilessly pounding inside you before pulling his dick out of your mouth, leaving you gasping for air. 

“Want to come inside you,” Heeseung drunkenly said. Grabbing your chin and wiping the drool away before sloppily giving you a kiss. “Ride me baby, want to see a pretty girl on top of me.”

You hastily remove the rest of your pajamas as Heeseung climbs over your bed, resting on the headboard as he straddles you to his lap. Your wet pussy on top of his dick, grinding on it while both hands are on your waist. 

Raising your hips a little, you grabbed Heeseung’ cock to align it on your entrance, whimpering as his bulging tip kissed your pussy’s lips before you slowly sink down, feeling every inch of his dick open your pussy, moaning in pleasure until he’s fully sheathed. 

“Heeseung — fuck,” you moaned as you started bouncing up and down. Your walls wet and warm, as his cock slides inside you, feeling him deeper than before. Every inch and veins of his dick is all you can feel as his head continues to kiss your cervix, knocking you out of breath everytime it happens. 

Heeseung could only moan loudly as he watched you ride him. You had your head thrown back as your tits bounced in front of him. He could get off just by watching you. His pretty girl, riding his dick, whining loudly as you continued to call his name — not caring about whether Jungwon or his other friends might hear you. 

You let out a yelp when Heeseung smacks your ass cheeks, his smirk widening as he meets you thrust, bucking his hips upwards. Vulgar sounds and body slapping against each other echoed around the room as the two of you continued to drown into each other’s pleasure. 

Heeseung adjusted his position, sitting up and pulling you closer to him. Stopping your movement when you feel him wraps his arms around you. Coming face to face with you, Heeseung could only smile as he swiped your hair that was stuck on your face, making you fawn a smile. 

“Can’t believe your mine,” he said excitedly, like he was a high school kid, making you laugh before cupping his face, cheeks squeezing which delighted you more. 

“I’m yours Hee,” you mumbled, and you can’t believe that those words came out from your mouth. 

Heeseung pulled you to a loving kiss, before he started thrusting inside. With him continuing your movement, you remove yourself from him before resting your head on his shoulder as your hands find their way on his back. Nails scratching as the pleasure became too intense to you.

Loud moans and whimpers continued to fill the room. You cried to his ears as your nails pressed harder on his back. Tears falling away from your eyes as Heeseung felt you twitch above him, slowly not being able to bounce on him as your toes started curling. 

“You want to cum pretty girl?” he whispered to you, and you could only nod feverishly, making Heeseung thrust harder than before, adjusting his pace until his cocks slid into your most sensitive spot. 

“Heeseung — ah!” you choke out a moan as your orgasm came in just a glimpse. Your body was shaking, holding Heeseung tightly while his thrust became faster, chasing after his orgasm, which made you cry harder.

“Hee — inside” you cried. “Inside please — ugh, want to feel you.”

Fuck. Heeseung curses internally. You just can’t say that and expect him to act rationally. With the way your pussy’s sucking him in had his dick twitching. Heavy groans and whimpers escaping his lips as he continued to fuck your overly sensitive inside. 

In a minute, Heeseung groans loudly as he spills his warm seeds inside you, making you moan in pleasure, as he continues to thrust you until he’s too tired to move. 

For a moment, none of you moved, Heeseung held you tightly as he caught his breath. His dick still inside yours, twitching and sensitive. So warm for him that he just wanted to be inside you. Heeseung lays down in bed along with you. Everything was sticky and warm, but you two didn’t care. The only thing you can feel was Heeseung’s warmth and the faint beating of his chest.

“What now?” you asked, clarity finally getting inside your senses. 

“Well —” Heeseung groans as your hips unconsciously move. “Don’t move, you’re making me hard.”

But you smile at him evilly, grinding at him who let out a soft moan.

“Stop that — fuck.”

“Or what?” 

Heeseung glares at you. And before you could say another word, he grabs you by your waist and pushes you down with your back hitting the mattress. Heeseung hovers over you as he does an experimental thrust inside you, making you whine. 

“You’re going to pay for this,” Heeseung swore, and you can only chuckle as you feel him hardening inside you. 

“I wouldn’t mind that,” you said, hands finding the back of his hair and pulling him down for a kiss.

Surely, it was a long night for the two of you. 

-

You stared at Heeseung’s sleeping figure. Peaceful and gentle as your hands reached for it, trailing on his messy hair. The way his cheeks are squeezed against the pillow, soft lips pouting in default. Heeseung looks so pretty and you can’t believe that this is the first thing you saw the moment you open your eyes. 

You don’t know what time it is. All you know is that it’s morning. The sun is up, and the spring breeze passes through your window’s curtain. Underneath the sheets were your naked bodies, warm and sticky, yet intimate to feel.

It’s been a few minutes since you woke up, and unlike the last time when you woke up alone, Heeseung is right next to you. You were staring at him for so long that you know that you’ll look like a creep, but it’s the morning haze that has your mind still unwinding everything that happened. That’s why it’s still not sinking into you that Heeseung is sleeping beside you. 

It’s as if he felt your gaze, Heeseung’s lips curved into a smile. Your eyes widened when you felt his arms pulling you towards him, head resting on his chest as you two bathed in the warm sunlight passing through the window. 

“You’re going to melt me with your stare,” Heeseung mumbled. 

“Sorry, I just — haven’t sinked in everything,” you replied. 

Heeseung softly chuckles, a soft kiss planting on top of your head as he caresses your hair, “you want to do it again?”

“We had enough Hee!” you said immediately, punching his chest which only made him laugh.

“I’m just kidding,” he said, resting his chin underneath your head. 

Silence faltered the room. Only your soft breathing can be heard, Heeseung’s hands continue to caress your hair while as you rest on his chest, you can feel his heartbeat — faster than usual, and you wonder if it’s because of you. 

“We should go on a date,” Heeseung suggested. “Our first official date as a couple, what do you think?”

“That would be nice,” you whispered. 

“Should we do it later? It’s a Saturday, do you want to go out or stay indoors? Oh wait — do you want to go to other museums? Oh maybe we should try those painting sessions with wine.”

You only laughed at his words. “You’re taking this seriously.”

“Why wouldn’t I? I am so happy that you’re my girlfriend now, we’re going to do everything together~”

“That has a nice ring on it boyfriend,” you look at him before giving a quick kiss. “How about we decide on that later? For now, let’s just stay like this for a while.” 

Heeseung nods, closing his eyes as he pulls you closer to his touch. The solemn silence hovering as both hearts hold each other dearly. Everything feels like a dream. You felt peaceful not until a loud banging on the door startled you. That’s when you remember —

“Heeseung hyung! I know you’re in there!” you scrambled from your position as a familiar voice boomed outside your room, but Heeseung remained unfazed. 

“Jungwon might see us!” you panicked, trying to look for your clothes on the floor. 

“He’ll live,” Heeseung drowsily said, grabbing you and trapping you in his arms. “Let’s just rest here for a while.”

“Heeseung! Can we at least get dressed!?” you shouted, glancing at the door wherein any minute now, your younger brother will barge in. 

But a teasing smile formed on your boyfriend’s lips, kissing the end of your nose as he snuggled you closer like you’re his teddy bear. “Don’t worry about that.”

“Heeseung hyung! You’re dead to me — what the fuck!?” The banging stopped, but you can hear shouting and cursings from the outside, along with Sunghoon’s loud laughter followed by a light scowling from Sunoo. 

“Don’t worry about Jungwon! But you owe us one, asshole!” Jay shouted through the door. 

“Holy fucking shit, he’s like a wild cat,” Jake laughs. 

“What the hell, Jungwon hyung scratched me!” Riki shouted.

You don’t know what’s happening outside, they’re probably tackling your younger brother. You can hear Heeseung snickering as he lightly sways you, assuring you that everything will be alright. You glance at him, he has a soft smile on his lips making you melt. Slowly, your worries disappear as you feel safer in Heeseung’s hold. 

-

Epilogue.

“Decelis are you ready!?” Heeseung shouted through the mic. 

School has just ended. Fortunately, you’ve passed the second semester with ease. Now, you’re anticipating the two month vacation before senior year arrives. Feeling a rush of excitement and nervousness because next year is going to be your last year in college.

But for now, you’re with the thousands of students, at Decelis University’s open field. It’s the annual year-end concert. A celebration for the success of the end of an academic year. Decelis typically invite bands and singers to perform — of course, Arcanum was part of the line-up. 

You screamed along Karina and Yunah as Jay opened the performance with a one-minute guitar solo, shouting “Are you ready to rock!?” causing everyone to scream louder. You could only fawn over the boy who’s rocking the stage while your boyfriend ran around the stage, dancing freestyle along the beat. 

You watched as Heeseung returned to the center, placing the mic on the stand before he started singing It’s not living (If it’s not with you) by The 1975. His voice filled the whole place as cheers became loud the moment he sang the first line. 

“That’s my boyfriend!” you shouted, making Yunah and Karina tackle you teasingly. 

“We get it! Gosh, you won this one, y/n,” Karina teased. 

“You managed to bag the most wanted guy in Decelis, I think we need tips from you,” Yunah added. 

“I think you should stop playing with fire, and just tell him what you feel instead,” you replied to Yunah who only rolled her eyes. 

“I’ll just die instead,” she nonchalantly replied. Glancing back at the led screen wherein they’re showing Jungwon who’s too immersed with playing the drums. 

After the first song, Sunghoon immediately shifted the vibe by playing a soft intro of a familiar song. Heeseung smiles as he places his hand on the mic stand. 

“We’re going to change the vibe from here, any lovers around here?” and he boldly raised his hands, earning screams from the crowd. A few students raising their hands while single people are booing jokingly. 

The smile on Heeseung’s lips turned wider as he feels along with the song, “Feel like sun on my skin

So this is love, I know it is.”

You only stood there, watching as Heeseung continued singing. Even dancing along with it, pretending like the mic stand is his partner. Swinging it lightly as he turned his attention towards the crowd once again. A smirk on his lips as he winks flirtily. 

“Gosh, and he wonders why hundreds of girls are head over heels to him,” you stated. 

“And sadly, he’s not available anymore!” Karina shouted. “Seriously, we need a crowning moment for you.”

Your relationship with Heeseung wasn’t that officially launched. It’s not that you two decided to keep it secret, but you two don't see the need to officially launch it. Let people wonder. You two menacingly agreed. Only your close friends knew about you two being a couple. 

Of course, some small public displays of affection weren’t subtle like the way you two are now seated together in the classroom, or some people seeing Heeseung carrying your bag. — it’s safe to say that people are quick to conclude that you two have something going on. If it’s serious or not, that’s what they don’t know. 

“Thank you so much Decelis University for having us here. We are really happy to perform in front of you guys, your energy gives us energy, but sadly we only have one last song left,” Heeseung stated after finishing another song, earning a few “awww” and “noooo” from the crowd, even chanting for one more song. 

“For the last song, this one is our very first composed song. We dedicated our time in composing and writing the lyrics, and this is the first time we will be performing it. So hopefully, you guys will love it.” Heeseung explained, his smile turning wide like he was proud to introduce the song.

“More like you wrote the lyrics,” Jay pointed out, which made the crowd scream. “The things love do, am I right?” and that made the crowd scream louder. 

Heeseung only laughs, he didn’t even try to ignore it at all. “Are you ready for a serenade, Decelis?”

For a moment, there was silence. Shortly, a few strums from Heeseung’s guitar escape as he softly hums to the mic. His eyes closed like he’s feeling along with the song. 

He started the verse with a soft tone. Dearly like he’s dedicating the song to someone. You’re not slow to pick up the lyrics of the song. It meant something and that’s when you can feel your heart start beating fast. You only stood there, frozen as you watched your boyfriend sing in front of a thousands of crowd. 

“I want you to know, I love you the most, I'll always be there right by your side,” Heeseung sings, opening his eyes and even though you’re far from the stage, and even if you’re just watching him from the screen, he smiles widely like he’s staring at you. 

“'Cause baby, you're always in my mind, just give me your forever.” You can feel your heart tugging. It swells with joy as you watch your boyfriend sing his love for you in front of a crowd. His heavenly voice swooning every student, especially you. He continued singing, mesmerizing the crowd with how he sang it — like he’s swearing his vows for you. 

“Just give me your forever.” he sang one last time before taking a bow. 

Cheers started to become louder. Continuous screams from the student as they started chanting Arcanum’s name. Heeseung could only smile as he gestured to his friends to take the center for a short photo time and final goodbye. 

It didn’t sinked into you that Arcanum just finished their set. It was until Karina and Yunah pulled you to go towards the department building that serves as a backstage area because you promised Heeseung that you’ll be meeting them afterwards. 

You found them in one of the classrooms, laughing as they stuffed themselves with snacks prepared by the university. As soon as Heeseung sees you, his smile widens as he walks towards you before pulling you to a hug, even carrying you and twirling you like you two are the only people in the room.

“Okay that’s enough, give respect to single people here!” Jay shouted but his words slipped out of your ears when Heeseung pulled you for a kiss, soft and eager, earning mixed reactions from the people inside. 

“I can’t believe I’ll be seeing this for the rest of my life,” Jungwon cringed. 

“You’ll live,” Yunah taunted, sticking her tongue out to the drummer who only rolled his eyes. 

“The song —” you breathe the moment you two broke the kiss, “you wrote the lyrics?”

“You like it?” Heeseung asked, thumb grazing your cheeks.

“I love it! It’s beautiful,” you smiled. 

“It’s for you.” 

That’s when you took a step back, eyes wide but filled with happiness as you could only smile wider, squishing your boyfriend’s soft cheeks which is a form of endearment for you. 

“I can’t believe you.” you giggled.

“Did you even hear what Jay said?” Heeseung mumbled, grabbing your cheeks the same way, before planting a kiss on your lips one more time. 

“Of course,” you grinned. “Just want to hear it from you.”

“Stop that you guys! Or we’ll have to report you for pda!” Karina shouted, along with the others throwing tissues and some light stuff which you two avoided — even Jungwon didn’t hesitate to throw his drumsticks at the two of you. 

But the two of you only laughed at their antics. Heeseung gives you a sweet kiss on your temples, as he puts his arms around your shoulders, holding you dearly.

And as you glance at him, you could only rest your head on his shoulder, fiddling with his hands resting on your shoulder — a way for you to feel that Heeseung is yours, at arms length on your reach. 

[gldrushh]

GUILTY AS SIN? | JK | PART 𝐈𝐈

"Jungkook remembered how to make his feet stay put and you learned that some things are worth the mess, that love sometimes comes too late, but longing never does."

→ Pairing brother in law! Jungkook x widowed fem!reader

→ Genre forbidden love! au, childhood friends to lovers, angst, smut, fluff

→W.C 17.10k

→ Warnings oc is going through it, Jungkook is a flirty menace, ceo jk, lovesick jk, simp jk, possessive Jungkook, jealous Jungkook, rich people lunch time!!, mentions of blood and injury, mentions of drinking, yoongi makes an appearance, he has no lines, namjin, yearning?, bathroom escapdes, silly banter, sexual tension kissing, making out, explicit sexual content, fingering, an almost handjob, penetrative sex, dirty talking, soft Dom jk, praising, creampie, bathroom sex, fluff (you don't even wanna know my definition of fluff), hoseok is a victim, minho is haunting the narrative as he should, angst (sorry girls It’s my brand 😝), doomed siblings

→ Playlist dress by Taylor swift, I can't be more in love by the 1975, in the woods somewhere by hozier, I can see you by Taylor swift, last words of a shooting star by mitski

→A/N Hii! Hello!! First things first: THANK YOU. Like, thank you in all caps lock. The love you all poured into Guilty as Sin honestly made me giggle to myself more than once. Every comment, message, share, and heart, It meant the absolute world to me. You’ve made this messy little story so much more than just words. You made it matter. And it was just so disrespectful of me to keep you waiting so long for a part 2 that wasn't really in my plans but yeah. Life got a little too unbearable, the plot bunnies misbehaved (you know how they are). But I really hope it’s worth the wait and not me just reheating my own nachos 😅😅 This is also most probably the last thing I'm gonna write for this story, at least for a long while. Thank you for reading. Thank you for being patient and most importantly,thank you for being kind. I love you and please do let me know your thoughts. Message me. Tell your plants. I'm all ears.

| PART 1 | PART 2 |

Mellow is the companion of church. Some would conclude that the church is composed for the quiet even.

They'd argue that it's different from sitting in the silence.

Silence is one thing and quiet is another. silence is an absence, they'd say. Quiet is presence, they'd add. Here more precisely, it's heavy and arcadian and holy.

There was something about the air inside here. Perhaps the solemn, how it was colossal, drenched in allegiance that made the world outside feel far-flung. It could be the height of the towering arches, the glow of candlelight flickering against stained glass, the low murmur of prayers threading through the smother.

The light is softer here too, filtered through the glass. Deadwood of crimson and gold painting benches and pressed shoulders. Candle flames sway slightly, flickering like they know secrets. Maybe they remember everyone who ever sat here in search of something they couldn't name.

You tell yourself this stillness is what you needed. That this space; sacred and slow would help clear your head. But the truth is, the quiet here doesn’t comfort. It exposes. Peels you open from the inside out.

You hear too much in it. Feel too much in it.

Even on days when you could still hear easy synchronicity. Hands clasped, laughter spilling into the cool air. Especially on days like these.

Or maybe you're mixing that up with something else. Something that has been coloring your days blue for a while now.

Something that doesn't pauses for holidays, doesn't make exceptions for birthdays, doesn't even bother to step aside for just one evening and let one breathe.Does not give way to leaded glass windows or the allay of a congregation. No, it lingers, seeps into places meant for worship, curls around the edges of pews and prayers alike. Certainly doesn’t soften on afternoons like these. Even though the flowers hadn’t wilted.

You hadn’t given it much thought.

Or rather, you had avoided thinking about it altogether.

Perhaps that is why, sitting here now—hands folded neatly in your lap, shoulders drawn tight—yet you feel it, heavy as ever.

Your mother-in-law had insisted you come, refusing to leave you alone, her soft-spoken request leaving little room for refusal. Mira had chimed in too, linked her arm through yours with a smile that tried to coax you back into the land of the living, or like she was letting you in on some joke only the two of you shared.

And so, here you were.

Church had never been a place you frequented, even when Minho was alive—he hadn't been particularly devout, preferring to spend bargaining his way through the sunday market and believing in the way the sky could shift from blue to violet in the span of a single evening—though you both had come when his mother had asked you to, of course, had sat beside him in these very pews, but never like this.

Not without him whispering some irreverent joke about heaven’s waiting list, about how maybe angels got bored too.

But now, you found yourself here more often.

If only because there was no reason not to because what waited you was a quiet apartment, a neatly made bed you hardly slept in and a day untouched by plans, by purpose, by anything remotely significant.

Also because you thought he wouldn’t be here.

Your mother-in-law had told you he wouldn’t be able to make it, had mentioned something about work, something about how he's not big on religion, much like his brother and oh, how you’d clung to those words. Let them blanket your nerves in fragile relief. One more hour. One more day of—knowing you wouldn’t have to see him today, that you could go on one more moment pretending you weren't aware of the inevitable, that you weren't unraveling at the seams every time you so much as thought about him.

That, that's why you had been skirting around him.

Maybe not consciously. At least, that’s what it looked like (You knew. Deep down, you knew.) But ever since that night—God, you really don't want to think about that or him in front of.. God without feeling like you're going to burst in flames. But its not exactly easy.

Not here, where the quiet literally wangles you into the deepest darkest of your thoughts. Thoughts that you're sure would.

Because the quiet here curls around your memories like smoke, drawing them out from where you’d hidden them. It coaxes them up your throat and behind your ribs until they’re a dull, burning pressure you can’t shake off.

You shift slightly in the bench. Mira breathes beside you, soft and steady. You press your palms flat against your lap, grounding yourself.

It hardly works. Especially not when he arrives. That strange, electric knowing. Like the air knows him. The space is an old convenient accquitance and adjusts around him.

The low creak of a door, the faintest hush falling over those nearest the back.

Late, quiet, slipping into the back like a ghost who had learned how to walk among the living, embodying every bit of the word 'handsome' in the most tailored of ways. Hair laid out in perfect symmetry. A ironed, muted blue suit hugging every bit of his perfect posture. Eyes so probing, so demanding of attention that you wonder why you ever got confused when everyday a new number of girls would approach you at school, especially at university for his number.

Then he had just been your doe eyed friend who you wanted to spare from heartbreaks. Not aware of the term-"heartbreaker" that had been given to him. Ironic, really.

Now you feel like you understand. You feel like you sense him before you see him. Sense every bit of his presence that you maybe had overlooked before. A shift in the air, the faintest murmur of acknowledgment rippling through the congregation.

Both Mrs Jeon and Mira are turned towards the figure, thier expression brightening in recognition, waving small hands at the figure that is approaching your way, pulse quickening with the footsteps.

No.

He said he doesn't do church.

He wouldn’t.

He wouldn’t sit—

The soft creak of the seat behind you made your breath hitch.

The older woman only smiled, a pleasant suprise. For her, atleast. "Jungkook-ah! You came! Oh, how lovely!"

She's sure the reason is that he is finally letting divinity in, you're sure you're losing yours.

You don’t turn but Mira does as she shifts beside you, knees bumping against yours to smile in greeting. Saying something about how her husband should learn a thing or two from him and give this a try, accompany her once in a while. A deep, warm chuckle in reply hits you square in the back of your head and your shoulders tense.

Low, rich, like warm amber poured over ice.

It lands like a bruise.

Pulses through, that gives away just how real and impossible and close it is.

You swallow hard, keeping your eyes downcast, determined not to react any more. You fix your gaze on the marble altar, on the golden flicker of votive candles.He’s behind you. Of course he is.

Because where else would he be, if not the one place you prayed he wouldn't?

Even as the sermon continued, voices rising in unison for prayer, you could barely hear them, could barely not feel your dirtiest secret behind you, close enough that if you leaned back even slightly, you might brush against him.

The service moves forward, and you try to focus. You try to listen. Tried to will your ears to listen, to stay anchored in psalms and promises and the choir’s distant swell. Just get through this.It couldn’t possibly be so difficult. No one knows. No one suspects a thing. The polished congregation kneels and stands with pedriocity and faith, unaware that your spine was stiff with a secret, that your breath refused to calm. Only you knew. Only he does. And that truth grips your tounge so hard there’s no way it’s ever slipping past your mouth.

But then a touch happens. As if maneuvering. A whisper of movement behind you, so faint it could just be the atoms you are made of shifting, a trick of your mind.

Light. Fleeting. Not direct. Not quite.

Just the faintest brush of fingertips against the ends of your hair that spilled over your shoulders, the softest, most cursory pull. Just a teasing pass, like he’s testing the silk of it between thumb and forefinger. There’s a pause, then the strand is gently looped once, slow and idle, as though he’s turning it over in thought.

Then released.

You freeze because what even is happening?

The answer to that is that it happens again. A lazy twirl of a strand, a slow release of the said strand.

Not enough for anyone to notice. Not enough to draw attention. But enough for you to feel it. Enough to make your skin prickle, your heartbeat stutter. He's been doing a lot of that recently.

You shift in your seat, pressing your hands tighter into your lap, back rod-straight, lungs stuck in a breath that wouldn’t come. The sensation was too distinct now, too exact to mistake.

It doesn’t stop. Another strand. A drag of fingertips. A near-caress.

What the fuck is he doing?

You don’t turn. You don’t react when you should have thrown him a warning glance—but that would mean acknowledging him. That would mean facing him.

And you didn’t know how to look him in the eye and not think about it.

His mouth. His devouring, worshipping mouth. The dammable sound of your name said like orison and profanity.

Didn’t know how to hear his voice and not remember the way how his lips shaped against your skin. Venal. Hungry.

Didn't know how not to follow the tattoos that ran through his sleeve and pretend that you haven't took your time exploring them. Aversly. Teasingly.

Didn’t know how to feel the weight of everything you weren’t supposed to want pressing down on you like a second heartbeat.

The way he had tugged your shirt up with reverence and bitten down like he wanted to leave a mark not even salvation could scrub away.

Do not react.

Do not move.

But he kept going. And the sermon blurred.

Gods, you were going to burn. You were going to hell. And he'd be there already, waiting with his hands in your hair.

When the sermon concludes, you stand too quickly, push your hair forward and Mira shoots you a look, her fingers grazing your wrist in question. You shake your head, offering her a quick, brittle smile before stepping toward the exit. You walked. Out of the stall. Out of the building. Out of your goddamn mind.

To your relief—you were still a perfectly coordinated bundle of cells when you were out. The sun hit you outside, sharp and sudden, dragging long shadows over the stone steps. You sucked in fresh air like someone who had been underwater too long.

The relief lasted long enough until Jungkook spoke under the sun casting long shadows against the stone steps. “I’ll drive.” Voice cutting through the polite chatter.

“Oh, that would be great, dear. Y/N, Mira, come on.” Your mother-in-law, oblivious, beamed, completely unaware that you had just spent forty-five minutes debating if setting yourself on fire in the house of God would be less painful than what had just happened.

The car ride should be easy.

It should be nothing. A short drive. A forgettable stretch of road between church and the Jeon family estate.

Should be.

But as you are pressed against the window, your coat bunched beneath you like a failed barrier, you want to either open the window for air or bolt from the moving car, with every inch of your skin crawling with awareness, tight and buzzing and flushed in ways that had nothing to do with the temperature.

The cabin is too quiet. Too warm. The low hum of the engine does nothing to drown out the sound of your heart, which feels like it’s beating directly into your throat.

And then there’s that scent again.

The scent of leather and something distinctly Jungkook curling in the closed space. A mix of his cologne—something dark and woodsy—and the faintest trace of laundry detergent, clinging to his shirt like it had no intention of leaving. It shouldn’t be so familiar, but it is. And that’s the problem.

“That sermon was lovely, wasn’t it?” Mrs. Jeon’s voice is light, warm, like freshly baked bread. The kind of voice that belongs in a home, not a car filled with tension so thick it could choke you.

Mira hums in agreement beside you. “It was.”

You blink, only now realizing how little of the service you actually absorbed.

“Of course,” Mrs Jeon continues, turning slightly in her seat, eyes alight with something rebuke, “not everyone was paying attention.”

