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hollyhomburg · 2 days ago

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Before I Leave You (Pt. 80)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: “Come on hyung, fuck her like you mean it.”

Tags: Groupsex, Mating cycles/in heat, fivesome, exhibitionism, voyeurism, slight Jungkook x m/c focus, praise kink, Knotfucking, dumbification, mind-break, Namjoon calls Yoongi a bitch once in like a sexy way, omegaspace sex, lactation kink, false pregnancy, some good ol' tiddy sucking, omega x omega content, scissoring, pussy spanking, excessive squirting, size kink, breif mention of monstercock dildos, overstimulation kink, forced orgasam (but not in a cnc way), knot milking, mommy kink, daddy kink, trans characters, discussion of girl knot/cock, girl on top, feral sex, biting, humor, this is soft and horny and funny and sweet.

W/c: 12.7k

A/n: Ahhhh i'm sorry it took so long for me to write this chapter- the good thing is the next one won't be that far off! Until then if you like this story and want to read a different version of the beginning that has like 5+ additional chapters of how yoongi and the m/c got together you can read it here.

Previous part - Masterlist - First part

As you can expect, there is some clamoring around Yoongi.

Everyone reaches to feel, to touch, to check. Your hand is among the others tangling with Tae's fingers then Hobi's. Every touch is exploratory, curious, and coming to terms. Shocked and happy, weirded out and displeased. There are so many emotions that everyone's scents are all over the place. Surprised, excited, and scared.

Jungkook starts to tip his head, eyes open, leaning into Namjoon's space and falling, like he can't figure out which alpha to please with the scent of a new knot in the air. Jin lets out a shocked noise, not entirely upset but still.

“Wow is he bigger than Minnie and Hobi?” “I don’t know, but you should definitely measure.” “It feels so much less firm than a normal knot,” “Like squish mellow” “And he’s got that vein! I can see it pulse!” "Wow what the fuck, it’s so pink."

"Am I dreaming it's like my dream for everyone to have a knot."

"Even the pup?"

"Especially the pup. Have you seen Tae's dick? Girl knots are like- so ugh."

Until it gets too much, until Yoongi’s hips splay, and his head tips back, breath ragged. “Guys I’m-”

"Alright." Namjoon snaps, loudly. "Everyone back off. Give him some room."

You do not back up, you curl up around your mate's body protectively, still barely conscious of the fact that you're dripping into the nest below you. But you don't really think that Namjoon was talking about you and he doesn't make you move once you snatch your hand back. Resting it loosely on Yoongi's hip, clutching at his shirt like you think someone is going to take him away.

Namjoon eyes your hand and then your face. You tip your chin down demurely like there can't possibly be any way you'd missbehave. Namjoon huffs, shaking his head before he ducks down.

The pack alpha examines Yoongi’s knot under an appraising eye. His big hands turning it this way and that, Yoongi’s eyes roll back no one gives him shit for rocking up into Namjoon’s touch, needy.

Does knotting always feel this way? There’s pressure in his lower stomach, a tightening that makes no sense. That sort of feels like his self-control is spiraling away or dangling on the edge of a very precarious edge. Like all of him is about to break or perhaps be made whole.

Yoongi doesn't like thinking of sex as something necessary for love. But knotting certainly feels like a cross between the two.

No wonder why alphas are such knotheads. If fucking always felt like this, like the sex equivalent of a full body hug that lasts for hours, instead of a singular moment of euphoria and closeness. Yoongi would never want to fuck any other way. No wonder why they're so possessive too.

This feeling- Yoongi’s not addicted, not yet.

You hook your chin over his shoulder to watch, sniffling. And Yoongi is a little too aware of you. The way your body lies against his arm, the dewy brush of his wrist on your stomach as you set your body against his. He must be going insane; he must have bit you again and given you a fresh mating mark. Because it feels like he can feel the mating mark wrapping around his cock.

You're a little more lucid because the pack’s sour scents cut through the breeding haze.

“Is Yoongi like- presenting?” Your voice sounds so small, so fragile. Yoongi bares his teeth at it. He tips his head into yours, nosing at the side of your face. Trying to reassure you. Trying not to bite. Hissing when Namjoon once again pulls at the skin of his knot.