You tense, breath catching, even when the accusation isn’t aimed at you. You feel it anyway.

“What?” He finally speaks, voice even. A little hoarse, like he hadn’t spoken in hours. Like his vocal cords were dry from silence and prohibition.

“Oh, don’t act like you don’t know, Jungkook-ah." his mother huffs, shaking her head. “You join for the first time ever in a while, sit in the back, and then spend half the time looking like you didn’t even knew where you were." she finishes with a scolding tone.

Jungkook exhales through his nose, hand tightening against the steering wheel. He doesn't argue.

Because It did seem so.

Mira, ever the enabler, bites her lip to stifle a laugh, glancing at you with barely concealed amusement.

You do not look at Jungkook.

You absolutely do not.

Mrs. Jeon, unbothered by the quiet tension thickening in the car, continues, “You know who else was praying a little too hard?”

Silence. No one answers with whatever self preservation they have.

Not because they don’t want to. But because they know better.

Because when Mrs. Jeon starts on church gossip, there’s no stopping her because apparently it's what it's best for.

She leans in, lowering her voice like she’s about to reveal something sacred. “Mrs. Kang.”

Mira gasps dramatically. “No.”

“Oh, yes.” A firm nod. “She was crying, dear. Again. Right in the middle of the third hymn.”

You blink. “Why?”

The older woman tsks, as if the answer should be obvious. “That husband of hers. You know how he is.”

You makes a thoughtful noise, tilting your head. “Didn’t he… move to Seoul?”

“Yes, but does distance stop a man from causing stress? I don’t think so.” You didn't think so too.

Jungkook exhales, long-suffering. “Why do you know all of this, eomma?”

His mother waves a hand dismissively. “Please, son. I hear things.”

Mira leans in. “Did she cry last week too?”

“Of course,” Mrs. Jeon replies. “But last week was because he didn’t call her for three days. This week, I believe he’s dating someone half his age.”

Mira sighs. “Men.”

You let out an involuntary snicker before you can help it. You don’t even know if it’s a real sound or something your soul exhaled out of disbelief.

Then, you make the mistake of glancing toward the front.

Because Jungkook’s eyes are on you.

Not on the road.

Not on his mother, who is still detailing the tragic love life of a woman you barely know.Not at the red light blinking in the distance.

His eyes are dark and unreadable, barely hooded, like he’s watching you and also thinking about the last time you were under him, gasping. Like maybe he’s remembering the way your nails looked against his neck. Or the way you said his name like a prayer, far more pledged than anything the pastor could conjure.

And every so often, you caught him.

The first time, you looked away immediately. The second time, you stared out the window so hard you gave yourself a headache. The third time, you stared back, even as something molten and dangerous simmers in the quiet between you.

His gaze held yours for a beat longer than necessary before shifting back to the road.

Every part of you was aware of him.

Of the way he adjusted his grip on the wheel. Of the way the veins along his forearm flexed when he turned. Of the way he never looked away fast enough.

Mira nudged you gently. “You okay?”

You nodded through the lie. "Fine."

Your mother-in-law again turned in her seat, smiling warmly. “I hope you’ll stay for lunch, Mira. We have invited the kims too. It’s been long overdue." The word ‘lunch’ doesn’t quite capture what’s waiting at the Jeon house.

Because it isn’t just lunch.

It’s crystal glassware, centerpieces too elaborate for a midday meal, and courses that require cutlery you don’t know how to use properly. It's a show that barely masks the subtle flex in it. A performance even, if you will, wrapped in linen napkins and wine pairings. And if you had to guess, this lunch isn’t just a friendly catch-up.

It’s Mrs. Jeon doing what she does best—playing politics with a smile. Maybe it’s her way of returning the favor after that party the Kims threw. Maybe she’s angling for something else entirely. But it’s definitely not casual.

She then adds as an afterthought. “We thought it would be nice to host something a little more intimate after such a wonderful service.”

“Oh, I’d love to.” Mira grins, relaxing against the seat. “Y/N, you up for it?”

You forced a small smile. “Uh-yeah. Yeah, of course!”

It’s automatic. Reflexive.

Because you can't say what you really want.

Which is to get out of the car.

To breathe. To clear the fog from your chest that smells like leather, and cologne, and fire.

From then, from the backseat, you had counted the moments until you could step into open air again and feel the crisp edge of early spring, the scent of freshly turned earth and blooming jasmine lacing through the quiet garden. The table was set beneath the sprawling branches of the old oak, where dappled sunlight filtered through on the delicate porcelain plates, silverware so polished it reflected the light, dishes, conversations lively and layered with subtext in the way rich families knew how to be.

You, too used to know the dance.

Used to let the brezzy hum of conversation wrap around you, used to nod along at the right moments, used to catch the way Minho would kick Jungkook under the table just to make him crack a smile.You remembered that.

Now, Mira sat beside you, her elbow jolting against yours as she reached for a serving spoon, her plate already filled to the edges.“Try this one,” she whispered, already loading her plate still like she hadn’t eaten in days. And then there was Yoongi—her husband—sitting with a plate he barely touched, scrolling through something on his phone until Mira shot him a look. He cleared his throat and slid it away.

Across from you, your mother-in-law delicately dabbed her lips with a napkin before resuming conversation about Mrs kang with a woman- namjoon's mother- who had grayer streaks in her hair that only painted the greater picture of elegance, her voice carrying that effortless ease of someone used to commanding a room. Someone who had enough money to command at all

Then there's Jungkook who sits two chair away from you, separated by separated only by a stretch of linen and eating irons. Jungkook who could barely catch up to Namjoon's enthusiasm about his dad dying, something about the shifting board members, something that should require Jungkook’s full attention."And now that my father’s out, the balance is shifting," Namjoon said. “We’ve got a chance to pull things clean, finally. The new proposal’s solid.”

Especially when his father speaks. "You’ve seen the numbers, Jungkook," His deep voice cutting through the low hum of conversation. “The deal’s been in discussion for months now. The board expects your response by next week.”

“I’ll look it over.” He acknowledged it with a slow nod.

"Not look over, son." His father’s tone was measured, but firm—the kind of voice that had always left little room for negotiation. "Confirm."

Jungkook exhaled through his nose, setting his wine down. "I won’t confirm anything without making sure it’s solid first."

He pauses. A glance. His father’s sharp gaze flickered over him, assessing. Not questioning—no, never questioning. Because Jungkook had earned his place, had spent years proving himself, had molded himself into the kind of son his father could rely on, because Minho never did.

Not that Minho ever needed to. Not that he ever wanted to.

Jungkook had understood that early on. That Minho had been different. That Minho’s place had always been elsewhere—with paint on his fingers and art in his head, with you curled into his side, laughing in a language he had willed himself to forget. And so it had fallen to him.

And Jungkook—Jungkook hadn’t minded. Not really.

Not when he could see the relief in Minho’s eyes every time their father skipped over him in business conversations, every time he looked at him liked he had birthed a catastrophe. Ambition morphed into inheritance and starry eyes jaundiced. Jungkook realized that this was what he was born for. That his older brother was a fool for denying everything that had been laid on a silver platter for him.

And because it had been easier than actually admitting that maybe he wasn't a fool at all. That maybe it wasn't the legacy he was born for.

Because every waking moment he finds himself tangled in the thoughts about what was right in front of him.

It had been days, yet it remained, stitched into him like something permanent—like the ink on his skin, like the weight of his own name.

It wasn’t just the memory of it. Not just the way you had felt beneath him, the way his name had left your lips in shuddering breaths. It was everything else—the before, the after. The way you had looked at him, wide-eyed and hesitant in the dim light of that unfamiliar room, as if realizing for the first time that he was capable of something like this. That he had spent years knowing, wanting.

Jungkook, who had spent years perfecting restraint, found himself breaking under the weight of it at only the sight of you that brought the memory of the night where he pretended you were his, like fever rushing through.

Because you would not look at him.

Because your eyes had skimmed past him all afternoon, slipping over him like he was nothing, like he hadn’t once been pressed against you, groaning into your skin.

And fuck if it didn’t drive him insane.

His fingers curled around the stem of his glass, his knuckles white as he brought the wine to his lips, stealing glances of you reaching for a pitcher of water at the same time as Mira, your fingers brushing, the smallest of startled laughs escaping you.

Soft. Effortless. Rivaling the intoxicity of the drink in his hand. He couldn't remember when it was the last time he heard it, only the withdrawals that came with it.

Jungkook exhaled sharply, setting down his glass before he did something reckless—before he let himself stare too long, let his thoughts slip into something visible, something impossible to ignore.

And then, as if the universe were intent on pushing him closer to the edge—you left, something he used to be best at.

You pushed back your chair, the scrape of wood against stone barely registering above the conversation which started with Mrs Kim going- “I should probably head home soon,” she said. "Joon's father probably running the househelp ragged by now.”

Namjoon huffed a laugh beside Jungkook, reaching for the hand resting on his thigh. “Let him. Maybe they’ll finally get him to stop redecorating the library every three months.”

Seokjin, seated beside him, shrugged. “Or maybe he’ll burn the place down and finally have an excuse to build that ‘modern masterpiece’ he’s been threatening to commission.”

Mrs. Kim sighed, exasperated but fond. “I wouldn't put it past him. He’s been threatening that ‘modern masterpiece’ since 2003.”

Mrs. Jeon clapped her hands together. “Oh, nonsense. Stay for tea at least. Mr Kim will be fine. Yoongi, you’ll take another pour, won’t you? Y/N, dear, why don’t you grab the set from the kitchen?”

"Of course. I'll be right back." you murmured, barely loud enough for anyone to catch, save for the ones listening too closely. Save for him.

Jungkook watched as you stepped away, disappearing through the doors of the house, something tightening in his chest.

The moment his hand closed around the stem of his glass again, Jungkook knew what he was about to do.

Would it be too obvious? Too stupid?

He doubted it.

Maybe it was reckless. Maybe it was childish. But as his grip tightened and the glass stem cracked beneath his palm, sending shards of glass and a sharp jolt of pain through his hand, he felt something darkly satisfying settle in his chest.

The table fell silent.

And all eyes fell on him. "I-I'm sorry. I didn’t realize." He cleared his throat and started to rise up from his seat.

Namjoon, the closest to him, attempted to reach for his hand and he instantly flinched. Just because the wound was intentional, didn’t mean it didn't hurt.

"What the hell, Kook? Are you okay?"

“Its nothing,” he muttered, jaw clenched as he pressed his uninjured hand to his palm, watching the thin trickle of crimson bead against his skin.

“Jungkook?” His mother’s voice came next to break through the quiet, sharp and immediate, her chair scraping against the stone as she pushed back. “Oh my god—what were you thinking? Do you need me to—”

“No,” he cut in, firm but even, already standing. “I’ve got it.”

Seokjin, looked up from beside his boyfriend, a just as suprised and bewildered expression taking over his face. The same one that mimicked every other person's that sat around the table, with Mira looking like she was going to choke on her food as she met his eyes before her husband smoothed a hand down her back.

"Are you sure? You don’t need any hel—"

"I'm okay, hyung. I said I got it." He said it with perhaps too much irration shimmering beneath his words and the table fell silent again.

Jungkook ignored them all.

He was already moving.

Already following.

Through the hallway, past familiar frames on the wall.

He finds himself checking his reflection in one, taking note of his hair that seem tousled and runs a smooth hand over them.

He finds you in the kitchen.

The afternoon light streamed through the windows, casting golden lines across the marble counters, across the soft fabric of your dress. You stood with your back to him, your hands grasping something—kettle, tray? Don't know.

You just know that you feel him before you hear him like you always do, the weight of his presence shifting the air, settling around you like something impending. You pretend you don’t notice. Pretend you’re too preoccupied with the cups in your hands, as if arranging over the same sets of cups for the fourth time will make it any more legible. It’s pointless, really—You had always known Jungkook, even in silence.

“Gonna keep avoiding me?"

It’s not exactly a question.

Not accusing, but certain. Because yes, you have. Not because you’re angry, not because you regret it, but because it scares you how little you do.

You swallowed. Still not looking. “I’ve been busy.”

He drawls out. “Have you?"

That makes you look up.

By this time you should have realized that it's always a mistake when you do that.

Because he’s leaning against the counter, a hand tucked casually in his pockets, sleeves still rolled up, collar slightly undone. And he’s watching you.

Not like at the table, where his expression had been smooth, unreadable or like that one time where you had been exactly where you are now and he was exactly where he was. Just then, it had been the same illegible look.

Here, in this quiet, his eyes are darker. He looks at you like he knows.

Its in the way his gaze dips, taking you in and how the amber light fluidly danced across your hair that framed your guilty face. So fucking adorable. "So busy you won't even look at me."

You hated how your breath hitched. Hated how you had no answer that didn’t sound like a lie.

You forced a slow breath and placed the napkins in the space left in the tray. "I've had a lot to do."

"No you didn't."

"I did."

"No you didn't, Y/N."

You force yourself to move, to wrap your hands around the tray, to act as if this conversation isn’t happening. “What do you want me to say?”

Instead, he pushed himself off the wall and came closer, close enough that the warmth of him touched your spine, close enought that you could see everything—the way his jaw tightens, the way his throat bobs when he swallows, the way his fingers twitch at his sides and when he finally spoke, it was low, just for you.

"Tell me you don't hate me. I can't go on like that." Has no idea how he has done that for years and has no intention to relive that ever again. He's a buisness man now. Buisness men learn from their losses and never give up profit.

Heat curled in your stomach.

Minutes passed. Too many, too few.

And he waits. He’s patient like that. He always has been.

But your eyes were drawn to something else entirely.

His hand.

The sharp contrast of crimson against his skin, fresh and glistening, pooling at the edge of his palm before dripping onto the tiled floor in slow, schemed drops.

You inhaled sharply, setting the tray down with a quiet clatter, your pulse kicking up. “What the—Jungkook, what happened?”

He didn’t answer right away, didn’t even glance at the wound. Instead, his eyes stayed fixed on you, dark and unreadable, watching the way you reached for his arm, fingers curling around his wrist, your touch careful and instinctive. Maybe it wasn't that bad of an idea, he thinks.

You turned his palm over, assessing the damage. A deep cut, but nothing catastrophic. "You're bleeding."

His voice was slow, aforethought. “I noticed.”

Your head snapped up, irritation flickering behind your concern. “What do you mean, you noticed? Why didn’t you say anything? You should’ve—”

Your breath catches, shifting your weight, as he steps closer, the space between you dwindling.

You try to ignore it. Try to recoil from it. Try to do anything but this. Because you recognized it now. This wasn’t about his hand.

Not really.

Not when his gaze flickered down to your lips in that moment.

Not when his fingers twitched at his side, like he was waiting.

Not when the air between you suddenly felt too thick, too warm, too charged. Too much like that one hallway.

You swallowed, cursed under your breath and forced your eyes away from his wound to take hold of the abandoned tray. You didn’t trust yourself enough with his. With him.

He seemed to revel in that fact.

His fingers brushed against your wrist in protest, dwadling, intentional. His head leaned in, lips grazing the curve of your jaw, just the lightest touch, just enough to rattle the glasses on the tray, just enough to summon a maelstrom of sensations.

Your hand flexed beneath his grip, and for a moment, the room felt smaller, quieter, like the world outside of it ceased to exist.

No. No. You reminded yourself of the straight stuff.

“Jungkook, let go. Everyone's ou—”

He doesn’t let you finish.

Jungkook’s breath ghosts over your cheek, his nose brushing against yours, the scent of him—sylvan cologne, something faintly sweet—pulling you under, drowning you in it.

He turns you, presses you back against the counter. His eyes are dark, searching of the surroundings for a moment before they are back on you. Then, so is the unrelenting heat of his mouth, catching your lips with his, slow and deep, like he had all the time in the world to corrade you.

His lips moved against yours, insistent, beguiling you to open up, to give him what he wanted. Because it had been days. Days since he had his first taste. Days since you have deprived him off it.

And so you did.

You gasped against his mouth, your fingers curling against the handle of trays, gripping, steadying yourself. He groaned at the way you responded, at the way you always responded, despite every calmour, despite every attempt to put distance between you.

You didn’t know who reached first, who needed more, who ached better—only that neither of you pulled away.

The kiss deepened, his uninjured hand slipping beneath the curve of your jaw, his thumb dragging against your cheek, his teeth grazing against your bottom lip. The wounded one curled around your waist. You gasped at the contact—at the warmth of his blood seeping through the fabric of your dress, staining the pale church blue with sin. You felt it against your ribs, hot and sticky. You didn’t care. You whimpered into his mouth, heat pooling low in your stomach, and that was all it took to prouduce a low, guttural noise in his chest, his fingers flexing against your waist, gripping, needing, wanting

And suddenly, the counter is the only thing keeping you upright. Your mind is spinning, lost in him, lost in this, in the fact that this is happening—

Here.

Now.

Where anyone could walk in.

“Y/N?”

Your heart stopped.

Jungkook froze.

Your mother-in-law’s voice was distant but getting closer.

Your breath hitched, panic flaring in your chest, but before you could pull away, Jungkook caught you again.

Pressed his lips to yours, stealing another kiss, this one shorter, sharper, like a punishment, like he was branding you with it as if he hadn’t already stained you with his blood, making sure you’d feel it long after he let go.

But he didn’t.

“Please” he breathed against your mouth, he kisses you deeper, hungrier. He drinks you in like he’s been starving, like he wants to ruin you.

Like he already has.

His tongue brushed against yours, hot and sure, and your stomach twisted, heat

licking at your spine. “Tell me you don't."

A voice—your mother-in-law’s, calling your name grows closer and semblance slams into you like a freight train.

Yet Jungkook stands untouched, refusing to let go, refusing to understand what's he doing, how it could end.

"Jungkook, stop—mhmm—Mom's coming!"

Your resolve is slipping.

Falling.

Falling.

Gone.

And then, when you finally find your voice—

You don’t tell him to stop.

You whisper—breathless, aching, a confession and a surrender all at once.

“I don’t.”

Jungkook groans a curse and he's swift in the way he pulls away because it's only in a second away that another figure breezes into the space.

Your mother-in-law stands in the doorway, looking between you and Jungkook , her brows pinching in mild confusion.

“What was taking so long, dear?”

Jungkook is the first to move, straightening, rolling his shoulders back like nothing happened. Like his tounge wasn't down your throat.

You, though, find it hard to hide the compact it had on you. You're sure everyone in the room can hear how your heartbeats, can hear how it wants to get out of your constructing chest. Your wide blown pupils gaze roams everywhere and stops at the tray in your hands.

Yeah, right.

You start to speak. “I was just—”

But before you can finish with whatever you come up with, her eyes land on his still-bleeding hand that's making a mess on the once polished clean floors.

“Why haven’t you cleaned that up yet, Jungkook-ah?” she scolds, sighing. “You’re going to get an infection.”

Jungkook exhales through his nose, and swips his tounge over his kiss bruised lips. “I was going to."

“I’ll help him, mom. Why don't you take this?” you blurt out, too quick, too loud.

Your mother-in-law’s eyes flicker to you. Something unreadable passes through them.

Then, after a long beat, she nods, smiling. “Youre a sweetheart, Y/N. I'll take this.”

She steps forward, plucks the tray from your hands, and turns toward the dining room without another word.

The moment the door clicks shut behind her, the weight of everything crashes into you.

Your pulse was still erratic, your lips tingling from his kiss, your hands shaking as you turned to him.

You whirled on Jungkook, eyes blazing at his audacity.

"What were you thinking?"

You wanted to kill him.

Your fingers curl into a fist before you can stop them, and you swat his chest, your palm colliding against solid muscle.

He catches your wrist before you can pull away.

And before you could yank off, he pressed a kiss to your knuckles. Your breath stutters.

His eyes flicker down to meet yours, dark and knowing. His expression pleased. Deliciously so. Almost resembling the look that crossed over his face after he had made you come on his mouth for the second time, saying something along the lines of how he could stay buried—

Oh, shit. Uh, scratch that.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” you heave out.

His lips quirk. “Likewise.”

You inhale sharply, snatching your hand from his grip, grabbing his unsullied wrist instead.

“Shut up and come here.” you mutter, tugging him toward the hall.

Jungkook lets you drag him to the bathroom, silent, unresisting. He thinks if it's you he has to follow, he will, even to the ends of the world. Wherever you want.

For now it's the bathroom that was silent, except for the soft drip of the faucet and the sound of your own heartbeat thrumming in your ears. The space was impossibly small with him in it, the air thick with something that hadn’t dissipated even after your mother-in-law had nearly caught you both in the kitchen.

And the moment the door closes behind you.

You realize two things.

One: His hand is still shaking, still bleeding, still a mess of raw skin and recklessness.

And two: You really don’t trust yourself to be alone with him.

Yet you always found yourself in closed rooms. Closed bathrooms, for this instant. Only places you can afford being this close.

You turned the tap, watching as the water rushed down, steam curling into the air. Jungkook stood behind you, leaning against the sink, his injured hand still cradled in his other. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing strong forearms, tendons shifting beneath inked skin as he flexed his fingers experimentally.

The sight shouldn’t make your stomach twist the way it did.

“You’re a idiot." you muttered again, reaching for the first aid kit tucked behind the mirror cabinet.

Jungkook hummed, the sound deep, amused. "So, I've been told."

You turned, finally looking at him, and immediately regretted it. Because he was watching you. Again. Not passively, not carelessly—but like he was memorizing something, like he was still thinking about the way you had whispered I don’t against his lips only minutes ago.

Your throat tightened. You gestured toward the sink. “Hand. Under the water.”

He didn’t move.

Instead, his head tilted slightly, a slow smirk ghosting at the edges of his lips. “That an order, angel?”

You exhaled sharply, grabbing his wrist before he could make another smart remark, forcing his injured hand under the warm stream. He hissed at the contact, fingers twitching, but otherwise didn’t complain. Blood swirled in the sink, a diluted pink that spiraled down the drain.

You repeated, biting the inside of your cheek. “What were you even thinking?”

Jungkook’s voice was ceaseless, unfaltering. “That I wanted you alone.”

Your hands stilled, fingertips just barely brushing against his palm. His words lingered between you, weaving into the steam, settling into your bones.

Slowly, carefully, you lifted his hand out of the water, watching as droplets slid down his fingers, over the sharp lines of his knuckles. The cuts were shallow but jagged, the skin angry and raw, small flecks of glass still embedded in his palm.

Your chest ached.

You reached for a towel and dabbed carefully around the wounds.

This was ridiculous. He was ridiculous. But he was also In pain and a part of you has never liked him In pain. It reminded you of nights where he'd think too much about where he actually belonged. Something very candid. Something very raw. Something a child shouldn’t have to think. You had known how to bandage scraped knees and scuffed elbows. Knew nothing about those nights.

You refocused on his hand, plucking a pair of tweezers from the kit and leaning in, carefully pulling out the slivers of glass still buried in his skin. Your breath brushed against his wrist, your fingers gentle, your focus unwavering. Jungkook didn’t move, didn’t even flinch.

But he watched.

Watched the way your brows furrowed, the way your lips pressed together in quiet concentration, the way your hands trembled just slightly when his thumb twitched against your palm.

He inhaled deeply. "You're good at this. You always have been."

You ignored him, reaching for the antiseptic. “This is going to sting.”

Jungkook smirked. “You sure you don’t want it to?”

You pressed the gauze down harder than necessary.

Jungkook inhaled sharply, his good hand gripping the edge of the counter. “You're enjoying this, aren't you?”

“A little,” you admitted, pressing again just to make a point.

His laughter was quiet, but it was real.

You forced yourself to focus, wrapping a clean bandage over his palm, fingers tracing lightly over his knuckles as you secured it in place. His skin was warm beneath yours, solid, alive. You wondered if he could feel the way your pulse was hammering.

You sucked in a breath, finally, finally releasing him, stepping back like distance could fix what had already unraveled.

"This is reckless." You spoke, not knowing yourself if you meant his hand or him following you to the kitchen. "We need to stop doing this." You finished and looked up to gauge his reaction to your words, only to find that he was already staring.

Too close. Too secure. Too much.

You weren’t sure what you were excepting. Hurt? Regret? Guilt?

Definitely not the recap of what happened in the kitchen. Definitely not his good hand lifting. Again.

It’s imperceptibly, resolute. His fingertips brush your hip first, featherlight, a touch so barely-there that you almost convince yourself you imagined it.

Almost.

Until he grips.

Until he tugs.

And suddenly, you're slamming right against his unmalleable frame,

Your eyes fly up, locking onto his.

Jungkook’s gaze is unreadable, filled with something that makes your stomach clench. His hands plant themselves firmly on either side of you, caging you in.

“You tell me to stop,” he said quietly, “and I will.”

Your fingers tighten around his forearm.

You should.

You should.

But you don’t.

Because he shifted, tilting his head slightly, the smallest movement—one that said he’d do it again.

Kiss you.

Undo you.

His gaze flickers down, lingering on your parted lips. "Yet all you do is look at me like you want me to fuck you on this damn counter. And Jesus, angel, if it doesn't make me rock hard."

The crude words leave him like there’s no consequence to him. To you they rise goosebumps all over your body. For a moment, you try to convince yourself that it's a warning sitting heavy on your skin.

It shimmers through your mind, something about distance, about lines, about how you’ve already crossed too many. You could still say it.

You could still put an end to this before it tattered beyond repair.

But then Jungkook’s grip on your waist tightened, and suddenly, the ground wasn’t beneath you anymore.

Your breath caught as he lifted you. Effortlessly, hands firm, unwavering. The air shifted around you, heat rolling off him in waves, and before you could catch your breath, the cool press of marble kissed the backs of your thighs.

You swallowed hard, fingers instinctively curling into the fabric of his shirt. He settled between your parted legs, the warmth of his body bleeding into yours.

Your pulse thrummed, a frantic, uneven rhythm against your ribs.

"That," you breathed, trying to sound firm, trying to anchor yourself in reason, "sounds like a bad idea."

Jungkook exhaled through his nose, the ghost of a smirk playing at his lips. "It does."

And then he kissed you again.

It wasn’t fair, the way he kissed.

Like he knew exactly how to disentangle you.

Like he knew that every time his mouth met yours, resistance becomes a footnote.

His tounge moved with yours, fingers traced the edge of your knee, palms gliding up the sensitive skin of your thigh before finding its mark at your hip with a confidence that says its his anyways. A soft ache that doesn’t seem to matter anymore. He doesn’t move closer. He doesn’t have to.

The space between you is already non existence.

But his hands need to be closer. Preferably, inside so one of his hands slides higher, disappearing beneath the hem of your dress. Unhurried, exploring, teasing.

Your thighs tensed against his hips, heat coiling in your stomach, something familiar and overwhelming pressing at the edges of your ribs. His bandaged hand then found the small of your back, fingers splaying against your spine as if mapping you, tugging you still until you could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against yours and the outline of his bulge against your thigh.

Your fingers curled into his shoulders, anchoring yourself, gripping onto something solid as his touch grew more confident, more certain when he found the wet spot forming on the lacy white material—so thin, so damn easy to tear—and something primal glinted in his gaze.

His lips dragged along the planes of your chin, the corner of your mouth, before he exhaled against your skin, voice hushed, but steady. "Still want me to stop?"

His answer was you pressing into his hands instead of pulling away, your breath catching when his fingers brushed higher, thumb pressed bolder and stroking slow patterns against your clothed fold, dragging his knuckles along the delicate fabric.

Your head tilted back slightly, your breath uneven, and Jungkook watched you—watched the way your lashes fluttered, the way your fingers dug into his biceps, the way your body responded to him, even without words.

He knew.

And he liked it.

His lips found your throat, his voice low, rough. "You should." A kiss, slow and deep. "You really should." Another, this one firmer, teeth grazing over your pulse.

A shiver rolled down your spine and desperation rolled on.

"Don't stop. Want your fingers." His cock twitched in his pants and he bit harder onto your neck. He thinks he's again gonna make a wreckage in his pants at the realization of you trembling for him.

"Good girl, angel. Already so wet for me." he breathed, and eased down your soaked panties from your thighs. His eyes glinting again when the thin white late is revealed to him. And god, when it slipped down, revealing glistening skin beneath, he exhaled something broken. "Fuck—have you been waiting for this? Is that what it is?" He wantons and bunches the fabric in his hand to tuck it in his pocket. You flush at the implications, at what he just did, at what he might do.

"Have you?" You dodge the question and he grunts, parting your folds with his thumb and forefinger.

"You have no fucking idea." His forehead pressed to yours, jaw clenched. "The idea of having you like this again consumed me. You consume me."

A soft whimper slipped from your throat, and he grunted again at the sound, his fingers pressing more firmly now, tracing, exploring, teasing you apart. "Did that charming mouth used to get you a lot of girls out there?" The question sounds like a taunt but tastes like lemon on your tounge. You don’t know why you ask it—why you let the thought slip past your lips when you could have buried it like all the others. Maybe now, with his hands on you, with the past and present colliding so violently in the space between breaths, the thought worms its way in.

If he had kissed someone the way he kissed you. If his hands had crammed the shape of someone else’s body. If, somewhere across an ocean, he had found something that didn’t taste like longing.

His fingers stilled. A sharp breath. A pause thick enough to drown in.

Then—he laughed. A low, disbelieving sound that sent a shiver curling up your spine. Not amused. Not really. More incredulous than anything, roughened at the edges with something else.

His bandaged hand tightened around your thigh, dragging you closer. "You think I’ve wasted this mouth on anyone else?"

His voice was low, velvet-soft but weighted, pressing into your skin like the heat of an open flame. Your stomach clenched.

"I don’t know." You swallowed, pulse fluttering against your throat. "I never heard anything, but—"

"But what?" His thumb dragged along your folds. “You think I’d let someone else have what’s yours? Thought I’d put my hands on someone else and think of anything but you?" The pads dig into your skin, his grip an demand for honesty because this is all he plans to give you now. The honesty that every time he tried to want something else, it was your voice in his head. Your name on his tongue.

Your lashes fluttered, the words sinks into your bones, pools at the base of your core. It terrifies you how much you like the way it sounds coming from his mouth—low aching, like it had been a curse, like you had ruined him without ever meaning to— how much you like the way him stressing every word with press of his fingers.

“I want things with you,” he said, the words dragging out of him like they’d been kept in a vault. “Not just this. Not just your body—though fuck, I’ll worship it until I’m in the ground.”

His hand stilled again, the stillness worse than movement, because now he was looking at you. Really looking. Voice softer now. Like he was afraid to let it live in the air.

"I want it all." He whispered. "I want every morning with your hair on my pillow. Every night with your hands on me." Your mouth parted, but no sound came out—just breath, shallow and stunned.

His fingers moved again, slow and reverent, his touch suddenly less about taking and more about giving. "Your clothes in my closest." Showing.

Promising.

Your head fell back against the mirror, your breath coming in sharp, uneven pants, every flick of his wrist sending another spark of pleasure shooting through your limbs.

"Jungkook," you gasped, barely able to form his name.

"Your name on every piece of paper that has mine." he kept going, his voice low, yet the way two of his digits slipped inside, slow, stretching, filling, setting a rhythm that had your thighs trembling wasn't exactly something you could keep quiet for. "Your moans in my ear that I'm gonna keep just for myself."

Your cunt clenched around him and head dropped to his shoulder in an attempt to muffle the sound. "Mhm. Fuck." Your body arched into him, chasing the fire that threatened to consume you whole. His pace quickened, his touch growing rougher, more desperate, as if he needed this just as badly as you did, as if he needed to become a devotee of the way you fell apart in his hands.

"Say it." He curled them just right, making a consistent squelching sound that bounced off the walls. "Tell me you want it. Tell me you want me." His mouth was scornful when it spoke but affectionate when it peppered kisses on the crown of your head.

"You know I do." Your voice was wrecked, barely more than a whisper against his skin, hips stuttering beneath his touch.

"Not enough." He growled, voice thinned by impediment, fingers curling again, slow and deep and your grip on him was the only thing keeping you from floating away.

"I—Jungkook—I" You broke off, a cry catching in your throat as he pressed and flicked. A merciless rhythm of knowing.

"Come on. Be my good fucking angel." He murmured against your hair, fingers pushing in and out of your slick hole with practiced ease, working you open, watching every shift of your body, every tiny gasp and shudder.

"I feel it," you breathed. "God, I feel it—I want you."

He too could feel how you seized against his fingers, how your breath started to come in short pants. "More." He husked. "I want you to lose it for me," his voice took a pleading note, his head dunking down, lips finding the curve of your jaw, his teeth scraping lightly before soothing the bite with his tongue. "Fall apart. Come on my fingers knowing what I want with you. Knowing you're it. Let go, baby."

And then he found that spot—the one that drove knuckles deep into your quivering cunt, curling and flicking, shattering you, the one that had your eyes rolling back, your breath catching in a sharp, broken cry as teeth dug unconsciously into his shoulders, hips shifting, chasing his touch, needing more and he felt the urgent need to bury his cock into you the next second.

“Right there, fuck—Jungkook,” you whimpered, eyes fluttering shut, lashes damp.

“Don’t stop. I’m—god, I’m gonna cum. So close. So fucking close.” Eyes stayed fixed on your face like it was a masterpiece made for him alone. The heat of your slick coated his fingers, the way your body clenched down around him driving a ragged curse from his throat.

Your orgasm hit with brutal force, crashing into you like a wave breaking at high tide, leaving you boneless, trembling, and Jungkook caught you, his arm wrapping securely around your waist, his lips pressing into the side of your neck, as if searing the moment into your skin.

As if he had no intention of letting you go. As if he never had.

"Beautiful girl." He mummered. "So fucking perfect when you come for me." He praised and pulled his two digits drenched with your essence out of your pulsating pussy to slide them into his mouth. Eyes closing when the taste of you settled on his tounge, reacquainting himself what has been taken hold of every inch of his mind. The appreciative hum that starts to leave his mouth gets lodged in somewhere in the middle when he feels your thighs wrapping around him, your front pressing against his cock that throbbed with the need to be lamented inside your salivating warmth.

He cursed under his breath, his control fraying at the edges. "Needy little thing." he growled, half in awe, half in torment. "Still aching for me?"

You blinked at him, all wide-eyed innocence, but your hips shifted again, grinding up into him in a way that had his jaw clenching, his breath turning ragged.

“I can feel how hard you are,” you whispered, voice barely there. “What if I want more?”

"Fuck," he gritted out, "I need to be inside you." He needs and his hands gripped your thighs, clutching you closer with the intention to rub against your bare, soused pussy. You felt the heat of him, the weight of the orgasm he had wrung from you with nothing but his fingers, the sheer presence of him pressing against you, and your pulse fluttered, a mix of nerves and overwhelming want.

His hand that you mended, hooks up your chin. You barely registered his words at first, too dazed, too lost in the lingering ache of pleasure still pulsing deep within you. But then—his voice, low and thick with something rekt, something wanting.

"Think we've got enough time?" He asks, shrugging a glance at his rolex. His hands traced over your thighs, palms spreading against flushed skin to bunch up the silk material of your blood stained church dress, the delectable longness of his erection pressing against you. And though it was phrased like a question, it sounded rather possessive and certain, as if the answer had already been decided.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, torn between reason and the undeniable heat pooling low in your stomach. "We'll have to find out." You whispered, teeth biting onto your lip as you grinded in response, letting you feel him—hard and urgent, straining against the fabric that abstracted you—until it didn’t.

Your fingers moved without permission, trailing down his stomach, feeling the taut muscle beneath the crisp fabric of his shirt. Lower still, to the belt that had been teasing you with its presence, the polished metal of the buckle cool beneath your fingertips.

Jungkook inhaled sharply when you undid it, the sound rough. His hands around you clenched, but he didn’t stop you. Didn’t pull away.

Didn’t want to.

You took your time, savoring the way his breath hitched as you worked open the button, the zipper, how his body tensed beneath your touch. And then—when you pressed your palm against him, feeling the full length of his need—his head fell back, his throat bared in a perfect, aching display.

God.

Your breath stilled in your chest.

He was beautiful like this.

Not just in the obvious way—not in the way the world saw him, sharp-suited and composed, the perfect image of a man in control. No, this was something else entirely.

You traced your gaze over him, over the column of his throat, over the way the muscles in his jaw tightened as he swallowed. Over the way he looked like he was waging a war against himself.

“Y/N,” he gritted out, his voice tight, strained, as if he were warning you.

Or begging.

But you only pressed a little firmer, fingers teasing, tracing, thumb swiping over his swollen tip that leaked with pre cum.

With a growl, his hand wrapped around your wrist, halting your movements, dark eyes snapping open to meet yours. "Fuck, baby. I'm not patient enough for this."

And then he was lifting your hips, guiding you against him, his tip poking at your entrance, making you let out a shuddering  breath. He leaned in, his lips brushing over your cheek, feather-light, a stark contrast to the way his hands gripped your thighs.

"Let me feel you," he hiss, more plea than demand, his voice thick with restraint. "Let me have you all of you, angel."

And when you nodded—when you let him pull you to the very edge, let him replace his fingers with something hotter, heavier—your hands fisted in his shirt, nails biting into his shoulders as your breath hitched.

Jungkook groaned against your ear as he pushed himself all the way to the hilt, sworeing how he would never get enough of you, his fingers flexing at your waist as he stilled, letting you adjust to the sudden intrusion of his massive length, letting himself revel in the feeling of you wrapped around him like you always would in the sweetest of his dreams, like you did a certain night away. And from that moment he had wondered how had he ever functioned without this? How will he ever function without you if you keep yourself away from him?

Your hands slipped up, cupping his face, tilting him toward you until your lips brushed. “Move,” you whispered, voice barely there.

Slow at first, rolling his hips into yours, his mouth catching every broken sound that left you, his hands never stopping their worship of your body.

And when he felt his willpower leave him, when slow became desperate, when his name spilled from your lips like a prayer—he answered.

He met you in every way you needed.

It was urgent—messy and desperate and filled with everything neither of you could say out loud. Could only afford in hushed whispers and lips tracing sin on skin. Something he'd taken pain from you if it meant he'd get to kept this. Because it was better than nothing, better than those years when he wanted you with a desperation that should’ve dulled with time, with grief, with regret.

But it hadn’t.

It had only grown sharper.

It was too much. It was not enough.

The way he gasped softly as he pushed himself inside you—inch by inch, stretching you around him, your hands fisting his shirt like you couldn’t decide whether to pull him closer or push him away.

He pressed you further onto the counter, knocking over something ceramic that shattered on the tile, neither of you caring. The pace of his cock driving inside you turned desperate, driven by something raw, something that tasted too much like loss but felt too much like home.

Your fingers found his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan against your lips, his hands sliding up your back, pulling you closer, closer, closer. "Oh yeah! Fuck, just there!" You panted, hips snapping against his, encouraging him further as he outright pounded into you.

"You’re—fuck—so tight,” he rasped. “So warm. I knew it. You were made for me.” He highlighted with a squeeze to your boob, rolling your pebbled nipple between his digits. Your walls fluttered around him, still so tight, still taking all of him like you had been made to, eyes fluttering close when he gave it a pinch.

And fuck—he wanted to see that again.

“Eyes, Y/N.” he murmured, his voice rough, strained.

Your lashes lifted, glassy and unfocused, your lips parting around a soft gasp as he rolled his hips again, hitting deeper this time.

He smiled, dipping his head, lips brushing over your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. “That’s it, baby. Let me see you.”

You swallowed hard, fingers pulling into his hair. “Jungkook I can't—Too much!”

His grip on your waist tightened, his pace faltering slightly. “Shhh. I've got you,” he whispered, voice shaking. “You don’t have to do anything. Just take me.” He cooed, his head falling to the crook of your neck. His teeth grazed over your pulse, tongue following, lips dragging along heated skin.

The sensation sent a shiver rolling down your spine, sharp and electric.

Your back arched, pressing further into him, your thighs tightening around his waist. You could feel yourself spiraling, the coil in your stomach winding tighter and tighter with every roll of his hips, every deep, mind blowing thrust.

You felt full.

Overwhelmed.

Like you were going to break apart any moment.

Jungkook must have felt it—the way your nails dug into his skin, the way your breath stuttered against his ear—because his grip shifted, one hand slipping between you, fingers pressing against your most sensitive spot, rubbing slow, lazy circles.

Your body jolted at the added sensation, a sharp cry tumbling from your lips that he caught in his own.

And he smirked.

“My angel's so close, hmm?" he murmured against your mouth.

Your breath hitched, a whimper escaping before you could stop it. "Yeah—shit—yeah. Wanna come again. Want come so bad, Jungkook."

Jungkook groaned, his cheeks hollowing, brows furrowing like he was barely holding himself together. “Fuck, you sound so pretty when you do that.”

You were right there.

Jungkook felt it.

And he wasn’t about to let you go without making you fall apart for him.

His thumb rubbed faster, tighter circles, his thrusts rougher, deeper, his lips brushing over your ear, his voice low, wicked.

“You’re gonna come for me again,” he promised, panting. “Right here. Around me. Look at me when you do.”

The coil snapped, pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave, your body tightening, then releasing all at once. Your vision blurred, your entire body trembling, your nails raking over Jungkook’s back as you moaned his name, breathless and undone. "Shit, that's right." He heaved.

His thrusts started to get sloppier, trying to constraint the sound of his hips slapping against yours in the tiled bathroom only while he pursued his own release. More urgent—less about control and more about instinct. He could only last so long with your pussy milking him for all he's worth.

"Fuck—baby," he rasped, voice wrecked, forehead pressed hard against yours, sweat-slicked and trembling. "I’m close… fuck, I’m gonna come. Gonna fill you up."

You found yourself nodding mindlessly, relating with the wretched appetite in his voice to be warmed up to within.

“Such a needy girl,” he murmured, voice rough as gravel. “So desperate to be filled, huh? You want all of it, angel?” His hand moved from your waist to your jaw, thumb swiping your lip like he was trying to soothe something uncontainable.

Jungkook's thrusts slowed into something deeper, deliberate, chasing every inch of you as he buried himself to the hilt and groaned, full-bodied and guttural, like it had been torn straight from his chest. His release hit him hard, cock twitching deep inside you, thick warmth spilling in hot waves as his fingers dug into your hips hard enough to bruise like he was trying to memorize you, like he hadn’t spent the better part of his life trying to memorize you in ways he had never deserved.

He didn’t stop—just kept grinding into you, riding it out, chasing the feeling of being so deep inside you that the world didn’t matter. His jaw clenched, eyes squeezing shut as he emptied every last drop, as if he could carve his name into you from the inside.

Like the years had never carved a distance between you, like nothing—no one—had ever come between this pull, this thing that always seemed to exist between you and him.

And yet, reality was creeping back in.

You could hear it—the soft murmur of voices beyond the door, the distant clatter of dishes, the low hum of conversation that you were supposed to be a part of.

The world you were supposed to return to.

You exhaled shakily, body still trembling in the aftermath, shifting against the counter, trying to gather yourself, trying to think. Your fingers curled weakly into his shoulder, and you felt it—his chest rising and falling against you, his breath warm against your temple, the quiet steadiness of him as he held you there, as if neither of you were quite ready to move just yet.The sweat cooling on his skin glistened where the low light caught it, and his nose nudged softly into your hairline, inhaling you like he wasn’t ready to let go yet.

"Still with me, angel?"

You hummed a airy "barely" and he kissed one, featherlight and sweet, dragging his mouth lazily toward your jaw. He was taking his time. He didn’t seem to care that your clothes were halfway off or that you were still tangled around him.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that, wrapped up in the quiet. You sighed, resting your head back on his shoulder, content and warm and glowing all over. The mirror behind you was fogged with breath, the air still thick with the scent of heat and sweat and him.

“We should go back now," you whispered and when you moved to slip away, his hands curled against your thighs, halting you in place. Not tight, not forceful—just there, just asking.

He shook his head, exhaling through his nose, his thumb brushing absentmindedly over your skin where he adjusted the hem of your dress after wiping the remnants of him with a tissue, doe eyes giving away the look a kicked puppy would have. “Not yet. Give me a minute."

Not yet.

Not don’t go. Not stay.

Just not yet.

And maybe that was why you didn’t move.

Maybe that was why you let yourself linger for just a second longer, your fingers smoothing over the collar of his shirt, tracing a wrinkle that your own grip had left behind. A pointless action, an excuse to touch, to feel the warmth of him for just another moment before you had to pretend like none of this happened. "Fine. I mean I wouldn't want to walk back smelling like sex and you."

Jungkook’s gaze darkened. His hands slid up, brushing over the curve of your cheekbone, his touch slow and sharp like satisfaction curling under his tongue.

“That right?” he murmured. “You smell like me?”

The question caught you off guard.

Too late. He was already drunk on it. He ducked down, nosing along your throat, breathing in deep with a groan like the idea physically did something to him. “Fuck. You do. You smell like me, angel."

You blinked, your fingers stilling against his shirt, your breath hitching in your throat.

Something darker lit his eyes—satisfaction painted in shadow. “Good.”

Your breath caught. “It’s good that I reek of you?” And definitely not the hottest scandal the neighborhood will get their hands on. Right.

He dipped his head, nose brushing your neck, lips skimming your pulse. “You should smell like me,” he whispered. “You should walk out there with your thighs dripping and my scent all over you. Glowing because you took every inch of me." he murmured, voice low and reverent. "Let them wonder."

You whimpered, helpless under the press of his mouth, the press of his words.

“I—” you started, but your thoughts tangled as he sucked gently at your neck, just above where your collar would hide it.

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze again, a smirk tugging at his mouth.

“Still want to go back?”

"Yes."

Jungkook studied you for a second longer, his eyes searching, tracing every inch of your expression, as if he was looking for something, as if he was still waiting for you to change your mind.

But you didn’t.

So he only exhaled, pressing his lips to your head. And then, finally, finally, he let you go.

You breathed out, fingers curling at the edge of the counter before you shifted again, moving to slide down—to plant your feet back on the ground, to leave but not before letting yours eyes drift to him for a second where he tucks himself in his slacks.

“Y/N.”

His voice was softer this time, but it stopped you all the same.

You barely had time to react before his fingers found your jaw, tilting your chin up, forcing you to look at him.

Your breath stilled.

Jungkook’s thumb brushed against your bottom lip, slow, lingering. And then, so softly, so quietly he asked—“when you walk out from here will you start avoiding me to the next Sunday again?"

Your brows scrunched up and you attempted to look away.

"Please don't, angel." He pressed his lips to where the crease formed for a brief moment.

And god help you, you wanted to listen.

The evening (6:25, you noted from your wrist watch) was quiet, the sky yawning open into a stretch of velvet dark, the stars distant pinpricks of light like secrets kept at a distance. You had always known the halls of the university to be full—full of voices, of conversations that layered over each other, of common stories and repeated gestures. Even today, it had been the same.

The evening air carried the last remnants of warmth, a hesitant shift between winter and spring that clung to the pavement, to the air, to you, you could feel reprieve take hold instead of a sort of suffocation.

You pulled your coat tighter around yourself, your breath curling in the cool air. The once-busy campus had emptied out, leaving only a handful of cars scattered beneath the flickering glow of overhead lights.Your heels clicked against the pavement, hurried, purposeful, as you wove between the cars, searching.

Hoseok was ahead, his figure easy to spot—relaxed posture, a casual sway in his step, his tan coat catching the dim light. It wasn’t hard to catch up with him. He moved like someone who never rushed, even when he should. But you still called his name, breathless from the rush.

“Professor Jung—Hoseok, wait up.”

His tailored blazer was unbuttoned, sleeves pushed up to reveal lean forearms, his usual crisp attire softened by the slight ruffle of his hair, undoubtedly from running a frustrated hand through it after a long day. His dark eyes lifted at the sound of your approaching footsteps, and when recognition flickered across his face, his lips curled into an smile.

"Ah," he mused, had just reached his car, one hand already on the door handle when he turned at the sound of your voice. His lips curved into an easy smile as he leaned against the frame. "To what do I owe the honor of you sprinting across the lot?"

You huffed, coming to a stop beside him, shifting the strap of your bag on your shoulder. “I think some of my test papers got mixed up with yours. I noticed a few of my poetry essays were missing, and I have a hunch they ended up with your psychology midterms.”

Hoseok made a thoughtful noise, rubbing his chin. “That… would explain why I was grading a sonnet on existential dread instead of cognitive behavioral theories.”

You sighed. “I knew it. I must have switched the stacks when I was in a rush earlier, I'm sorry."

“Don’t worry about it," he assured you, resuming unlocking his car. "I’ll check when I get home. Worst case, I’ll bring them to you tomorrow.”

You nodded, relief sagging through your shoulders. "Thanks, Professor Jung. You're a life saver. I planned to finish grading them tomorrow."

Hoseok made a mock grimace. “You work too hard.”

You smiled, shaking your head. “Says the guy who spent last night preparing an extra credit seminar.”

“That was different. That was for the kids who actually care about my class,” he countered, before nodding toward the nearly empty lot. “You’re headed home? Want a ride?”

It was harmless. A casual offer from a friend, from someone who had sat across from you in faculty meetings, who had lent you his pen more times than you could count, who had laughed with you over shared frustrations about students turning in assignments late. There was no reason to hesitate.

It had been a long day, longer than you realized. You would actually prefer it rather than waiting for the bus that always seems to be running late by minutes.

Yet the answer that came was.

"She's already got a ride." The voice wasn't yours. It had been the one you had come to realize that avoiding was futile, that whatever admissions it breathed into your ear ran deeper that you would have assumed, affected you more than you'd liked and you have started to come terms with it. The words weren’t sharp either, weren’t cruel, but they cut through the quiet with the ease of something unquestionable.

Hoseok’s brows lifted slightly as both of you turned toward the voice, towards the faint crunch of footsteps against pavement.

The raven haired man who had once been standing a few feets away, watching, was now stepping forward, minimizing the distance until he was right beside you, hands tucked into the pocket of his coat that was as dark as the night, the sharp cut of his jaw illuminated by the glow of the streetlights. His eyes didn't lock with yours as they usually would, instead they zeroed In on the psychology professor who was unaware of the sudden tension buzzing through the air.

What the hell?

“Oh, I didn’t realize you had someone waiting.”

You swallowed, grounding yourself. “Uh—yeah.” You cleared your throat. “Hoseok, this is Jungkook. My—" You cringed at how visibly you struggle to come up with words when the ardour of the man beside you pressed into your side. God, he was always so warm.

When Hoseok, ever perceptive, raised an eyebrow you snapped out of it and continued. "Minho's brother."

Hoseok glanced between the two of you, and his mouths part in understanding. Dots connect. His eyes glance at you with a look that says 'That Jungkook?' And you blink, 'That Jungkook.' All that you've ever told him about Jungkook making it clearer.

"Ohhh." He grins and extends a hand without hesitation, always one for politeness. “Well, nice to finally meet you, Jungkook. I'm Jung Hoseok. I first met Y/N at a masters program. Been friends since then."

Jungkook’s gaze flickered to the offered hand before he shook it, firm and brief. Just a little tighter than necessary, enough to make Hoseok chuckle under his breath.

“Oof. Strong hands,” he said, raising an eyebrow but otherwise unfazed.

"Nice to meet you." There was nothing outright hostile in Jungkook’s voice. Nothing overly tense but you still felt like you were caught between two frequencies—one warm and familiar, the other crackling with something dangerously unspoken.

Hoseok seemed to pick up on it. He glanced between the two of you again, the corners of his mouth tilting into something unreadable before he shifted his weight.

“Well, I won’t keep you if you're settled then,” he said easily, flashing you a small smile. “See you Tomorrow?”

You nodded, grateful for the out. “Yeah,

see you.”

Hoseok gave Jungkook a small nod before slipping into his car, headlights flashing on as he pulled out of the lot.

You exhaled slowly, shifting on your feet, resisting the urge to lean into him. No, you were supposed to question him first.“What was that? And what are you doing here?”

“What was what?” He hummed, his mouth no longer set in that stern shape, his hand slipping from his coat pocket to brush a stray strand of your braid that barely seemed to hold its own away.

You narrowed your eyes, looking around instinctively before back at him. “You know what.”

Jungkook took a slow step forward, not even bothering that you were out in public, the space between you shrinking, charged. His head tilted slightly, voice deceptively light, tounge pushing against his cheek; That little tell of his, a habit you learned and found more attractive that it should have been, a habit he did when he was displeased with something. Maybe even pissed. Or both. "Didn’t know you were that close with Hozook, angel."