“I don’t think so,” Namjoon says carefully, slowly. Reaching for Jin's glasses on the edge of the nest (because they're roughly the same prescription) so that he can take a look at the underside of Yoongi’s cock and the scent glands just below it.

They’re not puffy and not swollen like an alpha's. Alpha's knot to scent mark, not just breed. It's surprisingly a relief knowing that not all of Yoongi's biology has changed.

"He’s like still a beta? Right?”

“As far as I can tell yes.” Namjoon hesitates, poking at Yoongi’s knot harder. Eyes flicking up to measure his response. Yoongi does not snap at him, doesn’t do anything but lean against the column of Namjoon’s arm like he’s having a hard time holding his body up. When Namjoon puts his hand on the base of Yoongi’s throat, he doesn’t do anything but close his eyes.

"No- if you were an alpha you'd be biting my head off right now. You're definitely not presenting" Namjoon decides, begging that it's true. His own instincts are just a hum beneath his skin.

Namjoon might be a man of science, but he does trust his instincts more than he’d ever willingly admit. Namjoon's inner alpha is not chomping at the bit for a show of dominance and is not threatened by the sudden muskiness of another foreign knot. A shock in itself. Any scent of an unfamiliar knot combined with the smell of their omega in heat would make any of the alphas, even hoseok the tamest one, go feral. Packs work that way.

Beyond an extra layer of horniness, Yoongi’s thick chocolate scent has not changed. Not even a little bit once Namjoon sniffs and rolls the taste of it around on his tongue.

Namjoon presses the side of his face to Yoongi’s neck and closes his eyes. You can feel Yoongi’s heart flutter with how you’re holding onto his arm. After a moment namjoon pulls away. “You’ll be fine.”

You sag, a bit in relief. Yoongi? An alpha? If Namjoon says he’s not you believe him. Your brain is too hazy to think straight. But you decide you’re glad he’s not. Yoongi’s perfect- you’d hate it if something changed without his say-so. You babble, say it. And your mate covers his face.

“If I had to bet, I’d say it’s the mating mark. I’d like to take tests but-” Jin’s head jerks up, scent souring. Sensing a trip to the hospital before it’s even been said. Jungkook’s eyes on Yoongi don’t blink, grinning down at that knot with his hair in his face, already excited and dopey. As if talking about the hospital is enough to summon another seizure.

“After maybe. If it’s still a problem.” Namjoon caveats, pausing to rub down Yoongi’s arm, soothing him. Yoongi is still trembling. Still shaking so hard that he can't really move with any coordination.

“Has anything like this ever happened before?” Seokjin asks, carefully. Pillow over his bare lap. Namjoon has the good sense to at least put on some shorts. Jimin looks at Tae quickly and Tae does not return his gaze. Some secret soulmate conversation going on between them that you can’t read.

When you look up at Hobi- he’s watching your face. He doesn’t look away but after a moment he shrugs as if to say ‘Our beta has a knot- so what?’

“I’ve never heard of a beta popping a knot. I’m not sure. I think this might just be us.”

You groan, hiding your face under Yoongi’s chin. His breath heaves, and he turns back to you, nuzzling back.

“Is it my slick? Or the mating mark? Did I do this to him?” your eyes are wet, tears already threatening. You are already generally sensitive, and even more so in heat. Yoongi eases away your worries with a quick kiss to the side of your face. Cutting off your guilt before it has a chance to build.

“None of that now. If I had to change for anyone I’m glad it’s you.”

The pack is quiet around you, all in varying states of nudity. Quiet at the truth of what he says, how suddenly deep this has gotten. But he's right, you'd change for any of them. You wouldn't mind either. Yoongi rubs your cheek and you pull yourself half into his lap for a cuddle. Needy, too worn down to let it go. Yoongi’s hands go around your waist keeping you close. You melt into his arms, still sniffling.

"Your dick was perfect before though-"

"Sweetheart " he groans. You pull back from him, glancing down at his lap.

"What? I'm just saying-"

“Don’t look at it!”