You blinked, thrown by the sudden turn in conversation. “It’s Hoseok.” You scoffed. “We work together, Jungkook. I’ve known him for years."

His lips pressed together, as if that information did absolutely nothing to quell whatever had flickered across his face moments ago.

Then—he opened his mouth, about to say something else, when you cut in, tone flat, unamused, every word sharpened.

“You’d know that if you hadn’t ghosted me for years.”

Whatever he was about to say dissolved right there on his tongue. His jaw twitched once. His brows dipped slightly, something unreadable passing through his gaze—but he said nothing. Good.

After a beat, he exhaled, shaking his head before motioning toward his car when he noticed the thin layers of your clothing, a dress shirt paired with a half sleeved sweater. “Come on.”

You frowned, your feet hesitating. You should be walking the other way. Should be dealing with public transport, going through the motions of an evening that should have belonged to you alone. He wasn’t obliged to be a part of this. “You didn’t have to come pick me up.” you say, smoothing down the strap of your bag.

He shrugs and his hand reaches you, or most specifically your bag, fingers curling around the strap and taking in his fist. “I was in the area.”

You snort, unimpressed. “Right.”

Still, you don't protest when he opens the door for you for reasons you don't want to analyze. And when you slide into the passenger seat, you don't mind how natural it's starting to feel.

He drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting against his thigh. The city hums past you in streaks of gold and red, the kind of light that makes you feel like you’re inside a dream you once had and forgot the ending to. The faint murmur of the radio filling the space between you.

You’re both quiet for a while.

Then—“How was work?” he asks, without looking. His tone is mild, almost too careful, as if the question isn’t just about your day but about the right to ask.

It’s a simple question, casual, but the way he says it slows your thoughts. Like he’s trying, like he wants to know you again.

You shrug, shifting in your seat. “Fine. Uneventful. Spent half the day grading, the other half convincing students that deadlines actually mean something.”

He hums in amusement. “They don’t.”

You glare at him. “They do when I say they do.”

“Terrifying,” he muses, the corner of his mouth twitching.

You roll your eyes but it does little to conceal your own smile. “What about you?” It feels like you owe him the same curiosity.

Jungkook exhales through his nose, a slow, measured thing. “Had a meeting. Went as expected. Some numbers that needed fixing. Boring stuff.” You had always understood your husband's disdain for a life that was a repeat of listening to some guy talk too much, lose his temper when his ego would be on the line. But you had never known why Jungkook would prefer this or even why he wouldn't.

You look at him then, the sharp cut of his jaw, the way the city lights flicker across his skin in intervals—light, dark, light, dark—like the world couldn’t quite decide how to hold him. You weren’t sure you could either. Maybe you never asked enough questions, never studied every crease on his face liked you'd with minho and inspect it to hell.

“Sounds exhausting.”

“It is.” He steals a glance at you, quick, assessing. “Less exhausting now, though.”

But now that you do, now that you want to, you understand what he means.

It’s easy, this. Talking like this. Falling into a rhythm you hadn’t realized you still knew, one that had been untouched for years but still existed, waiting beneath the veneer. The intimacy of nothing in particular.

Jungkook has to force himself to focus on the road, fingers flexing again as he shifts gears.

If you scrutinize deeper, you'd also find that this—this slow glide through streets neither of you had named, the soft murmur of the radio, your shoulder nearly brushing his in the dark. This is what he’s always wanted. Not the secrecy. Not the stolen minutes behind doors that you had to double check if they are locked.

But this.

A ride home after a long day. A quiet conversation. The sound of your addictingly sweet voice in his car, in his space, in his life in a way that feels so woefully unpolished that it almost hurts.

“You’re not driving to my place.” Your voice pulls him back, your gaze sharp now, watching as the streets grow less familiar.

He doesn’t even pretend to be surprised at your realization.

“No.”

Your brow furrows. "Can you for once just drive me to my apartment without taking me to some place I don't want to go?"

"No."

That alone makes your fingers twitch where they rest in your lap.

You had spent so much time trying to untangle your own thoughts about him, about whatever this was turning into. Picking at it. Trying to name it. But Jungkook had been the picture of certainty. Unflinching. Unbothered. Like none of it had touched him the way it had touched you. Like he had already made peace with something you were still trying to name.Like he’d walked back into your life not to ask if he could stay—but to decide that he would.

Tonight, he seems different.

Its in the way his jaw tightens every time you shift in your seat, like he’s bracing himself. The way his tongue swipes over his bottom lip before he speaks, only to change his mind and stay silent. The way his gaze flickers toward you like he’s waiting for something.

You don’t know what to do with that.

Jungkook and hesitation have never belonged in the same sentence. At least, not since he came back.

You try again. “Where are we going, Jungkook?”

His mouth pressed into something unsure. Jungkook, unsure. It wasn’t something you were used to seeing now. It wasn’t something he looked when he pressed you against the kitchen counter, hadn’t sounded like this when he whispered his most cordial of dreams into the corner of your neck.

When he finally speaks, his voice is even, controlled. “Somewhere I want you to see.”

“That’s vague.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “It’s a surprise.”

Something about the way he says it makes your stomach pull tight.

Because you’ve seen Jungkook confident. You’ve seen him arrogant, smug, amused. You’ve seen him angry, cold, unreadable. But nervous? No. Not since he came back from a different life, not since he became the man that no longer fit into the spaces you had once saved for him.

And yet, right now, here he is. Inside, the space, one hand loose on the wheel, the other resting against his thigh, fingers drumming idly like a song he hadn’t decided to play yet. It was a small thing, a habit from when he was younger—back when he used to tap against the wooden desks in class, always restless, always itching to move.

Some things hadn’t changed.

Some things had.

Your fingers curled against the fabric of your coat. “You’re being weird.”

"I’ve always been weird, angel."

"No you haven't." There's something defensive in the way you phrase these words. "Don't change the subject."

This time, he smiled—brief but real. It softened something in his face, something he so rarely let slip anymore.

“You’ll like it,” he murmured after a beat, voice softer now, like he was almost convincing himself of the same thing. “I think.”

Just turned down a street you didn’t recognize, the road quieter here, the buildings spaced apart, until he finally pulled up in front of a modest, modern structure with floor-to-ceiling windows and a single light illuminating the entrance.The kind of place you wouldn’t look at twice if you didn’t know what you were searching for.

You couldn't help but ask again. "Where are we? What is this?"

Jungkook cut the engine, but he didn’t move right away. His fingers tapped against the wheel once, twice, before he finally exhaled and turned to you.

"I bought this place," he said simply.

You blinked up at the building again. "What?"

His lips pressed together, eyes flickering away before he cleared his throat. "Just—come inside."

You followed him out, your steps slow as you took in the building, the way the large glass panes mirrored the stars. The sky leaned against the windows like it, too, wanted to press closer, to see inside. There was a sign by the entrance—simple, elegant script, almost shy in how little it asked to be noticed. You don’t recognize it, and that alone makes you reconsider.

Jungkook said nothing as he unlocked the door, the quiet snick of the key turning loud in the stillness. He held it open for you like always, but this time his eyes didn’t meet yours.

You stepped inside and the push of the door revealed —A gallery.

Not just any gallery.

Paintings. Everywhere.

Paintings stretched across every wall, soft pools of golden light falling over their frames. Each piece breathed color—bold, bruised, aching with emotion. Blue melted into umber, ochre kissed the edge of crimson. Every brushstroke pulled something raw from your chest.

You moved forward, like your body remembered the path before your mind could catch up. Your fingers hovered in the air, trembling as they traced the lines without touching them, as if the act of reaching alone might wear you.

All of it look like what had been painfully dear to you.

Your stomach twisted.

Because you knew this work.

You knew it. Not just the style, not just the way the colors lived together in layered silence—but the soul of it. The way it looked back at you. The way it knew you.

You knew the hand that had created it. Been the first and last one to hold them close to you.

You reached for the closest canvas, your vision blurring at the name signed at the corner.

Jeon Minho.

The name cleaved through you like a wave, cruel and kind in equal measure. Your heart twisted. Your fingers hovered over a piece, afraid to touch, afraid it might slip through your hands if you weren’t careful. It was his—all of it, the way he saw the world, the way he translated it onto canvas.

It was like standing inside his head again, like hearing him laugh through color, like stepping back into a time where his presence still existed beyond memory.

Your breath shook.

“This…” Your voice wavered. “This is his.”

He was watching you instead, hands in his pockets, shoulders tense like he was waiting for you to feel it before he explained it.

And you did.

God, you did.

In the farthest corner of the room.

Your feet carried you again, before your mind could catch up, before you could brace for the impact of what you were about to see.

The world blurred at the edges.

The painting was soft, muted in color, like it had been caught in the golden hour of a fading summer. Three figures sat at the edge of a dock, backs turned, feet dipping into a painted lake that rippled with every brushstroke.

Two boys who's curves of smiles you would know even from behind.

One girl who knew.

It was them.

It was you.

Your throat tightened painfully, a memory rising unbidden, curling at the edges of the canvas, spilling into the quiet of the gallery until it was no longer just a painting—It was then.

You were twelve the summer Minho decided that the best way to survive the heat was to sit at the edge of the lake until the sun stopped trying to kill him.

Jungkook had been the first to follow, feet kicking idly at the water, arms propped behind him as he leaned back, his oversized t-shirt damp from an earlier splash war that he had definitely lost.

You had been the last to sit down, cross-legged between them, tossing small pebbles into the lake just to watch the ripples expand.

It had been quiet, warm, easy. The afternoon smelled of earth and sun, of laughter spilling into the open air.

“Stay still, Minho!” you giggled, reaching over to press another blade of grass into his already messy hair.

“Why?” he huffed, cracking one eye open. “You’re ruining my masterpiece.”

“You’re ruining my masterpiece,” you shot back, grinning as you tucked another strand behind his ear. A few away, Jungkook sat cross-legged, watching the two of you with quiet fascination. He was younger then, still round-cheeked, his dark eyes wide and serious as he curled his fingers in the grass.

“Are you gonna put grass in my hair too?” he finally asked, tilting his head.

You paused, considering, then reached over and plucked a small daisy from the ground.

“Not grass,” you said, leaning closer. “But hold still.”

He did.

Even then, Jungkook had been good at that—at waiting, at being patient in a way that seemed too big for his age.

Carefully, you tucked the daisy behind his ear.

“There,” you murmured, sitting back.

Minho snorted, pushing himself up on his elbows. “Now he looks really ridiculous.”

But Jungkook only blinked, reaching up to touch the flower gently, like it was something delicate, something that had been given to him and him alone.

He didn’t take it out.

It stayed there like the three of you—trapped in summer light, forever twelve, forever laughing, forever somewhere time could not reach.

A quiet exhale broke the silence behind you. But the deep ache stayed spread through your chest, slow and unforgiving.

"He never showed me this," you murmured, voice barely above a whisper. "He painted it the year before he…" Jungkook hesitated, the words catching. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, his gaze tracing the familiar lines of Minho’s signature. "Before he passed."

Your chest constricted. The truth never stopped feeling like a knife.

From the first time since you stepped inside, you finally turned to Jungkook then, eyes searching, waiting for him to tell you why.

Why he had done this.

Why had he crushed that one devastating voice in your head that would make it's appearance timely—you are forgetting him. You are forgetting the exact way his laughter curled at the end. The domesticity of how his step fell beside yours. Those were slipping with every sunrise you surived without him. Dissolving like fog under the sun. You are forgetting your min min.

And one night, you'd wake up desperate, breathless, trying to recall the way he said your name but you wouldn't. And the guilt—God, the guilt—would sit on your chest.

Until now that Jungkook had gathered every fragment of Minho’s soul and brought it back to life. Not as a ghost. But as something immortal. As something known. Someone someone will always know. A hundred things rise to the surface. None of them make it past your lips.

Jungkook exhaled softly, running a hand through his hair before shoving it back into his coat pocket. His shoulders were drawn tight, but his voice was steady when he finally spoke. "I started looking for them a while ago. A month before I came back, maybe longer. They were scattered—some in old studios, some with collectors. A few were in storage, collecting dust. I tracked them down, bought back what I could."

He hesitated before continuing. "Hyung's anniversary is next month." The words felt heavy, like they were scraping raw against the throat of a boy who had never quite come to terms with losing the only man he's ever looked up to. "And I—" A pause, like he was choosing his next words carefully. "We—never really did anything, did we?"

You blinked hard, trying to push back the sting behind your eyes.

"No." Your voice was barely there.

A muscle in Jungkook’s jaw ticked. "I didn’t want this year to be like that. I wanted to do something. Do you like..this, angel? We could open this to the public too if you want. Show mom and dad."

Something rises within you, vast and unnameable—less a feeling, more a tide. It isn’t just the gallery. It isn’t just Minho.

It’s the echo of affinity stitched into every frame. The invisible thread that leads back to Jungkook.

It’s the fact that Jungkook did this. That he spent God knows how long making this happen, gathering Minho’s work, making sure his art wouldn’t just sit in forgotten portfolios, lost in the quiet corners of time.He unearthed what time tried to bury. Preserved what you feared was lost.

And the immensity of it—the quiet significance of what he’s saying, of what he’s not saying—hits you harder than you were prepared for.

The gallery holds its breath. Your pulse does not.

Slowly, carefully, you reach for his hand like you would in the dreamiest of dreams.

Jungkook stills.

His fingers are warm beneath yours, rough at the knuckles, tense. But he doesn’t pull away. Not from you. Never from you.

“Thank you,” you whisper. It doesn’t feel like enough, but it’s all you have. Like gratitude too big for language. Like grief softened into approbation. “This is—” Your throat closes, a breath hitching past your lips, eyes blinking away tears that had nothing to do with sorrow and everything to do with love."This is beautiful. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

Jungkook doesn’t speak, but something shifts in his face, something almost imperceptible. In a way that made him want to take this moment where you're looking at him like he had hung the stars back in the sky and bury it deep inside his ribs, somewhere no one could ever touch it.

And when he does speak, his hands intertwine with yours, eyes holding yours like gravity. "You're beautiful."

Your lips parted, caught off-guard.

A muscle of his cheek clenches. “I meant—your face is all red. It’s distracting.”

You smiled, watery and gentle, and he swore if he if he had even a silver of the talent his brother carried in the cradle of his hands, he would’ve painted you too.

With your face flushed from crying and the faint glimmer of laughter still clinging to your lashes. With your fingers looped between his like you didn’t even realize you were holding on.

He would’ve painted you in soft oils and pale light, your presence the only subject, the only truth. And maybe he’d leave a smear of color just beneath your eye where your tears had dried, like a signature only he could understand. Not even someone who could’ve looked at it years from now would have understood.

But Jungkook couldn’t paint.

Couldn’t even draw a straight line without it wobbling under pressure. He had no brushstroke to offer you, no canvas that could carry the weight of this feeling blooming in his chest like it had always belonged there.

So he squeezed your hand instead, pulled you into him and pressed a kiss to the crown of your head, repeating how you're so beautiful, how he wants to spend the rest of his life telling you so, how he will lay the world on your feet if you only just smile like that for him.

What he doesn't say is that he came back for this. He stayed for you. He'll always stay.

And how still, in the soft lull that followed, his mind—traitor that it was—pulled him somewhere else.

Back to the night he first listened to Minho’s voicemail.

He hadn’t planned to.

It had sat in his inbox for two weeks after Minho passed, unopened. Just a little notification bubble, small and silent, like it knew it wasn’t ready to be heard.

But that night, something in Jungkook had split.

Maybe it was the cold. Maybe it was the way the world kept turning like nothing had happened. Maybe it was just loneliness.

He’d climbed up to the roof of some rented building in Daegu, drunk off something cheap, the stars sharp above him, the world far below.

And he played it.

"Jungkook-ah." Minho’s voice cracked a little. Old, soft, raspy. Too gentle for someone whose lungs had been fighting him for years.Too familiar, too. The kind that had once read bedtime stories and yelled over bicycle crashes.

“I figured you’d be too pissed to pick up. Can’t blame you.” A soft chuckle, winded.

"I know it’s been a while. Years, actually." He waited, if considering whether it's worth a try or not before resuming. "Too long, huh?"

"I saw your name the other day. Don't even remember where. But it made me stop. Not that I got too much going on for me." Another shaky chuckle followed. "I don’t know what kind of life you’re living now. Maybe something busy. Maybe something brilliant. But if you’re hearing this… I want you to know I was proud. I am proud. Even when I was angry. Especially then, maybe. Even when I didn’t understand you. I watched you become your own person, and it scared the hell out of me. I didn’t wanted to see you turn into our father."

His voice wavered, raw and fraying.

"But you didn’t become him. You didn’t. And I wish I’d told you that sooner."

“Because you're my little brother. You always will be and I'm sorry I forgot that for a moment and I..I don’t know how much longer I’ve got so I had to tell you this." He paused, and Jungkook could almost hear the way Minho looked up at the ceiling when he was thinking. Like there was something celestial about regrets once they’d been said out loud.

"They don’t say it, but I can tell. I can see it in the beautiful brown of my wife's eyes."

Jungkook remembered pressing his palm against his chest like it could stop the ache. It couldn’t.

"Though it has dulled a shade ever since the coughing starting hurting worse. I suppose, I should be sorry for that too, but I don't want to die drowning in sorrys. I don't want to die regretting. Even if it kills me that I'll never hear your name in the news again, that I will never see her in morning light and think that heaven’s not far off."

He cleared his throat, like it hurt to speak. Maybe it did.

"I want to be content with all that I've had. With all that I've become. I want to be hopeful that the world will be kinder to her. To you. That you'd not spend your whole life outrunning ghosts."

Minho’s voice lowered, like it was just the two of them now. Like it had always been.

"I hope it’s not too late." I hope I'm not too late. "I hope—when the dust settles—you’ve still got something to hold onto. Someone. And I really hope she forgives you."

Silence stretched, one last time for minho, perhaps. For his little brother, it was the sound of his own breaking. He tried to hold his breath. Tried to stay still. But the pain didn't stay quiet. It raked up his throat, rude and coarse, until the first sob slipped out, ruptured and helpless. His hand, the one holding the phone, trembled violently. The other curled into a fist against his thigh, knuckles white, nails digging into his palm like that might stop the shaking.

It didn’t.

“I’ll be somewhere soft. Don’t rush. Just… be good. Remember your hyung. I love you, Jungkook-ah."

Static.

He pressed the phone harder to his ear, like if he clung to it tightly enough, Minho might speak again. That maybe—somehow—he could rewind, could stop it, could change everything.

Only static.

"The centre of every poem is this: I have loved you. I have had to deal with that." — Salma Deera, Letters from Medea (2015).

[sunflowerwinds]

sugar, sugar | v.a

summary: a week after isha’s birthday party, you tell vi it’s time to take the night on to make some blueberry cinnamon rolls. the two of you open up to one another in the midst of your baking session; your feelings for her somehow festering even more but maybe those feelings aren’t as one sided as you believe.

pairing: fem!reader x vi arcane

contains: modern!au, mila & jinx side-plot (that’s barely touched on), awkward and adorable tension, pining, fluff, talks of parental deaths on vi and reader’s end, possible incorrect depictions of baking (i love baking but im not an expert </3)

word count: 4.5K

a/n: i think i got one more part for you guys and i can’t wait for it :) i love love all of the overwhelming support for this little series; i cannot express it enough!! the reblogs & comments really help me keep going. i hope you guys enjoy this part!!

— THREE

“What are you doing?”

You hear from behind you as you were frantically wiping down the stone top island in the kitchen, making sure it was squeaky clean for Vi’s arrival.

After attending Isha’s birthday party, another week had flown by before you were able to have everything prepared. Okay, you had most of the materials at home already.

You felt you needed to mentally prepare to have Vi here in your childhood home; a place you go to for comfort at the end of a restless day. You had sent her messages with your address and what time she should make her way over to yours.

You hold back the eye-roll threatening your eyes at Mila’s judgemental tone. You were as ready as you could be, wearing a simple pair of striped sleeping pants and a dark gray sweatshirt that hung slightly off your shoulder with a back tank underneath. You were home so you wanted to be cozy yet cute. Your hair was up in a simple ponytail, a few flyaways escaping from your vigorous cleaning.

“Cleaning. What does it look like I’m doing?” You sarcastically respond to your sister, sucking in a deep breath as you move to another spot.

“I can see that but I mean, why are you scrubbing so damn hard? You’re going to carve the stone, dude.”

You close your eyes as you try not to snap at your sister. Your grandma had given you the day off so that you could spend as much time with Vi as you could. Even after insisting to her that it wasn’t necessary, she made sure you weren’t on the schedule and to not leave the house unless it was with Vi.

‘I need a daughter-in-law,’ were her words as she left the house to go to the bakery. She was very hopeful for you.

“I’m… a little anxious, okay?” You admit, ready to hear your sisters mocking.

She snorts at your words as she rounds the island to look at you. “Yeah, no shit.”

“Okay can you keep that to yourself, please? I-I don’t need this right now,” you wipe back some of the flyaways as you put the rag in the sink.

You wash your hands in silence, hearing your sister shifting behind you.

“Look, what I was going to say was that you are going to be fine. Clearly, she already likes you or else she wouldn’t have agreed to come over to help you,” Mila quietly tells you, tilting her head to try and find your eyes. “I know this doesn’t happen often for you but I don’t want you to screw it up.”

You take that in, ignoring the dig at your antisocial skills and lack of dating experience. You knew this was your sister's way of trying to comfort your scattered mind.

“Thanks… I think,” you squint your eyes at her, drying off your hands.

You hear your phone ding on the countertop, leaning over to check to see who it was. To your demise, it was Vi telling you that she had arrived at your house. You mutter a curse as you turn to your sister getting ready to tell her to go somewhere that wasn’t here. You hadn’t even heard the car rolling up the dirt driveway.

“You’re welcome. Now, I’ll be doing you a favor and leaving so you can have the house to yourselves.”

Your brows furrow at her words, questioning your sister’s whereabouts.

“Wait, where are you going?”

Mila grins at you before shrugging one of her shoulders, seeming sheepish. “Hanging out with a friend. I’ll see you. Have fun with Violet.”

She drags out Vi’s full name to tease you as she throws her brown suede purse over her shoulder. You practically shove her out of the house as you peek out the window once she shuts the front door. You knew your sister didn’t have a car, and she was not using yours, so you wanted to see who the hell was picking her up. Your eyes squint to see a streak of light blue hair in the driver’s seat and Vi walking up to your front door.

Vi passes your sister and gives her a slight nod and wave, telling her something that you couldn’t quite hear due to the fact that she was outside still. It took you way too long to realize that the head in the driver's seat was Jinx. Mila and Jinx were friends? And she just forgot to tell you?

Absolutely shocked by this news, you tug open your front to reveal Vi with her hand raising to knock but eyes widening at your confused expression as you look behind her at the car reversing and leaving the dirt driveway.

“Hey, uh,” Vi shoved her hands into the pockets of her zip-up, tilting her head at you, “is everything okay?”

You blink as your attention switches to Vi’s awaiting expression. You shake your head, an embarrassed chuckle leaving your lips.

“I’m sorry. Hi, Vi,” you grin at her before opening the door wider for her to step in.

“You’re okay. It’s Jinx and Mila, right?” Vi questions, an amused smile forms on her lips.

You nod slowly as you allow her to step further in, asking her to take off her shoes before nodding with a shocked expression as you shut the door and lock it.

“Yeah. They’re… friends?” You press, wanting to know your sister's business.

Vi pries off her shoes near the door and places them next to the small line-up of you, your sisters and your grandmother’s shoes.

“Yeah, I guess Jinx went to the bakery on her own and your sister was there and they started talking after that,” she breathed out a laugh.

“That’s crazy. I love my sister but she is cranky as hell at work,” you chuckle.

Vi shrugs her shoulders, her laughter fading to a small grin. Vi’s bright eyes dart around the interior of your grandmother's home, curiously examining every inch of the house you grew up in. You linger behind her as you try to compose yourself over the fact that she was here. You fiddle with your rings in an attempt to ease your bouncing mind.

“It’s so… cozy here,” she voices her thoughts as she smiles at a photo of you, your sister and your grandma when you were younger that was sitting on a shelf underneath the living room TV.

Her light gray zip up was slightly falling off her shoulders to reveal the inch strap of her black wife pleaser underneath. The sight distracts you for a moment before you cringe at your younger portrait but Vi merely admires how much you’ve grown yet somehow look the same.

Beautiful, nonetheless.

“Everyone says that when they come over. My grandpa actually helped build this place with his friends when they were younger. He really loved my grandma.” You explain softly, looking at the back of Vi’s head.

Vi turned her head to look at you, nodding as she glanced around the room wondering how long it must’ve taken to do this.

“It’s really beautiful.”

“Thank you,” you accept the compliment on your grandmother and grandfather's behalf. “Oh, and I did make the dough last night because it needs to rise overnight so it can be all light and fluffy.”

Vi slowly nods at your words, furrowing her brows as she motioned towards the kitchen area that was adjacent to the living room.

“So what more do we have to do other than, you know, assembling them?” Vi questions as she waits for your response.

You hold your hands behind your back as you tilt your head towards the fridge, an eager smile spreading onto your face.

“Do you want to listen to music while we bake?” You question.

Vi’s eyes flicker to your elated gaze and she can’t help but smile at your question. When you look at her like that, she thinks she would do anything for you. She watches your movements as you scurry over to a side table that was next to the living room couch to undo the clasp of a vinyl player that was disguised as a leather brown suitcase.

You kneel down to tug out a crate that held around 50 records, humming to yourself as you pick up a record that satisfied you. Vi couldn’t see from where she was standing but was hesitant to move forward. You carefully remove the vinyl from its paper shell to place on the spindle, moving the tonearm to rest it on the song of your desire.

“This is just a bunch of different blues and R&B songs,” you inform Vi, your back still turned to her. “I thought it was fitting.”

Vi nods in understanding even though you weren’t able to see her. You stand back up to your feet once adjusting the volume, walking back over to Vi’s awaiting figure. You take her hand in yours and motion for her to follow you into the kitchen.

“Is this going to be messy?” Vi asks, distracting herself from how much she loved feeling your hand in hers.

“Mmm, I would be lying if I said no so you either roll up your sleeves or take off your jacket so you don’t get it covered in anything,” you suggest as you release her hand to tug open the fridge to retrieve what you needed for the filling.

Vi, to your wonderful surprise, zips down her jacket and lets the cotton roll over her toned shoulders. You stand frozen near the fridge for a moment at the sight of her back nearly covered in ink. You had to thank whatever or whoever sent her to your grandma’s shop because how the hell is she real?

Standing here in your kitchen looking like that?

Vi sets her jacket aside on one of the chairs that was pulled up to the island, her hands finding their place on her hips as she awaits further instruction.

“Okay so, what you’re going to do is sprinkle a bit of flour onto the island. Just all over it,” you motion to the bag of flour and use one of your to make a spreading motion to the lengthy surface.

Vi nods in understanding at your instruction, clearing her throat as she reaches carefully into the paper bag to grab a good handful as does exactly as instructed. You hold back your glee as you watch her lean over a bit to even out the flour. She glances at you through her peripheral to make sure you seemed satisfied with how that looks.

“How’s it look?” She hums, dusting off her hands over the spread.

“Perfect. Now, take the dough and just give it a few kneads to press out the air bubbles.” You point to the metal bowl full of dough, stepping to the side to move out of her way.

Following your words once again, Vi takes the malleable tan dough into her palms to plop it down onto the surface. You turn your head to cough at the gust of powdery air that blew upwards. She, too, waves a hand in front of her face to brush the puff away from her nostrils.

When Vi had said you only wanted her there so she could do all the kneading, you didn’t expect to actually be gawking over her doing it. She digs her palms and fingers into the dough, leaning her chest forward to press it into the flour. Her triceps tightened at the motion, readjusting the blob to spread the flour evenly throughout. You swore you heard a grunt of struggle leave her lips as the dough was a bit thicker than she was expecting.

You raise a hand to your mouth to push back the infatuated smile that was tickling your lips, just watching her knead the dough.

“Is this good?” Vi asks through another press into the surface, another light grunt leaving her mouth.

“Yeah,” you say without thinking, lost in your lust-driven daze.

Vi looks up at you from her kneading as she stops with her hands still buried into the dough, no longer sticking to it as it was covered in flour. You dart your gaze away from her as you shake your head, chuckling and muttering ‘right’ to yourself.

“I’ll get the, uh, rolling pin so you can flatten it out.”

You suck in a deep breath as you turn your back to her, shutting your eyes as you internally scold yourself to pull it together. Had she noticed your lingering almost creepy stare at her arms?

If she did, she hid it very well.

“Do I need to wash my hands?” Vi questions from behind your back as you kneel down to retrieve the rolling pin from the cabinet.

“No, not yet. After rolling them, you can. I’ll put the filling and roll them if you want,” you offer from over your shoulder as you grab the wooden object.

“Okay. You’re the boss,” Vi chuckles.

You stand back up on your feet, blinking harshly from the sudden rush to your head. Change the subject, you begged internally as you handed her the rolling pin. As you flicker on the stove and try to think of something else to talk about, you can hear Vi humming along to the song currently playing as she rolled the dough as instructed.

You smile to yourself as you begin to make the filling as quickly as possible.

“You know this song?” You question the red-haired woman, turning to her slightly as you watch the filling simmer in the small pot.

Vi seems to be caught off guard at the fact that you could hear her humming to herself along with the song's lyrics, pausing her movements for a second.

“Uh, yeah,” she clears her throat as she takes one glance at you before looking away flustered. “My… mom would sing it all the time. She was obsessed with it.”

“You know, you’ve never talked about your mom,” you state carefully. “Not that you have to. It just hit me.”

Vi shook her head, muttering a ‘no, it’s okay.’

“I guess I never really had a reason to but I don’t mind,” she reassures you to glance at you once again with a small smile.

You send her one back as you stir the filling slowly, watching the ingredients dissolve over the heat.

“What was she like?” You question.

“She was… loving. She, uh, passed when I was 11 and Jinx was 6. She gave us home hair cuts that were just so terrible,” Vi shook her head with a chuckle as she recollected on her childhood. “I mean, seriously. I mean, it looked like we had cut them ourselves but my dad claimed that we loved the look. I think it was because it was the fact that it was her cutting our hair instead of some stranger.”

You can’t help but smile at her words. Her voice had softened the second she had brought up her mom, signaling to you that her mom was a gentle soul. You could feel how much that transpired within Vi.

“Were her and your dad together for a while before they had you and Jinx?” You hum.

“They were never together. They were actually friends but my mom got knocked up by some random guy twice that they never knew about and my dad kind of took that position of being, well, a dad.”

Vi explains as she sucks in a deep breath, seeming as though she was composing herself. You furrow your brows as you are afraid that you’ve pushed it too far with the questions.

“Well, when did Isha come in?” You ask in hopes to distract her.

This Vi freezes at, releasing the rolling pin to turn to you with a soft sigh.

“She came out of nowhere. My dad told us one day coming home from school that someone had left a baby on our doorstep. We thought that kind of stuff only happened in the movies so we thought it was a joke,” she leaned her back up against the counter top, folding her muscular arms across her chest. “But then we came into the living room and there she was wrapped up in a little blanket in a bassinet. Jinx was more excited than I was because she got her own little sister.”

“You have a very loving family. It’s obvious, honestly. I can tell you have a good heart, Vi,” you tilt your head to make eye contact with her to show the sincerity behind your words.

Vi’s eyes hold contact with your own, pupils dilating to the point where the blue of her eyes was a mere ring. She exhales a soft breath as she just stares at you.

“What about your parents? Are they…?” Vi blinks and reroutes the attention to you now.

“Uh, no. My mom and dad died when I was 6 or 7 and Mila was just 1. They weren’t the best parents from what my grandma has told me. They tried but they were… angry and overworked,” you shook your head as you turn down the heat on the stove lower before looking at Vi with a shrug to your shoulders. “I guess they thought having kids would bring them closer but it only seemed to push them further apart. They had dropped Mila and I here one day and just never came back. My grandparents found out a week later that they had gotten into a car accident and died on the way to the hospital.”

You wince to yourself at the silence that had fallen over the two of you. The soft crackle of the record switching songs and the soft bubbling of the blueberry filling in the pot were the only sounds in the house.

“But I’m okay. My grandparents raised me and my sister and I can guarantee it was the better choice,” you attempt to make a joke but Vi simply looks at you with a genuine expression.

“I’m sorry,” she says softly.

“I’m sorry too.”

You clear your throat, a strained chuckle leaving your lips as you clasp your hands together.

“Sorry, the filling’s ready. I didn’t mean to get all– Well, to bring that subject up.”

Vi shakes her head to reassure your frantic mind, reaching for your hand. You allow her to do so, heart leaping into your throat when her thumb wipes over the back of your hand.

“I said it was okay. I meant that,” she persists.

You look at her with a hesitant expression, opening your mouth about to apologize but she gives you a pointed look as if she was testing you to try it.

“Okay, okay, let’s roll these.”

Vi seems content with that and releases your hand to let you bring over the pot to the counter of rolled out dough. You ignore the bothersome want to grab her hand right back as carry it over and rest it on a crocheted pot holder so it wouldn’t burn the surface. You two stay in a comfortable silence as you take a wooden baking spoon to scoop it and carefully spread the blueberry-cinnamon filling across the flat dough. Once everything was properly rolled up and placed onto the baking sheet, you popped it in the oven for its designated time period.

About 20 minutes passed of sharing soft words to one another in the kitchen, the timer on your phone went off. With the rolls fresh out of the oven, you started to make the cream cheese frosting to wrap it all together. You could see Vi lingering over the delectable smelling pastries out of the corner of your eye, seeming to be examining them.

“You really do have a knack for this, cupcake. These look incredible,” Vi praises you as you plop the ingredients into the bowl.

You tuck a flyway piece of hair behind your ear as you bashfully smile in her direction.

“Well, you did all the kneading. They wouldn’t been made without your help,” you switch it around to the pink-haired girl.

“I knew you were staring,” she teased as she took a few steps forward so her shoulders were a few inches apart from your own.

The close proximity made your stomach flip but you simply continued to whisk in the bowl. You gradually add the milk, careful not to add too much or else it wouldn’t be thick enough.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lie through your teeth. “I was making sure your technique was good. I’m the baker here.”

“If you say so,” Vi held her palms up in defense, that annoyingly attractive grin on her face.

You shake your head before vigorously whisking the frosting, watching it turn into the perfect texture. You sigh as you dip your finger into soft white glaze and hold it up to Vi’s mouth, wiping it on her bottom lip without thinking.

Your eyes widen as you realize what you’ve done, watching Vi’s eyes match yours. She licks her lips to taste the frosting regardless, raising her fingers to her lips when yours just was.

“I’m so sorry. I—When I bake at home with my grandma or my sister, we usually just do, well, that because we’re the only ones eating it,” you cover your mouth with both of your palms, shaking your head. “I’m sor-I’m so sorry.”

“No, no,” Vi raises her hand to wave you off, a weird chuckle leaving her lips. “I just wasn’t expecting it.”

You sigh, the embarrassment still clinging to your skin as you replayed in your mind how easily you did that.

“It’s good, though,” Vi adds through the silence.

You can’t help but let out an amused laugh at the way she immediately tries to assure you that what you did was in fact very normal. You knew it wasn’t… by any means but she attempts to make you feel better regardless.

“What?” Vi asks through her own soft laughter.

You shake your head as you motion to the fresh cinnamon rolls.

“Can we frost these, please? I’m trying to save myself from embarrassment.”

Vi simply grins at you as she reaches two fingers into the glaze to gather a bit on her pointer and middle before sticking it in her mouth. You stare at her, unable to utter a word. What the hell is wrong with her?

“See? It’s good.”

Instead of humiliating yourself further, you shove her back with one arm as you scold: “Did you even wash your hands?”

“I did, actually.”

“Then get to it,” you point to the cinnamon rolls and hand her a spatula.

Vi glances down at the bowl of frosting and the wooden spatula with a soft blue rubber before taking it from her hands to do as you had asked. You watch her step around you to take a good scoop of the glaze to spread it over the warm treats. You spoke quietly to one another, asking her random questions to pick at her mind a bit more; to get to know her better.

“You think you could teach me how to kick box?” You question as you are now sitting in your living room.

Two small ceramic plates that were in the style of pool balls on the coffee table in front of you; Vi’s being the 6 green ball and yours being the 8. Cinnamon rolls sat on either one; yours being less eaten than Vi’s. She had mere crumbs left as she nodded into her last bite.

“Oh yeah. You can let me know and I’ll clear out some space for you.” Vi grins as she licks her lips to be rid of the cinnamon from her lips.

“I will definitely,” you chuckle as you take another bite.

“Hey, uh, speaking of that, I have this kickboxing tournament coming up in a few days. I… want you to be there,” Vi looks at you with an awaiting expression; hope glimmering over her eyes.

Your eyes meet hers as you chew your food, a hand hovering over your mouth so you don’t drop crumbs. I want you to be there, her voice rang through your mind.

“You’ll be competing?” You wonder.

“Yeah and a few of my older students,” she confirms.

You’d be an idiot to say no. A stupidly giddy smile spreads onto your face as you set the last quarter of your cinnamon roll back on the plate.

“I’d love to be there. I’ll cheer you on from a distance.”

Vi tilts her head from next to you, bumping her shoulder with yours.

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah. I’ll embarrass you with a huge sign that says ‘Go Vi’ in rainbow glitter,” you lean closer to her face as you tease her.

Vi eyes flicker down to your lips for a split-second as you lean in. You notice the action but brush it off as the closer proximity.

“You’ll be my cheerleader?” She questions, a smirk forming.

“Always,” you whisper, sucking in a deep breath as you shift yourself so that your body is facing hers.

Your answer sends a shiver down Vi’s spine, her heart leaping into her throat. She lifts her hand to take one of yours before she opens her mouth to say something. A loud knock fills the house causing the both of you to jump.

You mutter a curse to yourself as you excuse yourself to Vi to walk over to the door to unlock it to see your sister and Jinx standing on the welcome mat. They both held cheeky, suspicious grins.

“Hey guys,” you furrow your brows at the two. “Back so early?”

“Early? It’s been three hours,” Mila states with raised brows, stepping into the house.

Vi must’ve heard Mila’s voice and appeared behind you at the door, cursing to herself as she did not realize how much time had passed. She checked her own phone before looking at her sister.

“Shit, I gotta go. I promised I would take Isha to the park before it gets too dark,” Vi runs to grab her zip-up, sadly shielding her toned arms once again. When she walks back over to you, Mila and Jinx, she wraps her arms around you to give you a warm hug. “I’ll text you all the details, I promise. Thank you for letting me come over. I had a good time.”

You hold onto her tightly, discreetly inhaling the cinnamon-blueberry scent that was clinging to her skin.

“Yeah, me too. Let me know everything, Vi,” you pull away to see your sister and Jinx giving each other weird looks.

Okay, their friendship was going to drive you up the wall.

“See you, cupcake. Bye, Mila,” Vi grins at you and waves at your sister.

“Bye, Vi. Bye Jinx. Text me!” Mila calls after Jinx as they both walk away to the running car.

Jinx turns her head to send your sister a knowing smile, calling back: “I will, Mils!”

You and your sister watch the two open their designated sides of the car, leaning against the door with a long sigh.

“God, could you act like you’re not in love with her?” Mila teases before walking over to the kitchen to probably devour the pastries you had baked.

You shake your head to yourself as you think that no, you really can’t.

previous part -> next part

TAG-LIST: @strawberrykidneystone @lovinglynny @kylorey25 @loserbaby66 @eddiesdrummergf @jokermoonie @ranxiaolong @morphids @gayandcurious @oatmatchalatte @iamastar @saviourcomplexgf @vihxh7 @jinxjinxjinx12 @krilara @unear7hly @magical-rush @winchestergirlspn @naponiac @alex-thegiraffeboyy @fallingstarsburn @nombreuxx @16novvs @laviannasfanfics @kitty-kei

[moon7jay]

Pent up (l.hs, p.sh)

Read pt.2 here

Warnings : Non con, dub con(?), morally grey plot obviously (what do u even expect from me), filth, smut

Heeseung could feel the familiar itch in his chest and palms... and somewhere else. Well his dick to be precise.

He was horny. Inexplicably and utterly horny. could you blame him? His fanbase was majorly comprised of females. Hot females. But they weren't allowed to mingle with fans and that heightened his yearning more. Like craving the taste of a forbidden fruit.

He rubbed an exasperating hand over his sweaty face, breathing heavily through his nose to get in as much oxygen as he could, the testosterone was high in the hotel room, everyone still riding the adrenaline rush from the concert even though it had been done and over an hour ago. The tension was high in their bodies still and he could feel himself buzzing with it.

He knew it was practically impossible to get pussy at this hour, especially with the whole NDA thing and it agitated him further. His balls were heavy and in a desperate need to be drained empty by a tight warm pussy or mouth, he didn't even care, he just needed release.

He mentally thanked God for being the oldest and having the solo room privileges cuz it seemed like hardcore porn and his hand would have to do for the night. He was so ready to jerk off till his dick ached.

"Gonna head to my room" he informed Jay, who was sitting beside him on the spacious couch, just in case their manager started panicking upon not finding him with the rest of the boys.

Jay gave him a quick nod of acknowledgement and went back to whatever he was doing on his phone. Probably texting his girlfriend. That lucky fucker, heeseung thought. Jay's girlfriend was hot, heeseung had checked her out shamelessly on multiple occasions, even tried to get into her personal space a lot of times until Jay strictly told him to back off. Well, his bad, but what could he do? He was just a man who thought with his dick most of the time.

You heard him before you saw him, the sudden click of the door opening startling you enough to make you jump and turn around towards it. With the air freshener still in your hands, you came face to face with the most gorgeous man you had ever seen.

First thing you noticed about him was how tall he was, looking down at you even from a distance. His messy hairs fell over his forehead , his entire body clad in a casual black shirt and sweats attire. You gulped cuz this wasn't a part of the job. You were told to ready up the rooms for some very important people who would be staying at the hotel tonight but no one was supposed to be here for another hour or two. or maybe you messed up the timings again. Oh you were fucked.

The gorgeous man raised an amused eyebrow at your deer caught in the headlights stance and that's what finally made you break out of your inner monologue and you bowed to him, body on autopilot to do damage control

"I'm so sorry for the inconvenience sir, i wasn't aware you would get here this fast, I just need to fix the bed and I'll be done" you stuttered out, hoping a quick apology would be enough and turned back around to quickly fix the sheets, spraying the freshening spray around, hoping you won't be reported to the manager for this blunder.

What you failed to notice in your inner panic was how heeseung turned the lock of the door, setting the bolt in place, basically locking you in the room with him.

You didn't notice how his eyes scanned your figure while you apologized to him, or how his blood ran hot when the word "sir" came out from between those tempting, glossed lips of yours.

You didn't notice how his eyes ran shamelessly over your exposed legs, his tongue coming out to wet his lower lip while he ogled the curve of your ass as you bent over to fix the bed sheets.

Damn, heeseung thought, his dick twitching in interest, already leaking in his pants with how excited he was becoming at the sight of you.

You jumped upon feeling two large palms grabbing your sides, a squeak falling from your lips at the unwelcome touch

"What the fuck" was the first thing that came out of your mouth, caught too off gaurd to even react properly.

You tried to turn around to push him away but before you could even move he was twisting your body, manhandling you onto the bed. Your mouth opened to scream but a large palm stopped your attempt, your eyes widened in terror upon feeling his large body settle over yours, one tight grip on both of your wrists, trapping your hands above your head while his hand covered your mouth.

Heeseung was ecstatic, he could feel how soft you were against his hard body,your tiny figure squirming underneath his harsh hold, wide scared eyes staring up at him through wet lashes, he wanted to coo, you looked so adorable like this. Just ready to be fucked.

"You know I could easily get you fired sweetheart, just don't fight this" He threatened subtly, his calm voice oddly did the trick and you halted your struggling body.

You were a broke college student barely making ends meet. Your younger siblings depended on you for everything and so just the thought of getting fired was enough to chill your bones. That just wasn't something that you could afford. Tears flowed down your cheeks but you complied. Accepting your fate.

His eyes pivoted to your heaving chest, the open button at the top of your dress shirt giving him a peak of your perky mounds, driving him crazy with his rising lust for your body.

"Going to remove my hand but only if you'll be a good girl" he whispered, his hot breath fanned your face and you nodded too enthusiastically, making him chuckle and remove his hold on your mouth. His hand instantly moved to unbutton your shirt, making you sniffle into yourself. You closed your eyes in disgust, not wanting to see what was happening to your body, a sharp gasp leaving your lips when his rough hand squeezed your chest harshly.

An excited "fuck" fell from his lips upon feeling your soft tits, hardening him further in his pants. He duck down to run his nose along your clavicle, breathing you in while he groped the sensitive flesh of your boobs mercilessly. He traced the length of your neck and jaw, leaving small kisses and bites, eventually coming face to face with you.

"Open your pretty eyes I want you to see me do this to you" he whispered on your lips, taking the bottom one between his teeth. His nails dug into your mounds when you didn't listen, making you cry out in pain and giving into his wishes.

Your tear strained eyes looked into his lust blown hazy ones, watching how he suckled on your bottom lip, opening your mouth pliantly when he thrust his tongue into your mouth, licking and sucking, lewd noises coming from him at the taste of your tongue.

Heeseung was painfully hard. And as much as he wanted to take his time exploring your body, he was too fucking impatient to do so. His dick was weeping to get inside your warm fuck hole and he was not going to deprive himself of the much needed relief of your body any longer.

He moaned into your mouth, licking deeper while his hand travelled down between your legs, moving under your dress skirt to probe at your pussy from above your panties, making you gasp into his hungry mouth. That breathless gasp and the feel of your cunt was what did him in.

Removing himself from your body he climbed down the bed while you watched him petrified. Nerves frozen in anticipation of his next move.

"Take off your panties" He instructed you while he undressed his lower half, hastily taking off his sweats and boxers, exposing his hard and leaking dick to your terrified eyes.

You sobbed, your thighs closing upon the sight of his member, it was so big and you could already imagine the pain it was going to put you in. You saw how his jaw clenched at your lack of action, sharp and annoyed eyes staring daggers at your face

"we can both enjoy this if you don't fight me baby, or I can enjoy this alone I don't fucking mind it either way" He gritted through his teeth, climbing back on top of you. Before he could reach for your clothes your small hands were stopping him, sniffing softly as you took a good look at him. His inquisitive eyes watched you impatiently.

"O-okay" You whispered and slowly reached down to take off your panties, opening your legs for him. A weird tingling feeling was starting to build up in between your legs upon seeing his leaking length. Maybe it was the fact that you hadn't gotten laid in a while or maybe you were a freak but you could feel the moisture starting to accumulate in your pussy.

He bit his lower lip upon seeing you so pliant and ready to take him. God he needed to fuck the shit out of you. "That's a good fucking girl" he whispered.

He didn't wait any longer to aim his cock at your entrance, parting your pussy lips and breaching the opening of your cunt, a pained moan leaving your lips while he groaned in satisfaction at the feeling of your snug walls.

Your hands held onto his shoulders, your back arching at the feeling of him forcing himself inside of you so roughly, burying himself in your womb to the hilt.

"fuck yeah baby" He groaned upon feeling his balls slap your asscheeks, finally fitting his entire dick inside your warm and tight pussy.

He didn't give you time to adjust, his hips moving on pure animal instinct to fuck. You screamed in pain at his brutal movements but the constant bumping of his dick into your cervix was making your eyes roll back into your head.

His hips moved against yours roughly, pelvic smacking sounds filling up your senses. Heeseung's mind was focused on the singular thought of your pussy, brows furrowed and mouth open as he moved his dick in and out of you, enjoying the tight clench of your walls, giving him so much pleasure his entire body was on fire

"your cunt is making me feel so good" he panted on your face, his movements never ceasing, you could feel every drag of his veiny cock against your gummy walls, making you moan in pure pleasure

"You're getting wetter the more we fuck baby" He chuckled through strained voice, hoisting your legs over his shoulders, taking you deeper, penetrating his cock way past your womb.

Your nails dug into his shoulders, moaning helplessly as he grinded his lower body into yours, your colliding sexes making a mess now that you were leaking onto the sheets

"That's right-fuck-enjoy it with me, a little fun never hurt anybody" He grunted, increasing his pace, desperately chasing the friction your pussy was giving him

"Oh my god-" you screamed when he continued to beat your insides raw, bumping continuously against your g spot.

"Yeah? feels good doesn't it baby? giving it to you so good yeah?" he spoke, his thrusts merciless. Railing you into the bed.

Your hips chased his own, opening your legs further for him, enjoying the sex more than you were supposed to. If this was happening to you, you might as well enjoy it right?

Your lips attached themselves to his throat and he moaned, lust blown eyes staring down at you

"You are getting off to this you little fucking slut, fuck yeah " He spat at you in disgust but the twitch of his dick inside your womb didn't go unnoticed by you.

"You like when men force themselves inside your slutty little cunt yeah? makes you feel so good doesn't it baby?" His words only made you wetter, your juices leaking onto his balls.

He was busy pounding you into the sheets, the bed creaking loudly, skin slapping sounds so deafening you didn't hear the lock jingling and the door opening.

"Mhmm fuck, busy enjoying alone?" a manly voice interrupted your pleasure filled haze, your eyes darting to the side as a tall and even more gorgeous figure came in your field of vision. His eyes were focused on you and how heeseung was railing you.

Even though you wanted to hide away from his gaze, the lust filled phase your mind was in was turning you on more.

Heeseung didn't cease his movements, smirking at the spare key in sunghoon's hand, he sighed in pleasure at the way your pussy was clenching rapidly around his dick, excited at the prospect of someone watching you fuck

"little slut, she likes that you're here" he panted, folding your body in half and fastening his hips, feeling the knot in his stomach tighten.

"fuck keep clenching on me baby, I'm so fucking close" He groaned, his movements incessant, holding your hips and moving rapidly against you, harsh breaths fell from his lips, eyes focused on yours. He slotted his mouth against yours and moaned out loud, his hips stilling inside you while he filled you with his fuck cream,moaning in satisfaction.

His subtle grinds were frustrating you, needing more friction to reach your own high. Heeseung felt your hips pushing up from the bed to chase his dick and chuckled in disbelief

"you want more dick?" he asked pulling out of you with a pop and watching his thick cum leak out of your hole. You nodded, your hand moving down to circle on your clit, arching into your own touch like a literal sex hungry slut.

"fuck that's hot" sunghoon groaned and your eyes moved to him, his hand squeezed his bulge from above his pants while he watched your movements with hungry eyes. In your sex drunk haze you had forgotten he was even there. You opened your legs further, showing him what you were doing.

"You can stick it inside of her you know, bet she wants it bad" heeseung taunted at him, climbing down the bed and taking a seat on the couch across from it.

Sunghoon was scurrying to unzip his pants as soon as he understood the meaning of heeseung's words and before you knew he was settling over your body, rubbing his dick against your slit, making you bite your lower lip in anticipation of getting dicked down again.

"Where did you even find her, I thought we weren't supposed to fuck fans" He asked looking over at heeseung briefly before pushing himself inside you with a pained groan. You screamed at the sudden penetration, body squirming.

"so fucking tight" he let out through gritted teeth, snapping his hips into yours impatiently.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and arched your body into him. God he was so much bigger than heeseung, your pussy felt so full, you could already feel your high approaching.

"She's not a fan" heeseung groaned gruffly, making you glance over at him, your pussy clenched crazily upon seeing how he sat manspreading on the couch, his dick in his palm, jerking off while he watched you.

Sunghoon didn't question him further, at this point he couldn't care less about who you were, he just wanted to fuck your pussy and that's all that mattered to him.

His hands moved down to help you wrap your legs around his waist and he started thrusting inside of you, a pleasurable groan leaving him upon feeling your wet snatch

"warm and wet, she's like every guy's fucking wet dream" He grunted, his hips snapping rapidly into yours, fucking his dick into your fuck hole in a frenzy. He wasn't going to last long.

"she is isn't she, fucking slut, fuck her pussy , beat it till it's red and raw" Heeseung panted through gritted teeth, his movements fastening on his dick, squeezing his balls and sighing in the overwhelming pleasure.