Hoseok chokes back a laugh and tries to keep it in, but before you can help it everyone's laughing and covering their faces with their hands to keep from smiling.

“You didn’t cum at all. Did you?" Namjoon asks, eyes dark. Yoongi starts to lift the hem of the shirt you wear, showing.

“No, I didn’t.” Yoongi can feel a bit of skin at the base of his cock, still loose, still half popped. If you weren’t more preoccupied with holding your mate and controlling your weepyness. You’d be more curious about the knot pressed between your legs.

Maybe this is just resource-guarding. Classic omega in heat, of course, the most valuable resource is your mate.

“You know” Namjoon hesitates, looking from Yoongi to Jin. “Popping a knot without ejaculating sperm is kind of medically dangerous-”

“Namjoon-” Jin scolds.

“Sorry- without Cuming is actually kind of dangerous. Especially because it’s like, not typical for you to have a knot.” Namjoon licks his lips, "We should probably make sure that it's like- working."

You don’t know if it’s hornyness or just Namjoon being concerned for Yoongi’s health (probably a little bit of both) but you perk up. Blinking at the pack alpha who looks a little strained. A little like he’s trying not to look too much.

Across the nest, Jungkook shuffles forward, blatantly eyeing Yoongi’s knot like he’s just found his new favorite toy. But no sooner is he putting his hand on the beta’s tight before Jin is pulling him back the collar. "No no no pup, that's not yours yet."

He lets out a little bereft whimper but you hardly notice. Eyes bright and directed up at Namjoon. Like it honestly hadn’t occurred to you that now that your mate has a knot that means he can use it. Yoongi can knot you now. Pack Alpha is so smart! You don't know how it didn't occur to you yet but-

Oh, you really want that. You really want Yoongi to knot you.

The self-consciousness Yoongi felt earlier is entirely forgotten. You’re a little dumb in heat. A little floaty. Yoongi doesn’t mind. This is why you have packmates, to make these complicated decisions for you.

Yoongi’s hands are still firm around your waist. If Yoongi does have a knot now, for the time being, then you should get first dibs.

You whine, he was perfect without it really but you really really really like knots, your squishy omega brain is convinced that you need it. That it’s yours and your packmates are suddenly keeping it from you. You bare your teeth. No bite, all bark. You'd actually growl at them if Yoongi’s hands didn't clamp down around your waist. Hard. Harder than he usually touches you. It jogs you out of your reverie.

Marks. Kis fingers hold you hard enough that you could have bruises. Good. You want marks on you and on him. Your mating mark isn't enough. Not now, not with Yoongi having a knot.

“Should I, should you-” The pack settles in, ringing both you and Yoongi, as you stare each other down, both of your scents spiking wildly as you take each other in. Seeing each other in a new light.

Yoongi laughs, deep and rough. And you get shivers down your spine. Your voice is high-pitched and squeaky from the strain. "Don't tease me."

He nudges the underside of your jaw with his nose. "Come on, it's sorta easy" his teeth brush your mating mark and you gasp, the threat of a bite but not a bite at all. "and you like it."

The pack looms closer so close they can reach out and touch, can reach out and feel. "Should we watch? I think we should watch" “Yes. Definitely yes.” “Yes, I think we should, yes please.” "they're so pretty when they fuck."

But Jungkook huffs, a little bratty, a little bit upset that there's a knot he's not allowed to ride. "Can't I get one lick?"

"No Koo" Jungkook jerks against his hold.

"If I lick it, is it mine? While she rides it does it count if I lick it?” Jungkook gets dragged over Jin’s lap for that one, completely happy with it as the other omega lands several swats over his behind. Giggling as he goes.

The slapping sounds are distant. Jungkook's skin glows from the force of the hits but his cheeks are round from his smile sweet. A Spanking? You'd like one of those. Maybe you can provoke it from one of your packmates sometime later. You might need a settling after this.

Your brain is a mess of wants and instincts. But a spanking can wait. Yoongi's knot presses just under your pussy and you grind onto it experimentally. Tingles of pleasure filling your whole body. Good. It's so good. You snarl.