"fuck yeah" sunghoon groaned and adjusted his hips to reach inside you deeper, making you moan in pleasure, incoherent words falling from your lips, you could taste your orgasm on the the tip of your tongue. "Such good pussy fuck yeah you should get paid for it" He chuckled breathlessly and you moaned at his words. No one had ever talked to you this way.

Your hips chased his dick desperately, fucking yourself back on him

"Yeah you like this don't you? - holy shit-like when men use your tight little cunt to jerk off their dicks don't u baby?" sunghoon panted on your face and you moaned, nodding your head while he pounded you into the sheets

"Cum In her hoon, fill that filthy pussy to the brim" heeseung moaned, his hips lifting off the couch as he watched your grinding bodies fucking like animals on the bed. Hot pleasure was running through his viens and he could feel himself close to another release.

"Shit yeah, so good, feels so good, yeah mhmmnfuck" sunghoon rambled burying his nose into the crook of your neck as his hips grinded into yours, feeling so close, so close, so-

A gutteral moan ripped from his throat and he was coming undone inside of your cunt,the feeling of his warm cum pushing you over the edge, moans and groans filling up the room

"fuck, fuck, fuck ugh God" Heeseung gasped, spilling his cum all over his hand and thighs, his stomach clenching and caving upon feeling such mind numbing pleasure.

Sunghoon's body fell upon yours, grinding a few times to properly fill you with his cum and then he was pulling out of your abused cunt. Groaning upon seeing the mess you were making on the sheets.

Your head lulled to the side in exhaustion, body so sore and mind so numb that you didn't even notice the flash going off as sunghoon captured the sight of your leaking pussy on his phone, saving it in his jerk off folder. He was quick to adjust his dick inside his pants and climb down the bed

"thanks man I needed that" He said and winked at heeseung. Heeseung nodded at him and watched as he left the room fully satisfied. His eyes fell on your spent and naked figure on the bed and he could feel his dick twitch in interest again. Fuck.

Before he could decide against it, he was picking up his phone and dialing jake's number

"Hello?" came jake's muffled voice from the speaker

"Come over to my room and bring Jay with you, I've got the perfect thing for you to relieve the pent up tension"

"Is it your ps5? Because I don't-

"It's a pussy"

Heeseung smiled upon hearing the instant scurrying he could hear over the speaker and he faintly heard jake calling jay's name before he hung up on him.

The night was going to be so so long.

[bratbarzal]

for your valentines event ³⁾ "you've been teasing me all this time about being single just for you to get stood up?" "....." "move over, you're lucky i'm hungry." with quinny ❤️

✩‧���˚ bratbarzal's valentines event!˚₊‧✩

"you've been teasing me all this time about being single just for you to get stood up?" "....." "move over, you're lucky i'm hungry." with toxic!quinn!!! ALOOF!QUINN TRUTHERS THIS IS YOUR MOMENT!!! this came to me in a fever dream last night tbh and escalated so hope you enjoy once again I took creative liberties with the exact wording (I didn't want it to be too much like the nico blurb) and I'm not sure this fits the vibe of the prompt but I saw I'm hungry and my mind went to one place!! and I don't even think this mentions valentines but what can you do it's may!!! (post requested blurbs within a normal response time you say??? who do you think I am?) I'm not great at writing smut but I did my best and my best is probably taking things too far with random interlinked plot dotted throughout

warnings: 18+ MDNI!! smut!! the filthy kind tbh - dom!quinn, oral (fem!receiving), fingering, squirting, slight/light/barely even spanking if you want to be dramatic lol, degrading comments maybe, brief mentions of previous sexual encounters, quinn is a menace and a dirty talking tease :) ~cheating but not really it's a first date with no labels that's going nowhere and reader and quinn have history. he's an asshole :) but I'd let him do unspeakable things also

4.7k words!!

The last place you expect to run into Quinn Hughes is in the middle of a bar.

The venue is too crowded to be somewhere he would usually visit - rowdy guys in the corner watching the baseball on the TV, even though you're not sure it's even live, a couple pool tables occupied with the kind of people who would recognise him in a heartbeat - and maybe that's why you chose it in the first place.

But you should have run for the hills the second you saw Elias Petterson and Brock Boeser on your way in. You should have known it would only be a matter of time before Quinn himself showed up, and that you would have no chance of escaping before he saw you.

"Was gonna offer to buy you some fries to share," he comments as he slides into the booth beside you, his eyes assessing the rest of the bar as if he's trying to gauge who might notice him talking to you. "But Petey said you were meeting someone,"

God, he can be such an asshole when he wants to be.

You haven't seen him for weeks, he's been ignoring your texts for weeks, and he can't even look you in the eye?

This is exactly why you keep telling yourself that you're done. This is exactly why when you mention him to your friends, they roll their eyes and tell you to just block his number and move on.

But they haven't seen the parts of him you've seen - the parts you so desperately cling to when he's cold like this.

"I am."

"I don't see anybody."

"He got held up at work."

"Of course he did." he scoffs, "You're being stood up. You're lucky I'm hungry though, I'll save you the embarrassment of sitting here on your own."

"Just because you're an asshole who ghosts girls the second things get serious, it doesn't mean Justin is."

"You don't have to get protective, sweetheart," he purrs, glancing down at you in a way that shouldn't make your throat seize, "Just saying, it's the oldest trick in the book. I was gonna sit with you but if you're gonna be snippy about it, I'm sure Justin will turn up eventually."

Asshole.

You couldn't be more thankful for the buzz of your phone on the table, pulling you from the depths of Quinn's gaze as you glance down, Justin's name flashing on your lock screen.

Quinn quirks a brow as he looks down, too, watching as you swipe into the message.

I'm here.

And then you glance to the entrance of the bar, relief flooding your system at the sight of him - not a sensation you ever thought you'd be feeling when you agreed to meet up with him after months of him asking.

But you're supposed to be getting over Quinn Hughes.

Justin is sweet, and you suppose he's attractive in a cute sort of way. He doesn't make your head spin, or your heart pound, or your stomach swirl into knots, but you're not supposed to want that, so he's the next best thing.

You edge past Quinn without sparing him another glance, hoping it hurts him in some way - hoping he at least feels something at your feigned indifference - and you proceed to spend the rest of your night unable to shift that hope.

Every time you force a laugh at one of Justin's attempts at a joke, you hope Quinn hears it.

Every time you try to flirt, you hope he sees it.

Every time you lean over the table when the two of you move over for a game of pool, you're hoping Quinn's watching.

And you think it must be the karma that comes from craving his attention that has you colliding with somebody else on their way back from the bar, their drink spilling all the way down the front of your top until it sheers out a little, and you excuse yourself to the bathroom to go and try clean up.

You really hope he didn't see that.

You're thankful it was vodka soda and not cranberry, the stain easy to shift with a little water and a blast of the hand dryer, and you're shrugging the top back on when you hear the rap of knuckles against the door.

"Yeah, sorry," you call out, shuffling towards the entrance, "I'm finished, it's all y-,"

Quinn stands on the other side of the door when you swing it open, hair astray like he's been running his hands through it endlessly, and his stature imposing.

“What are you doing?” You ask as he crowds into your space, backing up until you’re both in the bathroom, and he’s reaching back to lock the door behind him.

“Told you, I’m hungry,” and the look in his eyes confirms just that - dark and dangerous, a stormy swirl of greys and greens that make your breath stutter, the intensity sweeping straight through you.

He advances on you slowly, your feet stumbling back until you can steady yourself against the bathroom counter, and his gaze drops agonisingly down your body, lingering way too low for any sort of friendly admiration - because that's what he'd said the two of you were too many times to count, just friends.

You feel goosebumps rise as Quinn's head tilts, his eyes meeting yours just as the calloused pads of his fingertips graze the soft flesh of your thigh, just below the hem of your skirt.

"You wore this that time we fucked in my car after a game," he mutters, pushing ever so gently until his hand slips beneath the fabric, "Did you think of me when you put it on?"

"No," you gulp, your tone entire unconvincing.

The guys had all gone out after a win, and Quinn had texted you his location - meeting you outside the bar so that the rest of his teammates didn't see you and him together - and had driven you out to some random parking lot, had you crawl over the centre console into his lap, and had pushed this exact skirt up until it bunched at your hips and he could watch himself disappear into you.

It was so hot and sticky that you remember swiping little jagged finger marks against the fog on his window, and you wondered the next day when you saw him and he pretended that none of it happened if he had just wiped them away.

You'd remembered the incident as you were getting dressed, earlier, smoothing your hands down your hips and picturing the way his knuckles whitened as he took the skirt into his grip.

You don't get how he can so easily pretend the two of you are nothing when he remembers, too.

"So you wore it for him?" He doesn't push any higher, but his hand forms an authoritative grip around the back of your thigh, squeezing until they part by instinct, and he uses the leverage to slot his own leg between yours so that you can't fully close them again.

He knows how to work you like it's second nature to him.

He brings his other hand up to shift your hair back over your shoulder, clearing a path from your neck to your collarbone where he can trail his knuckle along the smooth skin just to make you shudder.

You shake your head, again, an unconvincing response, but what else can you do? You're too breathless to speak when he crowds into your space like this, and all you can smell is his cologne, and all you can feel is anticipation of his touch.

"Does he know you like being kissed right here?" His thumb presses down on your pulse point, the pressure firm in a way that makes your spine stiffen, and he tilts his head again as you meet his eye, his smirk condescending and so so sexy.

"We haven't kissed yet," you blink slow, trying to shake the daze he's put you under.

"Ahh," the grin Quinn gives now gives a flash of teeth, and you gulp at the visual it brings - said teeth sinking teasingly into the plush skin of the thigh he's still holding, and it's only then that you notice how his hand has moved, how his fingers are now curled into the leg of your panties. "So he's not taking care of you?" And then he pulls, and you gulp as you feel the fabric fall in his clutch, loosening once they're not flush around your hips anymore and dropping when he's pulled them down enough.

"Quinn," you warn, and he waits, to give him credit - his dark eyes narrowing in on yours, pupils blown, his tongue swiping out against his lips, and it takes you back to another night, a few weeks back.

Quinn turning up at your apartment late, his game having gone into overtime and then a subsequent shootout, and he looked exhausted - hair a mess, eyes sunken, shoulders slumped. The team had lost, and the first place he thought to go was to you, and maybe this was the delusion your friends kept warning you about when it came to him, but it had been the first night things between the two of you had been slower and softer.

The way he kissed you was different - it wasn't a rushed fumble into more, it was intentional and tender, he took his time advancing it into something more, and when he finally backed you into your bedroom, the two of you laid together far beyond the two rounds he managed before tapping out.

He let you stroke at his hair, and kiss at his skin, and see him beyond the cold and unattached version of himself he so often gave to you. And he didn't leave until the next morning.

And sure, that was the last time you saw him, and every text you've sent him since has gone unanswered, entirely, but you can't help but think something changed that night.

Something he doesn't want to acknowledge, now.

A loss of control, or a surrender to his feelings.

You can only hope it's finally the latter.

And because of that blind hope, you can't bring it in yourself to push him away - not if this is the only way he's going to let you have him, teasing and detached.

You swear he sees the moment you give in, when something shifts in his gaze, and he slowly, tormentingly drops to his knees before you.

He looks up at you from the lower position, palms caressing your thighs as he pushes them both up, your skirt following his ministrations and bunching at your hips until you're bare to him, and it's only then that his eyes shift - somehow you feel the intensity of them as much as they stare at your very core than you had when he was looking back up at you.

"Please," you whimper pathetically as he admires the way your legs part even further without prompting, the way your body crumbles and you lean back against the counter, arching to reveal yourself to him entirely.

"Look at you," he mutters as he brings one of his hands to the apex of your thighs, using his fingers to swipe through your folds and pulling them back to show you the sticky mess that now coats them, "So wet, already."

"Quinn,"

"For him?"

You shake your head as he repeats his actions, running his fingers from your entrance and bumping them teasingly against your clit, looking up at you again with a raise of his brow, prompting a further response and pressing lightly at the bundle of nerves until you answer.

"For you," you breathe, your hips stuttering forward to try and increase the pressure - but he knows you too well, anticipates your impatience and lightens his touch even more. "Only you."

"Good girl."

You gasp the second his mouth makes contact with your core - tongue pressing flat between your folds until he can lick a firm stripe upward, his lips closing sloppily around your clit until he sucks it into his mouth, the pressure of his kiss divine and mind-numbing.

Your feet stumble a little against the floor, and he braces his hands against your hips, pulling them firmly against his face so that he can hold you in place, and all you can do to maintain your balance is curl your fingers into his thick hair, pulling and tugging as you please - as he pleases you.

And God, you can't believe you thought you could just give this up. He's so good. So fucking good it's insane. And you really considered leaving things alone with him, for what - some nice guy from work who barely knows how to flirt with you?

Quinn's fingers curl into the soft flesh of your hips, the pressure firm enough it'll probably bruise by the morning, and he's nipping and licking at your pussy like he can't get enough - the sound of it alone is obscene enough to make your legs feel like jelly, and you're pretty sure you're going to collapse if he carries on like this.

You tug a little harder on his hair until he parts with a wet pop, the sound making your throat go dry so that all you can do is pant down at him in response.

And his eyes are clouded over, entirely, a hunger you've never seen before taking over him. His lips are parted and slick, and his chest is heaving like he was depriving himself of breath, and the sight of it takes your breath away.

You heave yourself up onto the counter behind you, parting your legs again and leaning back a little onto your hands - all without saying a word.

You don't need to say anything, though. Not to Quinn.

He's diving straight back in as soon as you're situated like a man starved, and from where you are now, you can shuffle into him a little, grinding against his tongue as it works against you - works inside you, even, and you slap a hand to your own mouth in a last-ditch attempt to conceal the moans and whines before they carry way beyond the locked door of the bathroom.

Quinn's displeasure with that fact is obvious when he pinches and smacks at the side of your ass, his hand shooting up until his fingers curl around your wrist and he tugs it away from your mouth, pulling away from your pussy to glare up at you from between your legs.

"Don't you dare," he huffs, "I'm putting in the work, I wanna hear how much you like it,"

"But Quinn-,"

The press of his finger into your entrance cuts you off, and the squeaky, surprised moan you let out seems to echo off of every wall, heat creeping up your neck as you hear how pathetic you sound as he pushes the digit all the way in, pressing as far as it will go into your spongey walls until your back is arching and he's straightening up with it still inside you.

"You think you can hide from me?" He asks as he crowds back into your space, your faces level and his other hand coming down onto the counter beside you. "You think I don't know how to make you scream for me?"

He presses another finger into you, and the slow stretch of your walls around him has your eyes fluttering shut, your head lulling forward until it bumps into his, and your clammy foreheads press together. He shakes against you with a dark chuckle, allowing you a moment to adjust until he's thrusting them in and out, stroking up until he presses into your g-spot.

You haven't been with anybody since you were last with him - you haven't been with anybody since you were first with him, however many months ago that is, now - and you're pretty sure he knows that, for as much as he's been teasing you about your date.

"You think you can walk around in this skirt, bending over pool tables, looking this pretty, and I'm just gonna sit back and watch you with another guy?"

"No," you whine, your hips bucking and your hand reaching out to clutch at his shoulder, nails digging in through his shirt until you hope they leave a mark, too. You hope there's something left behind to remind him of this tomorrow when he wants to pretend you don't exist, again.

"No, that's right," he patronises, his lips nipping at your jaw when he leans in and brushes the bridge of his nose against your temple. "'Cause you're mine, aren't you?"

You nod frantically, chasing something more from him, as if he could possibly give you anything else - your back arching until he retracts his fingers, ignoring the instant whine you give only to push three inside, your mind going blank at the pressure of it all.

"Oh my God," you throw your head back, giving him access to the front of you, your neck bare all the way down to the low cut of your top, and he takes full advantage of the space.

You can't even bring yourself to care about marks, as stupid as it is to let him touch where someone else might see - and there's a voice in the back of your head that tells you he wouldn't risk it, anyway.

Quinn doesn't want anyone talking, not about you.

He'd rather keep you some dirty secret confined to the back bathroom of a dingy bar, the front seat of his car in the middle of some random parking lot, or the privacy of your apartment on the other side of town.

But that was before Justin, who's voice carries through the thick wood of the bathroom door accompanied by a few bangs and a call out of your name - and Quinn is the first to react, his movements more vigorous and intentional.

You grab at his wrist in some weak attempt to slow him down, but he won't budge, and then you're too consumed by how good it feels to actually get him to stop.

Your jaw goes slack as Justin calls your name again, and you can't move, can't breathe, can't blink without your space being consumed by Quinn.

"Are you good? You've been in here a while, your shirt isn't ruined, right? You can cover up with my jacket if you need to!"

You press your hand to your mouth to try and conceal the moans he's eliciting from you, his pace unrelenting as your eyes go wide, and you hate how much it spurs you on to see him enjoy this.

“Tell him you’ll come in a minute,” Quinn mutters into your ear, his fingers relentless in their movements as they curl inside you, his palm firm against your clit.

“I’ll come-,” you squeak, arching into his touch as his lips press wet, hot kisses into your neck, “I’ll come out in a minute!” You call, a little steadier though still breathless. "It just needs to dry off a bit!"

“Are you sure you don’t need my help?” Justin calls through the door, and you feel the vibrations of Quinn’s groan into your skin.

“Tell him I’m helping you just fine,” his mouth moves against your jaw, the low hum of his voice carrying all the way down to the base of your spine in a persistent, dizzying vibration. He starts to shake his hand with his fingers still inside you, and the pressure inside you builds to the point you think you might burst, your thighs trembling and your hips stuttering against him. "Go on, tell him you're all taken care of,"

"Tell-," you stutter mindlessly, your only thought to repeat him, not even considering what you're repeating. "I'm-,"

Quinn chuckles darkly against your throat, his teeth nipping into the sensitive flesh - and you swear you can feel him everywhere. He's relentless, he's unforgiving, he's determined to get you to come with Justin on the other side of the door, and you're in no fit position to stop him.

"I'm fine," you call out in one last attempt, praying to whatever god is up there that he finally gets the hint and leaves.

There's no way you can be quiet about this.

"Alright, I'll get you another drink!"

"You're gonna need one, aren't you baby?" Quinn asks, his grin smug and his tone teasing as he parts from your neck, your faces level again as he juts his chin to catch your drooping gaze, the pet name doing little to rouse you from your stupor as he draws you closer to an orgasm. "Gonna make you come so hard it fuckin' drains you," he promises, "Gonna make you walk back out there and sit in a mess in your panties while you talk to him, and all you're gonna think about is this."

"Quinn," you cry out, the mind-numbing pace of his fingers rubbing into your pussy bringing tears to your eyes, and your bottom lip pops out in a pout as you try to chase him for a kiss. "Please, please, please," you beg as he evades you, keeping up the fervour with his hand. You need something to occupy your mouth so you don't scream out, and he hasn't kissed you yet - not tonight, not properly.

"You think you've been good enough for a kiss?" he taunts, his fingers curling inside you just when you're at the brink, "You think that a naughty girl who's letting me fill her pussy with her date standing just outside deserves a kiss?"

"Yes," you whine, "Quinn," and plead, and you bat your lashes in one final attempt at convincing him, your eyes watering, lips trembling, spine tingling as he considers it for a brief moment.

"Come," he commands, "And then I'll kiss you."

You groan, throwing your head back as he brings his other hand into the mix, swiping at your clit with a feverish speed until you really feel like you're about to scream, gripping onto him for dear life as his three fingers plunge all the way into you, to the bottom of his knuckles, his touch pressing against the deepest part of your core until you fall apart.

And it's a mess.

The counter becomes slippery beneath you, your thighs coated in your own slick, and the way you hear Quinn remove his fingers makes you wince more than the feeling, itself.

He's still looking down at your pussy when your vision comes to, blinking away the white spots in your eyes until all you can see is him - in a daze at the way you can feel your walls contracting still, missing the way he had them filled just seconds ago.

You think you're shaking all over, too weak to move - to lift yourself onto your legs, to even lift your arms to do anything about how bare you are to his hungry glare - and you're struggling a little to catch your breath, if you're honest.

You feel hot all over, too. In your head, on every visible surface of your skin - and you can't tell if the flush is from the physical activity or the sheer mortification of the fact you just squirted in front of him.

Your last shred of dignity probably disappeared as soon as that drink fell into your lap, there's no use in denying it now.

And just as he said, Quinn bends to retrieve your panties from where they hang from one of your ankles, bending your leg to slip it in the other side and pulling them up until you can shimmy your hips into them despite how wet you feel all over. He puts one hand down beside you on the counter once they're in place, his gaze lifting to meet yours, a little lighter but stormy, nonetheless, a million unspoken thoughts swirling behind those cloudy irises.

"You said you'd kiss me," you mumble, feebly, leaning into his touch when he pushes a strand of hair back out of your face.

"Did I?" he smirks slowly, those same eyes now tracing your lips.

You nod, your tongue swiping out against them in preparation.

He hums, teasing as he leans in, and he brings his free hand up to your mouth, hooking one of the fingers that had just been inside you against your lips until they part, pushing the digit in until it's pressed against your tongue, and you close your lips around it by instinct.

He watches as your cheeks hollow, satisfaction in his stare, and the slight upturn of his lips causes your chest to puff with pride, opening your mouth again so that he can slot the other two fingers in.

"Maybe you are a good girl," he mutters, and you nod, humming around the taste of your own release until he pulls his fingers out with a pop, using them to grasp at your chin and pulling you forward until your lips collide.

It's almost like he's trying to chase the taste of you, his tongue licking into your mouth and then he's actually sucking at yours, your hands clutching at the chest of his shirt to keep him close, letting him do whatever he wants for as long as he wants, because you're trying to get your fill.

Him using you like this seems better than the alternative - him ghosting your for days or weeks at a time, making you feel like you don't matter to him in the way he matters to you, or that he'll never feel the same way.

But there's something desperate in the way he kisses you - you think that's why he tries to deprive you of it, like you'll be able to read him through the taste on his tongue.

And you get a little greedy with his affections, probably, your hands sliding down until they meet his belt, and he pulls away before you even realise, stepping back completely so that you can't reach and running a hand through his already messy hair.

"Or maybe not."

"I just thought-,"

"You really are naughty, huh?" he chuckles, "What were you gonna do, make him wait out there all night while you tug at my cock? Get on your knees for me while your sweet little boyfriend buys you drinks and sits alone?"

"No," you pout, "He's not my boyfriend, he's just a guy from work."

"Just a guy you're using to make me jealous."

"Don't flatter yourself," you scoff, suddenly finding the nerve to stand up to him - the smirk he sends your way a touch too deep, and lasting a second too long. "I didn't even know you'd be here. Not everything is about you."

"Not what you were saying when my face was just between your legs." He shrugs as he takes another step back, and the grin you found so sexy mere minutes ago now makes you want to smack him as you watch him retreat. "I'll see you around, pretty girl, don't forget to clean up after yourself before you go back out for your date."

He winks before he leaves completely, leaving you alone in your own sticky mess, feeling dirty and used just like you always do when he disappears.

You find yourself wishing he stayed as you shuffle completely off the counter, pushing your skirt back down and grabbing some paper towels to clean the spot you were just sat on.

He'd stayed that night in your apartment, and you really thought things might change after.

But you should know by now things will never change with Quinn.

Especially when you head back out into the bar and find him speaking to Justin, shaking his hand with the exact same one he'd just used to bring you to a screeching orgasm, a crooked smirk stretching across his lips as he glances at you out of the corner of his eye before he leaves for the night.

Especially when he texts you moments after, your screen flashing with his name until you press through and read, He'll never be good enough for you.

And especially when you're answering the door of your apartment to him again a week later, falling back into the same pattern and letting him charm his way back in, no matter how shitty you feel when he disappears afterwards.

[yerchokito]

some of this is lowk angsty but it’s for the plot guys don’t hate me :( also my first time writing for geto and nanami, hope I did them well enough :))

fem!reader in nobaras

warnings! — implications of homophobia in nobaras :(( not proofread

yuuji is the type of boyfriend to marry you with a ring-pop, giggling as he gets down on one knee. he ends up convincing you to slow dance with him to the sound of the wind, promising he’ll get a real ring and marry you. just don’t eat the ring-pop, he’ll get sulky if you do :((

megumi is the type of boyfriend to have a picnic with you at night, something to get away from all things jujutsu. eating his many ginger flavoured snacks, maybe a slice of something sweet you’ve brung. cuddles up to you while watching the stars, finally understanding what peace is.

nobara is the type of girlfriend to take night walks with you. gossiping about daily life, laughing at corny jokes. only to stop somewhere secluded, humming as she leans against and finally, for the first time without being ridiculed, kisses you.

satoru is the type of boyfriend to have is infinity down around you, wanting to feel your presence. it’s comforting to him, like a warm wave of love and affection. he drapes himself over you, trying to merge together with you. if he could, he’d blend you two together so you’ll never part :))

suguru is the type of boyfriend to keep something that reminds him of you in his pocket. wanting to always have you with him, being gone days on end—away from you nearly sends him spiralling, so having something similar to you puts him to rest. he wishes you’d become pocket size so he can always keep you with him :))

kento is the type of boyfriend to always bring you flowers every time he visits you at work. they’re always hand picked with meaning, wanting to gift you flowers he thought of with you in mind, often varying in different colours and species. sometimes he dries them for you, hoping you’ll use it for decoration.

choso is the type of boyfriend to sleep naked with you— not in a sexual way! choso just loves the skin-on-skin contact you give, your warm body against his cold one brings him comfort like no other. reminding him that you’re here, alive and real. he tears up, forever grateful for you, and your love.

[lottinlover]

The Game After The Game | Kylian Mbappé

Summary: After a draw he couldn't stand, Kylian comes home needing to fuck something he can win. In the silence that follows, you let him destroy you, and then hold him like he didn't have to win to be yours.

Tags: Smut with Feelings, Porn with Plot, Rough Sex, Aftercare, Established Relationship, Reader POV, Power Play Warnings: 18+, it gets very filthy. I'm talking about: Spit Play, Choking, Nipple Play, Hair Pulling + more / etc. Word Count: 7,000+

Special Message: To my dearest mutual S, this is for you. Happy birthday beautiful! I share this little work with you as an extension of my love for you. I hope you find some sort of joy and fulfilment from reading it. I love you deeply and happy birthday once again, enjoy my princess.

The Game After The Game.

You didn’t go to the match today. Not out of protest, never that but because the world you’ve built doesn’t pause for 90 minutes, not even for Kylian Mbappé.

You had a boardroom to sit in. A deal to close. You wore your name like a crown and made men twice your age listen when you spoke. 

Power suits you. 

So does precision. 

And yet, somewhere between closing arguments and the clink of your champagne glass, you were refreshing the scoreline like a woman starved.

Real Madrid vs Atlético. A draw. The worst kind of ending.

Kylian hasn’t texted. Not once. Not a seen, not a typing. Silence. Thick, deliberate and vibrating with all the things he doesn’t know how to say when he’s furious at himself.

You don’t bother turning on the lights when you enter the penthouse. You slip your heels off by the door, your stride silent against the marble floors, and that’s when you see him.

In the kitchen.

He’s back to you, shirtless, barefoot, sweatpants slung low. His shoulders rise and fall in slow, controlled breaths, muscles flexing like they’re trying to hold back something. He’s drinking water straight from the bottle. Tilted throat, jaw clenched, the kind of posture sculptors fail to capture and lovers dream about.

The tension lives in his back. In the spread of his lats. In the twitch of his fingers where they tighten around the glass.

You don’t speak at first.

Not because you’re afraid but because you know him. And right now, words are landmines. You think about teasing him, just a little, maybe something bratty, like “at least you didn’t lose.” You wonder how hard he’d bite back.

But you settle on silence. 

Almost.

Your voice comes soft, low.

“You should’ve texted me.”

The sound of your voice cuts through the dark. Kylian sets the bottle down, slow. Rolls his shoulders back like he’s resetting his stance. 

And then he turns.

His eyes are blown wide with something unreadable. Jaw slack with exhaustion and rage that hasn’t found a home. He stares at you like you’re the only thing in the world that makes sense and the first thing he wants to destroy.

“Take your dress off.”

You don’t move at first.

You watch him. The way the low dim of the room gilds him, all bronze and shadows, a man made from rage and want. His chest rises slow, then faster. His sweat-damp skin glistens. Each breath feels like a held back growl, restrained only by ritual.

You step into the space between you like you own it. Because you do. Not just tonight, not just here. 

But always.

Your fingers move to the zipper at your side. You don’t rush. Not for him. You drag it down like it’s a promise, your eyes never leaving his.

The dress slips from your shoulders, catches for a moment at your hips and then falls. A whisper of fabric across skin, puddling at your feet like surrender. But this isn’t surrender. This is control. Because you know what you look like. You know what he sees.

The rise of your tits, the soft swell of your waist, the curve of your ass. He likes you like this. Bare, confident, your nipples stiffening under the cool air and the heat of his stare. You watch his jaw clench when you shift your weight, only slightly, making your thighs kiss and part again, and your tits jiggle in the way that mesmerises. A motion designed for hunger.

“You’re not gonna touch me?” You say, voice light and loaded.

He doesn’t speak, he doesn’t move but instead, he watches.

The silence is thick, stretched thin between you. And you stretch it further. You close the distance, slowly. Each step a tease. He’s taller than you, broader, body wound tight like a bowstring and you want to pluck him.

Your fingers hook at the waistband of his sweatpants. “These,” you murmur, almost to yourself. “Off.”

He lets you.

You tug them low, slow, dragging, exposing hard muscle, honey skin, the sharp cut of his hips, the thick trail of hair that leads to what you want. He’s already hard. Long, fat, glistening, cock heavy and proud between you. He doesn’t hide it, he doesn’t react. The only sound is the heavy drops of his breath. 

“You’re so easy,” you hum, feigning sweetness, fingers ghosting the underside of his cock without ever holding. “One bad game and you’re already desperate for me.”

His jaw ticks. His hands flex once at his sides, barely restrained. “Careful,” he warns, voice rough. “You know what happens when you push.”

But you’re already pushing. Already rising onto your toes, brushing your mouth against his skin, his chest, his throat, his jaw. You lick at the hollow under his ear, slow and wet, and then pull back enough to smile.

“Maybe I want to be punished.”

Your fingers trail up his abdomen, nails catching gently on the ridges of muscle. His skin twitches under the touch. You watch his cock pulse, untouched, leaking and still, you don’t offer it what it wants. You drag your fingers along his chest, then down his sides, worship without worship.

When he finally moves, it’s sudden. Sharp. A crack of thunder in a slow brewing storm. He grabs you by the waist and lifts you like you weigh nothing. You gasp, half laugh, half moan as he turns and places you on the kitchen counter, his mouth finally, finally landing at your neck.

His lips are soft at first. Then teeth. Then tongue. He kisses like he’s starving, sucks like he wants to brand you. You moan, breath catching in your throat as your hands fist in his curls.

He spreads your thighs with his hips. Keeps you open. Exposed. His hands roam, down your spine around to your ass. He grabs you rough, fingers digging into the soft flesh, spreading you as he pulls you closer to the edge of the counter. You feel how hard he is, how hot, how barely contained.

Still, he doesn’t fuck you.

Not yet.

His palms slide up, over the slope of your hips. Higher. To your breasts. He grabs one, thumb dragging over the nipple, but he doesn’t kiss it, doesn’t suck. He stares. You feel the ache bloom between your thighs.

“Say it,” he murmurs, voice thick. “Say you want it.”

But you don’t, not yet, not without a grin. And then breathless, bratty you say, “you look like you’re gonna come just from touching me.”

“You’re gonna regret that.” He laughs, sharp and low, mouth still against your collarbone, dimple peeking through.

And you will.

But not yet.

His laugh ghosts over your skin, all grit and danger, and then he sinks his teeth into the curve of your shoulder, not soft, not gentle. 

A mark. 

A warning. 

A promise.

You hiss, legs tightening around his waist.

“That all you’ve got?” You whisper, lips grazing his temple.

“Not even close,” he growls back.

His mouth moves lower, firing a path down your chest, slow enough to tease, rough enough to bruise and then he’s at your breast.

His tongue is warm when it finally flicks over your nipple but it’s a tease, nothing more. He doesn’t suck, he doesn’t linger, he drags the tip once, wet and slow, before blowing cool air over the sensitive peak. Your back arches, chasing the warmth again, but he pulls back.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, eyes locked on your breasts as he grabs and squeezes the other. His thumb brushes your nipple, circling lazily. “So desperate already. I’ve barely touched you.”

You roll your hips against him, dangerous, grinding. His cock slips between your folds, gliding with ease, slick with your want. It’s not enough. Not nearly.

“Maybe I’m bored,” you bite, breath shaky. “You do a lot of talking…”

His hand comes up to your throat so fast it makes you gasp. Not squeezing but holding in that way that screams, possessive. Mine. The pressure is light. Controlled. His thumb strokes just under your jaw.

“You want me to stop talking?” He asks, his voice is quiet now. Dangerous. “Then stop fucking playing.”

You don’t.

Of course you don’t.

You reach between your bodies, take his cock in hand, fat, hot, pulsing in your grip and rub it through your folds again, relishing in the slow motions, never letting him in. His breath catches and his eyes flicker, darkening.

You press your lips to his ear.

“Beg.”

His hand tightens slightly at your throat enough to remind you. To make you feel it.

Then he spits.

Right into your mouth.

Your lips part on instinct, eyes fluttering, heat pooling between your thighs like a flood and you catch it, swallow it, moan into the taste of him.

“That’s my good girl,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead to yours.

And then he kisses you.

Finally. 

It’s not sweet, not soft and not anything close to forgiveness.

It’s war.

Your teeth clash, your tongues tangle. He grabs your jaw to hold you still, to devour you properly, like your mouth is the only place he’s ever needed to be. Your hands roam, greedy and bold. You rake your nails across his chest, drag them over his ribs, press into the swell of his arms where muscle flexes under skin. You want to feel him everywhere.

He’s hard between your thighs, twitching with need, and still not inside you.

“You kiss like you lost,” you gasp when you finally break apart.

“And you talk like you want me to ruin you,” he snaps.

His hand twists into your hair, dragging your head back to bare your throat. He licks down it, always slow and possessive, letting his tongue claim the territory of your neck. Then he bites at the space just below your ear.

He returns to your breast, this time unforgiving. His mouth latches, wet and hot, tongue swirling around your nipple before he sucks hard, drawing a cry from your lips. His hand works the other one, fingers pinching, rolling, tugging just enough to make you squirm. The nerves light up under his touch, your thighs tightening again as your hips rock into him.

“Kylian—”

“Say it right.”

You grin, breathless, tipping your hips forward again, letting his cock slip over your clit. Grinding and smiling through blissful foreplay. 

“You mean daddy?”

His groan is husky, low in his chest, like something feral just snapped its leash. He pulls your hair harder, your head tilting back further. His free hand is still on your breast, still teasing, and when he kisses you again, it’s all heat and punishment.

He doesn’t let you breathe between it, mouth owning yours, tongue plunging deeper, teeth biting your bottom lip when you pull away. Your moans come through the kiss, muffled and frantic. Your fingers dig into his back, nails painting red trails down his brown skin. He grunts when you hit a sweet spot near his shoulder blade, and you do it again. Again and Again. You love the feeling, the way his hips jerk forward, cock pressing harder against you.

“You want it rough?” He rasps. “Keep acting like a brat. I’ll fuck the attitude out of you.”

You don’t stop grinding. You grind harder tilting your hips until his cock is nestled perfectly at your entrance, teasing the stretch, not letting him in.

“Maybe I want to see you lose control.” You tease.

His hand slips behind you again, fingers gripping your ass, spreading you wide as he lifts you and slams you back down against the counter. The cold marble kisses your spine, a contrast to his burning heat.

He hovers. 

Teasing. 

Not entering.

His eyes trace your body like a man cataloguing the things he owns. You feel embolden under his gaze. Under his worship. Nobody makes you feel empowered in the way Kylian does.

His hands explore every curve of your body. He traces the line of your ribs, your hips, your thighs. Then, finally, he plays with your breast again. He watches your nipple pebble tighter under his gaze and then he stops, eyes staring at them.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he whispers. “I’m gonna wreck you.”

But still, he doesn’t enter, he doesn’t even thrust. Instead, he stays there, thick cock stiff, pulsing against your heat, your body begging in silence.

And god, you love it.

Suddenly, he moves like the decision was never his to make. 

Only instinct. 

Only inevitability.

One minute you’re pinned to the counter, catching your breath in gasps and the next, he’s lifting you again. His strong arms under your thighs, hands gripping your ass, squeezing and spreading your flesh like he’s memorising it. You barely register the motion before your back hits the wall.

Cool. 

Solid. 

Steady.

His mouth finds your neck again, teeth grazing the skin he’s already marked purple and red, and you moan low, deep in your throat, brushing through his soft hair.

But then he drops you, feet cold against the marble and now he’s lowering. Dropping to his knees like he belongs there.

And fuck, maybe he does.

Because the moment his mouth finds your pussy, open, wet and aching, the entire room dissolves. It’s not soft. It’s not sweet. It’s famine.

He laps at you like he’s starving, tongue gliding through your folds, his hands gripping the backs of your thighs to keep them wide. You brace yourself against the wall with one hand, the other tangling deep in his curls, grounding yourself to the only thing real.

“God,” you gasp, head thudding back against the plaster. “You’re-fuck-such a fucking show off.”

He moans into you. The vibration shoots straight up your spine. Then he pulls back, lips messy with you, eyes gleaming.

“Say that again when you’re crying.”

And he dives back in.

Tongue flicking over your clit in tight circles. Slow. Then faster. Then slow again. The teasing matches the rhythm of your pulse, all heat and torment and unbearable pleasure. One of his hands slides up, soft fingers pressing into your stomach, holding you steady. The other trails under your ass, lifting your hips just enough so he can tilt you toward him, burying his mouth and nose even deeper.

You roll your hips, grind down on his tongue, desperate and his mouth smirks against you.

“That’s it,” he mutters, voice rasping, open mouthed against your clit. “Show me how much you want it."

You whimper. Your hand tightens in his hair. Your other hand slides down, finding his jaw, cradling it. His lashes flutter at the touch. It’s obscene, the way he looks up at you while devouring your cunt like he’s proud of how wrecked you are.

“Look at you,” he murmurs again, licking slow and long. “All that mouth earlier. Where’d it go now?”

“Fuck you—”

“Soon.”

Then his fingers join the game, two sliding inside you, curling perfectly, fucking up into that soft, trembling spot until your knees begin to shake. The stretch is so familiar it feels like coming home and yet the pressure is unbearable, precise, like he’s trying to write his name inside you. 

Wet sounds echo between your thighs, every thrust of his fingers smooth and crude, made worse by the way your body clenches tight, greedy, desperate. You can barely breathe, your moans break apart at the edges, half formed and high pitched, pulled from someplace deeper than speech. 

You're close, so close and he knows it, mouth curling into a smirk against your clit as your grip in his hair turns frantic.

“Kylian—”

“Come for me, baby.”

The pressure breaks.

No warning. 

No shame. 

Only need.

You shatter against his mouth, thighs shaking, cunt pulsing around his fingers and mouth, loud, helpless sounds spilling from your lips. He doesn’t slow down, doesn’t stop. He keeps going. Chasing that high with you. He holds you there, pinned to the wall by your pleasure as you ride it out, grinding into him like the world’s ending under your feet.

When the wave finally starts to crest, he pulls back just enough to speak.

“We’re not done.”

You shudder. 

Your thighs still twitch. 

Your pulse thunders in your ears.

“I want more,” he says. “I want to see how many times I can make you fall apart.”

There’s no time to answer. He replies for you in worship.

He kisses your thighs, gentle and leisure now, the contrast like fire and ice. Up, up, tracing adoration. The dip of your hip. The valley of your stomach. Then he’s standing again, body heat flooding yours.

His lips find your nipple again, wet, open mouthed, tongue swirling as he sucks you back into him. You moan again, spine arching, hand gripping his arm for balance. His teeth graze the peak and he pulls back only when you’re gasping, eyes glassy.

He tilts your face up. Fingers under your chin, thumb brushing your jaw, gentle, almost tender. His eyes are molten. Heavy with lust. Dark with promise.

“Open.”

You do. 

Instinct. 

Worship.

And he spits into your mouth.

Slow. Controlled. Like he means it.

The drop hits your tongue hot, thick, sliding past your bottom lip. Your throat works as you swallow, but not fast enough a thread escapes, glistening down your chin. You don’t wipe it.

You moan, soft and ruined and before the sound even leaves your mouth, his lips crash into yours.

The kiss is carnage.

Tongues colliding, lips moulding, spit smooth between you. He licks your bottom lip then bites it, pulls it between his teeth, then sucks it back into his mouth like he’s trying to consume you.

He kisses like punishment. 

Like prayer.

He kisses you like he needs to know how you taste when it’s all his, the breath you give him, the moans you lose, the mess on your chin.

You kiss back with the same fire, chasing the flavour of yourself on his tongue. Your lips slide, stick, catch. You suck his tongue into your mouth like it’s his cock, and he groans deep in his chest.

His hand shifts from your jaw to your throat. He squeezes, tight, precise, just enough to make your breath catch, your knees wobble. And while you’re gasping, a trail of drool slips from your lip again, slow and shining.

He doesn’t move.

He watches it fall, then brings his thumb to your chin, he rubs it through the mess, smearing it across your lips, down your chin, to your neck and then back up, into your mouth, feeding it back to you.

“So pretty when you drool for me,” he whispers, thumb dragging slow over your tongue now.

You suck his thumb without breaking eye contact. You moan around it. He groans. The hand around your throat tightens, the pressure screaming ownership in the way you like. 

“You don’t even know what you do to me.”

But you do.

And you use it.

Your hips roll again, slow against his cock, still trapped between your bodies, still thick and angry and glistening at the tip.

“You ready to beg yet?” He growls, voice rough at your throat.

“You first,” you whisper, lips grazing his, spit slick and smiling. “You’re the one dripping.”

He laughs, low and dangerous, the sound vibrating in your chest through his palm. His hand slides back to your jaw, firm, selfish and he leans close, licking once more into your open mouth before dragging his tongue across your cheek.

“Then get on your knees.”

You smile, slow, smug and defiant.

But you obey.

You lower yourself with intention, never breaking eye contact. You want him to see it, the way you choose this, the way you sink at his feet, the way your thighs spread instinctively as your knees hit the cold floor.

“You like giving orders,” you murmur, looking up through your lashes. “Bet you’d come just from watching me listen.”

He huffs a laugh, cock twitching above you, flushed, fat, wet at the tip.

“I don’t come from watching,” he says. “I come from that pretty little mouth.”

You hum, almost laugh. Then lean in, slow, slow, so fucking slow.

You lick a long stripe from base to tip, tongue flat and wide, tasting him like he’s already yours. He groans, a low, involuntary sound that has your core clenching. Then you swirl your tongue around the head, featherlight, teasing. Your lips barely part.

“You sound needy,” you whisper.

“Keep going,” he growls. “See how needy I get.”

So you do.

You wrap your lips around the head and suck, slow at first, hollowing your cheeks, tongue rolling under him. You pull off with a wet pop, then do it again. Slower. Lazier. Eyes locked to his. 

Always. 

He looks down at you, watches you like a man possessed. Jaw tight. Hands pressed against the walls, barely resisting the urge to grab you, to control you. His chest is heaving now, golden abs flexing as your mouth works him, sloppy, slow and cruel.

You take more. Inch by inch. Drool spills over your lips, slides down your chin.

You love it.

You spit on the tip, let it slide down the shaft, and then pump him once with your hand before taking him back in. Deeper this time. Your throat stretches. Your lips stretch. Your eyes flutter, just once.

“Fuck,” he hisses, voice wrecked. “You want to choke on it that bad?”

You nod around him. Muffled, wet, a mess. His cock twitches on your tongue and then he grabs your hair.

Fistful. 

Rough. 

Controlling.

He holds your head in place and fucks into your mouth once, sharp, shallow, enough to make you gag. Your eyes water instantly, but you don’t move, you don’t look away. You look up at him, lips stretched wide, spit kissing your chin, and you moan.

It’s filth. 

It’s divine.

“Look at you,” he groans. “Mouth so full. Drooling like you were made for this.”

He fucks into your mouth again, shallow thrusts, controlled. Your throat tightens around him, and you choke once more, tears catching in your lashes. He hisses. Tightens his grip in your hair. Guides your mouth over him like he’s using your body to stay sane.

And you give it to him. 

All of it.

Your tongue works with him, your jaw aches, spit spilling down your chin, over your chest, dripping down your perky breast. You’re not just sucking. You’re offering. Every gag, every whimper, every filthy, wet sound is a love letter.

You pull back to breathe, gasping, and then you smile, mouth ruined, chin wet, lips red and slick.

“You’re shaking,” you murmur.

“I’m close.”

You slide your tongue under the head again, press kisses down the shaft, then take him in one last time, deep. He groans, loud and raw, hips jerking.

Then he pulls back.

Hard. 

Sudden. 

You fall back on your heels, panting, your face a dripping mess, eyes wide, lips open.

“Kylian—”

He looks down at you, flushed and sweating, jaw clenched like it hurts.

“You and that pretty face,” he growls, cock gleaming with spit, everything you gave and aching in his grip. “I can’t come in your mouth.”

You blink, dazed. Smirking.

“Why not?”

He leans closer down, thumb dragging your spit across your lower lip.

“Because I need to come inside you.”

He doesn’t speak.

He lifts you back up.

One sharp motion, muscle tightening under skin, your breath caught in your throat as your back hits the wall again, this time with no teasing, no pause. His hands grip the back of your thighs, spreading you wide, holding you up like you’re weightless. His cock nudges your entrance, fat, hot, impossibly hard, sliding through the slick mess between your folds.

You gasp. 

He groans. 

Your foreheads touch.

“Ready?” He rasps.

“Don’t you fucking dare stop now.”

And then he thrusts.

The stretch is brutal, instant and all consuming. You cry out, loud and raw, as he fills you in one hard, punishing stroke. 

No warning. 

No buildup. 

Just in.

So deep it knocks the breath from your lungs.

“Fuck—”

“Take it,” he orders. “Take all of it.”

You do. You have to. There's no room for refusal, only surrender. You cling to him, arms around his neck, fingers digging into his shoulders like you’ll fall if you let go. Your legs wrap tight around his waist, heels locking at his back.

He fucks you against the wall, hard, fast, relentless. The slap of skin echoes off the marble and glass. Your moans bounce back at you, joined by his heavy panting, the low curse of French under his breath each time he drives back in.

Your head falls back, hitting the wall with a dull thud, mouth open on a gasp.

You feel him everywhere.

Your breasts bounce with every thrust, sweat trickling down the valley between them. Your toes curl in the air. Your nails scratch down his back, leaving more streaks of red. He grunts with every drag of your pussy over his cock.

“You’re perfect like this,” he mutters. “Tight little pussy holding me like you never want me to leave.”

“Then don’t,” you whisper. “Stay. Fuck-stay inside.”

And he does.

He stops. 

He’s buried deep inside, cock pulsing, both of you panting, dizzy. You whimper at the loss of rhythm, the need but he shushes you, still holding you against the wall. Hands firm, spreading your ass cheeks with a new sense of desperation. 

“Shh. Let me see you.”

Then he leans in, mouth hot, tongue dragging over the curve of your breast. He kisses it first. Soft. Wet. Then sucks your nipple into his mouth, tongue flicking, lips sucking, his hands kneading your ass like he’s learning your body all over again.

Your breath stutters. You tremble in his grip.

“God,” you moan, voice wrecked. “Don’t stop…”

“I can feel you twitching around me,” he growls, mouth still on your breast. “So sensitive already. You gonna come just from this?”

You might.

Because it’s too much. His cock, heavy and thick, still inside you. His mouth, sucking marks into your chest. His body, holding you against the wall like it’s effortless. The sweat. The sounds. The scent of sex hanging hot in the air.

The room is filled with it , the wet sounds of your pussy around him, the slap of skin, the echo of moans and breathless curses. Your heart beats wild in your throat. Every nerve in your body is aflame.

He kisses across your chest again, nipple to sternum to collarbone, his lips trailing spit and heat, his tongue dragging slow, like he’s memorising the taste of your skin.

You look down at him, and he looks up at you, eyes dark, mouth swollen, cheeks flushed.

“You’re fucking mine,” he says. “Every inch of you. You understand?”

You nod. Barely. Dizzy.

“Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you breathe.

He grins, cocky, wild, wrecked, that deep dimple of his loud and bold, and then he starts to move again.

Slow at first. Deep. Angled. Rolling his hips so you feel every inch of him drag inside you. In. Out. In. Out.

You cry out, you can’t help it, your head falling to his shoulder as he starts walking. Still inside you. Still fucking you, carrying you like a man on a mission. Your arms wrap tighter around his neck. Your body bounces slightly with every step and he always guides himself back inside you.

“Where are we-?”

“Bed. You wanted power,” he growls. “Now you get to feel what it’s like to be owned.”

He crosses the threshold, your back brushing the hallway wall once more as he adjusts you in his grip, his cock never leaving you, his lips never far from your skin. Another kiss to your neck. Another nip to your breast. Your body clings, tight, pulsing around him.

You feel it coming again, that crest. That unbearable edge. But he slows. Cruelly.

You gasp.

“Tease,” you whisper against his throat.

“You love it,” he says, pushing open the bedroom door with his shoulder.

And then he enters the room with you still in his arms, cock buried deep, breath hot on your ear. The door closes behind you and he carries you straight to the bed.

Still inside you. 

Still pulsing. 

Still his.

The bedroom is dim, the air thick with heat and hunger. You can barely catch your breath, lips parted against his shoulder, your body trembling from how long he’s kept you teetering.

And then he sets you down.

Not gentle. Not harsh. Just deliberate. You land on your back and he turns you over to your stomach. The second you shift, you feel him again, cock slipping out, dragging your wetness with it. Your cheek rests on the cool sheets, legs folding under you, your ass raises and spreads open by the angle. 

“Stay like that,” he says behind you. Voice low. Final. Worship and wreckage bound into one.

You hear the sound of his breath, ragged and uneven. The sharp inhale as he looks at you from behind, taking in the arch of your back, the wetness between your thighs, your arms stretched in front of you.

“God, look at you,” he mutters. “Laid out for me. All for me.”

“Then come take it,” you rasp, cheeky, shaking your ass in the air, inviting him for more. “Unless you’re too tired.”

The growl that rips from his chest shakes the room. And then he grabs your wrists. He pulls them back. Behind your back, pinning them with one hand, your shoulder blades arching, your tits pressing into the sheets. His other hand finds the base of your spine, guiding, pushing your arch deeper into in perfect position. You whimper, a sound between a gasp and a moan.

“You don’t get to talk,” he says, leaning over you now, chest grazing your back, cock poised at your entrance. “You get to take.”

And then he slams in.

You scream.

He plunges into you, deep, fast, brutal, dragging a sound from your throat so raw it nearly splits you in two. Your body jolts forward but his grip keeps you locked in place. Pinned. Owned. There’s nowhere to go but deeper into it.

He sets a rhythm. 

Hard. 

Vicious. 

Measured.

Your hands are trapped, your face pressed to the mattress, your ass lifted and spread with every stroke. His hips slam into you again and again, the sound lethal, echoing off the walls like applause. Skin to skin, sweat to sweat, your body shakes.

“So tight,” he pants, fucking harder. “So fucking good. You were made for this-weren’t you?”

You can’t answer, you can’t even speak. You can only moan, your throat going hoarse as he fills you to the hilt with every thrust. He leans over, the full weight of his chest against your back, and suddenly it’s not just fucking anymore. It’s enveloping. Surrounding. Suffocating in the best way. His breath hits your ear.

“You’re mine,” he whispers. “Every sound. Every inch. Say it.”

“I’m—fuck—Kylian—”

He slams into you, so deep you see stars and a heated smack hits you a second later.

“Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you sob. “All of me. Yours.”

His hand snakes under your body, hot and sure and grabs your breast. He squeezes hard, palm rough over your nipple, rubbing circles into your flesh while his cock drives into you like punishment and praise all in one.

You break.

Your whole body trembles. Toes curling off the mattress. Nails digging into your palms. Mouth open on a moan you can’t bite back.

He doesn’t stop.