“No. No Jk- pup”

You are not paying attention as Jungkook tries to claw his way over to you; laughing, making a game of it. You and Yoongi are not speaking but you are communicating. Every grit of his teeth says mine, and every twitch of his hands on your hips says keep going. You look down at your mate and lick your teeth, polishing your canines as you eye him. The line of his throat. The pinkness of his nose. His chest- everything.

As Yoongi huffs, half fond. Cheeks slowly warm the more your eyes roam, the more you look and hunger.

It’s not that you’ve never been a sexual creature and it’s not that Yoongi has never seen you want him. But too often have you been like Noodle. Too frequently has he been the steward of your lust, carefully encouraging it and letting you be fickle and safe. Every time you've had sex you've been timid. he’s always letting you know through every breath that you’re not too much and that you can have it in any way that you want.

But now- now you’re eyeing Yoongi like you want to eat him.

Your brain is too syrupy and slow to do more than grind against his knot (like I said, all bark, no bite) your pussy dribbles onto it. The glide of your slick hole so much against such sensitive skin, pressed between your body and his. An omega possessed. An omega on a mission.

He’s been on the business end of many knots but this- this is different. Your eyes are open hardly blinking, Jungkook’s hands trail up Yoongi’s thigh to his hip.

"You're hiding it-" he whines, bratty. But gets snapped back into the alpha's waiting jaws. More spanks. until someone, Jimin maybe is tugging at Jungkook's cock between his legs while he gets plugged up by Namjoon's knot. Namjoon's the only one out of all of them that can truly distract Jungkook. Can possibly stop him from trying to covet Yoongi.

Yoongi's knot doesn’t belong to him. As his mate you have rights.

You push him back to lie in the nest and Yoongi lets you. It’s instinct to straddle him, to get him under you where he can’t move. Even though you don’t usually fuck like this with you on top. You don’t know why this in-heat version of yourself seems preoccupied with riding or not riding, maybe it’s a control thing or vulnerability.

Your body is unused to the heat, unsure of quite what the edge of want and don’t want to meet. Unsure if you want all the control or the complete lack of it. You are weak to your instincts. Weak, even though you know if you just lied back Yoongi would take care of you.

Your instincts give you neither choice nor reason nor want for anything, anything but this. Hoseok's hands slide up Yoongi's knees, touch your lower back, everything. Everyone everywhere touching both of you. Egging you on with their bare teeth and wildly sweet scents.

The head of Yoongi's cock slides up and through your slick, catching on your hole for a moment before it pops away,

You don’t know who guides Yoongi’s knot to your fluttering hole, only that it’s there. It’s easy to sink back, eyes furrowed as you concentrate on the feeling of getting Yoongi’s knot inside of you, cheeks warm at the eyes of the pack on you.

Beside you Tae paws at Jimin’s knot he makes a nose in his throat, but Tae’s all smiles. “Minnie likes it.” She croons in a singsong tone. Hooking an arm around his waist and sliding her hands under the elastic hem of his boxers to toy with him.

There is breath on the back of your shoulder, condensation turning your skin dewy. A hungry alpha ready to swallow you whole. Looming. You don’t look to see who it is, who's looking over your shoulder watching Yoongi’s face as you ride him.

You have a sinking suspicion it might be Hobi.

You fall into a slow rhythm appreciating the way that it feels, nudging at your entrance. Filling you routine. You’re getting better at this setting the pace on your own. Moving at a steady rhythm. A rhythm that makes you sigh and squeak. Your body feels so far away. The ache in your knees, the soreness in your hole, and the tiredness in you are all impermanent compared to the pleasure.

You focus on the feeling of your hands on his chest and the pleasure that comes with fucking yourself down on his knot. It’s a good knot. Not too big, not too small, just right. Everything about Yoongi is just right for you. You mewl as you speed up your pace. Instincts burning for more more more.

Sweat bleeds down your back and Yoongi’s jaw rolls, unblinking below you. Someone wipes away a bit of drool on your jaw and you can’t find it in yourself to be embarrassed. Tipping your head back.

“Does it feel good pup, the way his knot feels in your little hole?"