He fucks you through it, through your second orgasm and into the next build, muttering filth into your ear, biting your shoulder, squeezing your tit, grinding his hips with the kind of power that makes the bed frame groan.

“Come again,” he breathes. “Give it to me. All of it.”

Your body obeys before your mind catches up.

You unravel under him again, loud, feral, wrecked. The kind of orgasm that shatters your name. Your thighs twitch violently. Your eyes roll back. You sob into the sheets, wet and open and utterly his.

“That’s it,” he groans. “That’s my girl.”

And still, he doesn’t pull out.

Still buried to the base, twitching with the threat of his own release, his jaw clenched tight behind you. His hand leaves your wrist just long enough to wrap around your throat from behind, tilting your face to the side so he can kiss your cheek, your jaw, your lips, anything he can reach while you tremble under him.

He presses his lips to your ear.

“You good?” he asks, low and rough.

“Mmm,” you breathe, spent. “Too good.”

He smiles against your skin. Then bites your earlobe.

And starts to move again.

Slow, at first. Rolling his hips. Savoring it.

But then he slips out and doesn’t come in again. He leans up, lifts you with him. Your body limp, shaking. Still impaled. He carries you once more, this time not to the wall. But up, deeper into the bed.

Because this isn’t the end.

It’s only the beginning of your destruction.

He carries you deeper into the bed, arms still under your thighs, cock sandwiched in your folds like puzzle, your body limp from release. He moves slow now, the kind of slowness that feels like sermons. When he reaches the center of the mattress, he pauses, just long enough to press a kiss to your shoulder, your collarbone, your temple.

Then he crawls around you, facing you and he lays back. Chest heaving. Skin glowing. Back flush to the headboard. His legs stretch out in front of him. And you know what he wants, what you want.

You crawl over to him, trembling and straddle his hips. Your thighs ache, body drenched in sweat, cunt still dripping from the three orgasms he forced out of you. But you’re not done. You won’t be, not until you watch him break.

You rise to your knees, one hand reaching between your bodies. His cock, slick and flushed, twitches under your touch. He hisses, head tipping back against the wall behind him.

“You sure?” he rasps, eyes dazed. “You can take more?”

You smile.

“I want to feel you,” you whisper. “I want to see you fall apart.”

Then, slow, slow like sin, you guide him in. Your fingers wrap around the base, angling him just right. You hover for a beat, the swollen head of his cock pressing against your entrance and then you sink.

One long, sweet, aching descent. Inch by inch. You take him back inside, walls stretched, hips trembling, until your ass hits his thighs and you’re filled, completely.

“Fuck-” he groans, hands gripping your hips like he might lose himself right there. “You feel-Jesus-you feel unreal.”

You hold still, watching him. His eyes are locked to yours. No cockiness now. No command. Just awe. The way he looks at you, like you’re the only thing in the world keeping him together.

You rock your hips once, slow, rolling. He gasps.

“Let go,” you murmur. “I’ve got you.”

You press down through your feet, thighs burning, and start to move. Up, then down. A slow rhythm, measured, teasing. Each time you rise, his cock slides nearly out, then back in with a wet sound that makes his head thump against the headboard again.

“Fuck, baby-”

You keep going. Relentless in your purpose now. It’s your turn to destroy. Your hands trace up his chest, sweaty, hard, beautiful and he grabs your waist, grounding himself in your motion. But he doesn’t guide you, he doesn’t control, he holds on.

You lean forward and his mouth finds your breast like a lifeline. Lips open, tongue dragging over your nipple before sucking you into his mouth. God, he loves your tits. He moans around you deep, broken and his hips twitch beneath you.

You ride him harder.

Sweat drips between your breasts. Your thighs tremble again, your pussy tightening around him with every grind. You feel the way he pulses inside you, the way he’s losing it. And when you look down, you see it; eyes fluttering, mouth open around your breast, brows furrowed like he’s in pain from the pleasure.

“You’re gonna come,” you whisper, breathless. “Right here. In me.” He moans, loud now, teeth scraping your skin, hand flying to your ass to grip it tight. “Give it to me.”

You rock faster, grinding your hips, letting him hit deep, your pussy clenching again, milking him. His hands spread across your back, one gripping the nape of your neck, pulling you down to him, the other clawing at your waist like he needs something to hold when the world gives out.

And then it happens.

He shatters.

“Fuck-fuck-fuck!” he cries out, loud, feral.

He thrusts up once, deep and stays there, buried to the root, his cock twitching violently as he spills into you. You feel it, hot, thick, so much and you moan softly, lovingly, because this is what you wanted. His pleasure. His undoing.

He buries his face in your chest, biting down on your breast as he rides it out, feeling your slow grinds wreck him more, muffling a moan so raw it trembles through you.

You hold him.

Hands cupping his face now, guiding him through it. His body jerks. His thighs shake. He whimpers once, quiet and vulnerable and you press your forehead to his.

“That’s it,” you whisper. “That’s my good boy.”

And you kiss.

Not rough. Not rushed.

This time, it’s slow.

A thank you. A confession. A soft worship between ruined mouths.

Your hands frame his face, stroking the curve of his jaw, the sharp cut of his cheekbones, fingers brushing over dimples that kiss his face. His fingers press into your back, steady and firm. He breathes you in and then leans in again, lips brushing yours like a question.

This kiss tastes like each other and the last tremble of ecstasy still lingering in your spine.

Your tongues meet again, gentle now, languid but the filth doesn’t leave. It lingers in the shared heat, the parted mouths, the soft moan that escapes you when his spit mixes with yours, slow and deliberate. He sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, wet and slow, and lets it go with a tenderness that feels filthy just for how loving it is.

You exhale into him.

He swallows it.

Spit drips your chins, not messy this time, not ravenous, intimate and shared. When he pulls back slightly, a thread connects your tongues, shining in the dim light. He watches it fall, then kisses you again before it can break, deeper now, filthy in its devotion.

His cock still rests inside you, thick and warm, your bodies still joined and sticky. You feel him leaking, slow, syrupy, the evidence of everything he gave you slipping out and down your thighs.

Neither of you moves.

You breathe together.

You be together.

His forehead presses yours. His arms lock around you, pulling you closer by waist. His voice a whisper you almost miss, he exhales like he’s found peace for the first time in hours.

“You took my mind off the game,” he whispers.

“Good,” you say. “Because all I wanted… was to make you forget.”

He nods, smiling, eyes closed, voice hoarse.

“You ruined me.” You thank.

“You liked it.”

“I fucking loved it.”

And you kiss again. 

Quiet. 

Intimate. 

Infinite.

You don’t know how long it’s been.

Maybe minutes. Maybe hours.

Your body is still buzzing, skin damp, thighs sore, pussy warm and leaking. You’d collapsed on top of him after the kiss, still joined, your heart syncing with his in silence. There were no words. Only the echo of breath, the slow return of your names to each other’s mouths.

Now, you step into the bathroom on shaky legs.

The light is low. Gold and soft, like the end of a song.

The bath is full.

Steam curls in the air. Bubbles glisten across the water’s surface. Kylian is already there, naked, legs stretched out, one arm draped along the edge. He looks up when you enter, and the look he gives you...

It’s not lust.

It’s love.

It’s the kind of gaze that empties you of everything else, shame, doubt, memory and leaves only this.

“Come here,” he whispers softly.

Your legs ache, but you move. He watches every step, the way your thighs press together, the bruises already bloomed along your hips, the red flush across your chest and neck.

You ease into the water, a hiss escaping your lips when the heat touches sore muscles. His arms reach for you instinctively, pulling you into his lap. You curl there. Knees drawn up beside his hips. Your head resting in the crook of his neck. He wraps his arms around you, holding you close like something precious. Something his.

“You okay?” He asks quietly.

You nod, breath warm against his skin.

“More than okay.”

He hums, a soft sound, content and dips the washcloth into the water. You feel the warmth first, then the gentle drag of cloth over your shoulder. Down your arm. Across your chest. He moves slow. Tender. Washing you like he’s unmaking the sins he committed earlier. Like he’s thanking your body for enduring him. Like he doesn’t want to miss a single inch.

His fingers trail through suds. His hands cup your breast just long enough to rinse away the remnants of spit, sweat, and sex. But there’s no lust in the touch now. Just respect.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, rinsing your thigh. “I don’t tell you that enough.”

You don’t speak. You lean into him, eyes fluttering shut as he lifts your arm to clean beneath it, as he kisses the top of your shoulder, the curve of your jaw.

You reach for the cloth next.

He doesn’t resist. He leans back against the tub, letting you take him in. And god, he’s beautiful.

It's him. Against the tub, arms stretched wide along the porcelain, eyes heavy-lidded and barely open. Cheekbones soft and sharp. All lean muscle and golden skin. Even in exhaustion, it's that dimpled, lazy smile that only appears when he’s wrecked and happy that undones you.

You watch him through the steam, his chest rising and falling slow. He's content, stunning in his stillness, like love itself made him softer.

You run the cloth down his sternum. Over his abs. Across the V of his hips. You trail it down his thigh, then back up again. When you reach his shoulders, you set the cloth aside and use your hands instead.

You... touch.

Tracing the lines of his arms. The cut of his jaw. The permanent dimple on his cheek. You map him again. This time not in desperation, but in awe.

“Thank you,” he whispers suddenly.

You blink and look up at him.

“For what?”

His eyes search yours, soft, bare.

“For letting me fall apart,” he says. “And for putting me back together.”

You smile, heart stuttering.

“Always.”

You kiss him then, slow and quiet, your lips tasting of warm water and peace. His hand slides up your spine. Yours rests on his chest, right over his heart.

Outside the bathroom, the world still spins. But here, in the heat, in his arms there is no game, no loss, no crowd. There is only you. And him. And the silence that says, you've already won.

[f1goat]

more than friends ; lando norris + part ten

In which your best friend is going to help you to gain more sexual experience and say goodbye to your insecurities, but he's quick to discover that he never wants to share you and your new experiences with others - the only problem being, him having to confess his feelings.

masterlist - playlist

fem!y/n x lando norris

warnings: smut with a plot. minors dni! probably grammar or spelling errors due to english not being my first language.

requested: yes, based on this request: something with a driver sister that’s still a virgin & lando (her bestfriend) suggests to teach her things

part one / part two / part three / part four / part five / part six / part seven / part eight / part nine

“You’re insane,” Oscar tells his teammate when he sees you walking towards Lando and him. “Actually insane,” he mutters when he gets an even closer look on you. When you feel Oscar his eyes on you, you know for sure what he’s looking at. He looks at the same thing that everyone else is looking at when they see you. Lando his love bites. Why did he even leave them so out in the open? You tried to cover them up with make up, but it didn’t work. If you brought a turtle neck with you, you would have worn it for sure right now. But since you’re in another hot country, you only have summer clothes with low necklines. Which means that everyone can see the marks on your skin that Lando made two days earlier. You curse him for leaving them on this place, but you continue to walk closer to him. 

“Insane?” Lando asks Oscar. He notices the way his teammate looks at you. 

“Is this to show Pierre that she’s taken or something stupid like that?” Oscar continues to scold Lando. He didn’t even think about it like that, but now that he does… The hickeys might help with Pierre backing off a bit. “You can’t claim something you don’t own,” Oscar sighs, “just remember that before you do more stupid shit.”

Before Lando can say anything to Oscar, you’re already standing in front of them. He notices the way you try to cover the hickeys with you hair, but he stills sees the red love bites. Now that he thinks about it, let everyone see them - maybe then everyone will figure out that you belong to him. 

“Hey baby,” Lando greets you.

“Don’t baby me, I’m mad at you,” you sigh, “I should have brought a turtleneck with me. Everyone is looking at me.”

“Sorry,” Lando jokes. He watches around you and notices the way people are watching at you. You’re right. Everyone is paying attention to you. He notices some press workers as well. Normally the track isn’t busy on Wednesdays, but today seems different. He hears cameras clicking. Are people taking pictures of you? He starts to stress a bit. Lando pulls you closer to himself and drapes his arm around your shoulder, using it to hide your hickeys a bit more. 

“I might have a crewneck sweater laying here somewhere,” Lando tells you. 

You nod at Lando. Together you walk inside the McLaren motorhome. You notice the way even some mechanics are watching you. You’re going to kill Lando. This is all his fault. Lando doesn’t pay attention to them, he takes your hand and pulls you with him the his drivers room. There you finally get his sweater. You’re quick to put it on. Happily you watch in the mirror, almost no love bite is still visible now. The sweater is way too hot, but you rather become sweaty then have people look at you for the whole day. You can only hope they’ll fade away quickly. In silence the two of you walk back to the track. 

Together with Lando you’re strolling on the track. It’s relaxing to walk around with him like this. Lando is holding your hand. You like the peaceful silence between you two right now. It feels comfortable and relaxing. You realize that you don’t feel like this around other people. Lando has always been your safe place. It reminds you about how special things are between Lando and you, but it reminds you most about how you can’t fuck things up between you two. 

Your feelings are already coming in the way. They have always done, but since you have been experiencing the sexual stuff with him it has become worse. Maybe it’s because you have a tiny bit of hope that Lando also feels something for you. It’s the first time you have ever had that hope. Partly because of his jealousy, that must mean something right? But still, you wonder if it’s worth it if it can also ruin your friendship? What if you’re wrong and Lando doesn’t feel the same? 

When Lando grabs your hand, he pulls you out of your thoughts. “Don’t look to fast,” he says, “but I think Pierre is coming this way.” Fuck. You’re not in the mood for that. Slowly you watch around you, it doesn’t take you long to see that Lando is right. Pierre is walking towards the two of you. In only a couple seconds he’s standing in front of you. 

“You could have told me,” Pierre says to Lando without any context. 

“Told you what?” Lando asks confused. 

“Come on,” Pierre sighs, “All the gossip accounts are full with it. The two of you are dating.”

“Sorry?” You ask confused, “Are gossip accounts stating that we’re dating?”

“Yes!”

You let out a sigh. Gossip accounts have always been a thing. They always suspect that there’s something going on between Lando and you, but they never had any proof. You drop Lando his hand. This is a mess. You don’t even want to see your socials right now, they’re probably full with hate. Fuck. 

“Since when do you believe gossip accounts?” Lando asks Pierre.

“Since she has been spotted with hickeys all over her and she’s now wearing one of your crewneck sweaters,” Pierre answers annoyed, “I don’t get it why you didn’t tell me. I made a fool of myself by asking her on a date. You could have said something.”

“I told you that you weren’t her type.”

Lando continues to argue with Pierre. You on the other hand can only wonder when the gossip accounts are going to share the pictures of your love bites. Fuck, what are ‘fans’ going to do then? You grab your phone and look at the way your notifications are already blowing up. Reactions keep coming, you read a couple of them. Most of them are calling you a slut. Whenever you see a nice one, there are more negative ones beneath them. You search on a gossip page, wondering what they already posted. Then you see one of the pictures.

It’s you in your former outfit. The hickeys on your neck and collar are hard to miss. Suddenly you start to feel watched. It feels like everyone around you is looking at you. 

“You should have told me that you two are dating,” Pierre scoffs angrily.

“We’re not,” you sigh. It’s the first time that you’re saying something again. “And even if we were, it’s none of your business. Can you take me back to the motorhome Lando?”

When you’re finally back in Lando his drivers room, you grab your phone again. Your notifications are blowing up. It seems like everyone is talking about Lando and you dating. You have never gotten this many comments under a Instagram post, you’re above a thousand now on your most recent post. You try to read as many as you can, but a lot of them are the same. People are calling you a slut for “parading” around the track with the hickeys. Others are saying that Lando deserves better, that you’re only with him for the fame. As if you weren’t with him before he even started in Formula One. Sometimes you read a positive comment. Some people seem to like it that Lando and you are “finally” together, not that it’s true. Some people are even reacting about the true love between you two. All of it makes you sad. You don’t even notice the tears that are falling down on your cheeks, until Lando wipes a couple of them away.

Lando doesn’t know how to act. He takes you into his arms and tries to comfort you as much as he can manage. He doesn’t know what is wrong, but he can guess. When Pierre said something about the gossip accounts, he didn’t even think about the consequences for you from those accounts, but now he remembers. Every time they post about you, your notifications are blowing up. People know how to find your Instagram and how to leave horrible comments. He doesn’t even want to read it. 

“Nothing of what they’re saying is true babygirl,” Lando shushes. You let out a soft sob. “Everyone thinks I’m a slut,” you tell him, “or a gold digger or just an awful person.”

“You’re not.” He presses a soft kiss on your forehead. “You’re the most wonderful person I know,” he continues, “So stop letting this get to you babygirl, they’re not worth it.” 

“Lan?” You ask softly. He nods and waits for you to continue. “This is all your fault,” you softly joke, “fucking hickeys.” Lando lets out a soft laugh. 

+++

“Fuck, babygirl,” Lando grunts when you lower your body onto his. He feels himself enter you. “You feel so fucking good.”

You’re sitting on top of Lando. He’s not even more then ten minutes back from the second free practice. It didn’t went like he wanted to. When he got out of the car, he let everyone know about that. The moment he started to scold multiple mechanics you were quick to intervene. Normally you don’t, but Lando kept going on and on. It was getting too much. He really lost his temper this time. You wonder why, normally he’s rather patient. 

Slowly you move your body on top of Lando. This position makes you feel more fulled up then the first time. With slow movements you fuck him. When you let out a soft moan, Lando shows you a small smile. His hands are all over your body. He kneads your boobs while pressing his lips against your collarbone. Softly placing kisses all over it. 

You didn’t know what got into you when you grabbed Lando his hand while he acted rude to his team. He gave you a surprised look and even shut his mouth for a bit. When you stood on your toes to reach his ear, he turned all of his attention to you. “If you stop whining,” you whisper, “I’ll have sex with you in your drivers room.” Lando shut in within seconds. He even apologized to his crew before taking your hand and almost running towards his drivers room with you. Undressing you as soon as he turned the door behind him. When your dress was all up and his pants were down and he was ready to enter you, you surprised him one more time. “I want to be on top.”

Lando can’t stop himself from letting out multiple moans when you increase your pace. Faster then before you move yourself on top of him. He grabs your neck and moves your face closer towards himself so he can kiss you properly. His hands are still busy kneading your boobs. He gives your nipples a bit more attention by softly pulling on them. 

“Fuck Lan,” you whine when he pulls back from the kiss. He chuckles and let his hands slide down on your body. His lips are attached to your neck. “No more visible marks,” you instruct half jokingly, half serous. Lando grunts but moves his mouth a bit lower, making sure his new marks can be covered with summer clothes. 

You’re surprised when you feel Lando put his finger on your clitoris. He shows you a small smile when he notices your surprised look. Slowly he traces circles on the sensitive bud, making you feel all kind of things. You let out a loud moan. Lando adds a bit more pressure. You try to increase your pace as well, but you start to feel worn out. Lando helps you, effortless he moves himself inside of you. Picking up a fast pace. It causes you to let out more moans. 

“Fucking insane how good you feel,” Lando groans. He feels himself coming close to his orgasm, but he wants to feel you cum on his dick first. He increases his pace on both fucking you as on playing with your sensitive bud. Stimulating you as much as he can. 

“Are you going to cum for me?” Lando asks you, “Let me feel how good it feels to have your pussy clenching around my cock.” You don’t react verbally. Lando keeps talking dirty to you. “So fucking tight.” “Such a good girl.” 

“I’m close Lan,” you suddenly tell him, “Can I cum?”

Lando increases his pace as much as he can. “Please do babygirl,” he tells you. When he feels your pussy clenching around his cock, he lets go as well. When his cum enters your body, Lando tells you one more thing. “My good girl.” It makes you all flustered. 

+++

Days are going by quickly. Before you know it, it’s already Sunday - meaning it’s race day again. This is the last race of the triple header, meaning that after this Lando and you will go back home. You don’t know how to feel about that. Last weeks you have spent al your time with Lando, sleeping in his hotel rooms and being together almost every moment of the day. It has been extremely nice. You like living with Lando like this. That’s maybe why you don’t like going back home tomorrow. Then you’ll be alone in your own apartment again, without Lando laying next to you in the bed every night. 

“Good luck kiss?” Lando asks you. He holds his helmet. He’s almost ready to get into his car and to start with the race. You show him a small nod and press the standard ‘good luck kiss’ against his cheek. Like you always do when you’re with him at races. “Don’t know if that will bring me enough luck,” Lando jokes. 

You show Lando a confused look. What does he mean? Before you can ask about it, Lando presses his lips on your for a small moment of time. It can’t have lasted longer then a second, but it was long enough to wake up the butterflies in your stomach. You look around you. Did anyone see it? It can’t be. You don’t more negative comments on your socials. Now that you think about it, what did just happen? Since when is Lando kissing you in public places? 

Lando doesn’t say anything else, he walks off to his car. He can only think about what he just did. He realizes that if anyone saw, it will mean that you’ll get more hate. Maybe he should say something about it on his socials? He needs some help from his PR team. He wonders what’s going on with him. He just kissed you in a public place, practically on his work, where everyone could see. Since when are you doing that? If someone saw and shares it, the madhouse will be complete. He wonders what would happen if he would date you and share it online. People have been shipping the two of you for a long time, so some of them might be happy. But there are always so many haters. When he takes place in his car, he looks at the Alpine motorhome. He remembers Pierre his statements from earlier this week. Finally someone who understands that you’re not for him to take. 

He really should solve this problem and make you his. 

Then he remembers something else. Didn’t you have a date planned with some guy for after the triple header? He tries to forgot about it and focus on the upcoming race, but that seems to be hard form him right now. He can’t stop thinking about the guy who’s taking you on a date. Who is it? Will you fall in love with him? When he lines up to the start, he’s still thinking about the guy you’re going on a date with. 

You watch Lando race. All of your focus is on him, nothing new now that you think about it. Only this time it doesn’t feel like it normally does. It’s because of some weird feeling that you can’t seem to shake off. It almost feels like something is going to happen. Something bad. It feels off. You don’t know why you’re thinking like this right now, but you can’t seem to stop. You can’t take your eyes off the screen which shows Lando his car all the time. Multiple mechanics are watching the fight for second place, but you can only focus on Lando. Even the way he races feels off. It’s hard to say without any knowledge about it, but he almost seems unfocused. 

Then you see the reason behind your feeling. Lando misses his braking point. Within seconds he’s spinning into the wall. You let out a loud scream when it happens. Quickly you stand up and walk closer to the screen. All the attention of everyone in the motorhome is on the screen as well now. Everyone is waiting for Lando to say something. To let them know he’s okay. 

You need to hear Lando say something. You need to know if he’s okay. The crash didn’t look massive, but still bad. It doesn’t take long for a safety car to show up on the grid, leading the drivers. Many drivers are coming into the pit to change their tires. You don’t notice any of it, you just keep waiting for Lando to say something. The stress doesn’t leave your body. 

“I’m ok.”

You feel how you let out a lot of air at once with a relieved sigh. Thank god, Lando is okay. You watch how he climbs out of his car. It seems like he has no trouble with walking away from the track to get back to the motorhome. Within a couple minutes you see Lando showing up at the motorhome. The medical team is following him inside, you hear some talks about medical checks but you don’t follow it. All of your attention is on Lando. 

While walking to Lando you almost trip over your own feet. “Fuck Lan,” you stammer while rushing yourself into his arms. Lando doesn’t react verbally, he just wraps his arms around your body and holds you closely to himself. You don’t even notice that you’re making his race suit wet with your tears. “Are you hurt?” You ask him. 

“We would have known if he joined us for his medical checks,” someone tells you with an annoyed tone in her voice. You let go of Lando and look around you, only to see that the whole medical team is gathered around you. 

“You didn’t have your check up yet?” You ask Lando confused. “No,” he replies. “Fucking hell Lan,” you mutter, “Go with them you idiot.” Lando shows you a boyish grin, “Sorry babygirl, I wanted to see you first.” 

Lando and you are rejoined only a small hour later. He is still laying in a hospital bed. The medical team decided that he needed some rest before getting back out of there. The crash wasn’t hard and didn’t left much damage across for a few bruises and painful spots on his body. They gave him some pain medication, which causes him to feel a bit loopy. You’re sitting next to him, waiting until he wakes up. You have seen him on medication like this before, the Grand Prix in Las Vegas showed you how loopy and careless Lando can act with medication like this. You wonder how he will act this time. 

When Lando wakes up, he’s happy to see sitting right next to him. He is quick to remember the way he crashed during the race. He feels ashamed when he realizes why he lost his concentration and how it ended his race, such a rookie mistake. And probably easy to fix if he finally gets the nerve to tell you about his feelings. He feels himself getting mad at himself. Before he can think about it any longer you’re already taking to him. 

“How are you feeling Lan?” You ask him.

“Not great,” Lando sighs honestly.

“You scared the shit out of me,” you confess, “what happened?”

He can’t exactly tell you that he couldn’t stop thinking about you and the date you’re going on as soon you’re back in Monaco. That would be stupid. Although it is the real reason. Lando wants to make up some sort of excuse, but he is already talking again. Those fucking pain meds. 

“Couldn’t focus,” he confesses, “I kept thinking about something.” He can barely stop himself on time from telling you that he was thinking about you and your date. 

“About what?” You ask confused. 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Lando quickly says before he can say anything stupid again. He needs to stop himself from confessing even more. “Okay Lan,” you softly say. You grab his hand and draw some figures on it. There’s a comfortable silence between you two. Lando enjoys your soft touches on your hand. He feels himself getting calm and almost falling asleep again. But right before he falls asleep, he can’t stop himself from saying something stupid again. He cam blame the pain meds, but he knows that he means every word.

“Babygirl?” He asks. “Yeah Lan?”

“Please don’t get a boyfriend,” he says. “And please don’t go on a date when you’re back in Monaco with anyone else then me.”

Fuck. Did he really just say that? How on earth will he fix this? Lando closes his eyes and tries to fall asleep instead of thinking what he just did. Lando doesn’t notice the way you have a small smile laying on your lips and how good you feel because of his words. 

“I already cancelled that date,” you confess to Lando, “After we fucked I decided that it might be a better idea to practice a bit more.” 

Lando opens his eyes and shows you a happy grin. “I don’t think you need a lot of practice,” he says, “but I’m happy to help.”

“That’s a deal.”

“My good girl,” Lando mutters before falling asleep.

part eleven

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