"Not so little anymore," Tae snickers, "she's practically bouncing on it."

Yoongi’s knuckles are white with how hard he holds your hips, doing his best not to guide your rhythm or disrupt it. Someone's hand is in your hair, tugging and tangling with it, pulling you up and down.

Namjoon leans down to whisper in Yoongi’s ear. “Good huh? Pussy fucking you up hyung? Gonna be a little bitch and make a mess in our pup? Gonna put your little knot where you want and breed her?”

Yoongi lets out an achy moan. And hope that you didn’t hear that. Or feel how it makes him twitch and pulse. Knot seconds from popping. Already mostly popped from before. He’s not going to last. Yoongi knows it will be quick.

"Bet you can feel how I fucked her open for you huh?"

Yoongi does not pause to push Namjoon’s face away as the alpha bites his shoulder- his ear- his everywhere. Namjoon's not nearly as unaffected as he pretends to be but Yoongi is too focused on you.

Yoongi has always been the perfect fit, not quite as long as Hobi or as thick as Jimin or the type of knot that makes you feel it for days after like Tae and Namjoon. It’s a good thing you’re a size queen because now you can fuck yourself down on Yoongi’s knot, regardless of the size it threatens to swell too.

Yoongi’s knot is about as thick around as Namjoon’s cock is normally so you still struggle to go all the way down, but stretching yourself around the wideness is good, feels nice. Sates the fire inside of you. His knot presses all nice and hot snug against that spot inside of you. You babble it, saying how good good good your mate is, how you can feel his cock stretching you out and breeding you. Almost mindless from pleasure.

Almost but not yet.

Yoongi slides his palm from your stomach up to your sternum, under the black shirt you wear, stroking over your skin lazily before his fingers tangle in the material, pulling it. using it to guiding and goad you into fuck him faster. Saying nothing. Eyes on you. Dark and heavy-lidded.

To shut you up (not because he wants you to shut up but because he wants to hold off from cumming for as long as he can). Yoongi gets his feet under him and drives his hips up. Fucking up into you. Faster and faster until you can tell you're almost taking all of it. All of it. As much as you can.

“That’s it, there you go baby. Fuck her like an alpha. She wants to take it, you just have to help make her.”

“Come on hyung, fuck her like you mean it.”

Beside you, Tae's hand works underneath the waistband of Jimin's boxers, a thumb hooked there lazily. Stilling for a second. Her knuckles wrapped around his knot probably. Hobi is tucked along Jin's side, hips stuttering working. Watching you and Yoongi. Namjoon grins, showing his teeth.

You have almost all of his knot in you now, everything but the widest bit, just a little more, just a little and you’ll have it. You bounce up and down on it experimentally. You grin, very very convinced that you don’t have to wait for Yoongi’s knot to go down to continue.

Your mate's hands circle your wrists, holding them hard, pulling you down hard every time you pick yourself up, trying to keep you stationary. But Yoongi’s needs are very very far away in his mind.

It’s almost better this way, looking down at him, working your body down his knot. Testing the give and breathing through it the way that Namjoon has taught you to breathe through taking his knot. The pack all around, watching you and encouraging you. They're so close, it sort of feels like they're all fucking you this way.

Tae’s fingers dimple in your thighs and Jk rests his head along Yoongi’s tummy so he can watch his knot sink inside of you as a treat when he takes his spanking like a good pup. A strong hand in his hair to keep him from moving forward a few inches to lick. Pout on his face. When your pace stutters, body overtired from heat, Hobi's hand goes under your thigh to help pick you up, taking the weight of your body for you.

You finally get Yoongi’s knot inside of you, but it doesn’t stop there, you put your hands on his chest and pick yourself off of it again. It tugs but slips past the rim of muscle after a second, slick sliding down the big swollen curve of it. It takes some finesse, but your body gives way and his knot is once again hovering just on the precipice.

Then you sit yourself back down.

Jimin’s breathless curse against your throat feels almost guttural. You hardly hear it too focused on fucking Yoongi’s knot like a cock.

“Fuck, omega's knot fucking is-”

“It’s hot,” Jin says, leaning down to brush Yoongi’s sweaty bangs from his forehead. “How does it feel honey? Feeling your mate around your knot? All good? All nice and snug?”

“She’s-” Yoongi pants through it breath ragged, close to cumming, knot pulsating. “Warm” his voice is strained and he scrambles to reach for you. Yoongi’s lap, his whole stomach really, is covered in your slick. The slide is almost too slippery. If you weren’t concentrating so hard on keeping rhythm you’d tell him you love him.

“Overwhelming, feels like- feels like- fuck-”

But you know he already knows, can feel it in the way he touches you. The way he looks at you. Everything.

You squirt, wet noisy, little dribbles of cum flicking up across his chest, clamping down around his knot so hard that Yoongi has no choice. Your pace stutters and you sigh. You hardly notice the pleasure rocking through you, hardly notice as you start to tremble. Little ‘hng’ noises pushed from your throat with every sweet jut of Yoongi’s hips. Still fucking his knot all the way in and all the way out.

Yoongi fucks the same way he talks, sweet but firm. He cums that way too. Warm and slow. You feel every syllable and every drop.

But Yoongi has no words for the ecstasy of knotting you. Groaning deep, more guttural, more animal than you’ve ever heard him sound. Cumming, knot popping fully. Finally. Your legs shake and your head drops as it throbs and swells.

You finally stop riding him but he keeps pulling you down at the same second he sits up quick, until he's sitting with you in his lap. Wrapping his arms around you. Whipping your hair from your face, cupping your cheeks, forehead to forehead.

A bit of your squirt drips down the seam of his hip, the place where his thigh and stomach wrinkle. Staining the nest a darker shade of pink.

But there are hands to settle your giggles, his knot pulsates, and you feel wet and warm inside. You ease up and he holds you for a moment. Skin to skin. Breath to breath. Both of you panting through your comedown.

The others fall upon you.

Jin's hand cups your stomach, and Jungkook's teeth drive into Yoongi's shoulder with a quiet yelp and a 'yah jungkookie'. you love how grumbly yoongi gets when he's feeling sensitive but safe.

Namjoon tilts your chin up and kisses you, messy and filthy. When you part you feel dizzy from lack of oxygen. You can't yet register that you're panting, breathing heavily. Still sort of cumming. One orgasm blends into another. Having them around while Yoongi’s inside of you is so much. Good, but a lot as Tae strokes down your spine.

“Did good alpha?” You ask Namjoon.

“Did so well, so so so well taking Yoongi’s first knot.” Now he'll understand how possessive we can get of you. Now he'll get it.

Yoongi ignores him, but around you, the air is thick with the scent of the pack's pleasure. Hoseok ruffles Yoongi's hair than yours, you nuzzle into his wrist. Tae's hands are hungry, and exploratory.

(They watched you through all of this but never once did you wonder if you were pretty, never once did you worry about how it looked, if it was enough. There is a simple love that's here. A simple love between all of you. Through your heat- you've never once been self-conscious. With Yoongi’s knot snug in your pussy, and everyone praising you, you can't find it in yourself to be nervous or worried or feel anything but bliss).

There are familiar hands everywhere- reaching down, feeling where you and Yoongi are connected. The wet slick glide of an omega properly seated on a knot. Tae’s lips pressed against your tit while her delicate fingers paw at your pussy, not a kiss, not a suck, but a pout.

You let her until Yoongi hums, overwhelmed, and then lean down to bite her. Popping back, licking your teeth, echoing a soft "sorry" when you've realized what you've done.

Yoongi shivers as Jin runs a hand up and down his stomach, knuckles brushing yours. Namjoon crowds in behind you. Pushing you both down into the nest. His pack alpha herding tendencies are at play but he’s a warm and reassuring presence behind you. They all settle in to cuddle you and keep both of you safe until Yoongi’s knot goes down long enough to make sure that you’ve been adequately bred.

Everyone's sort of lying on top of each other. Namjoon behind you, Jin behind Yoongi, Hobi trying and sort of succeeding in squirming his way in between Jin and Yoongi. the pack are noisy. but you sort of love the noise.

"You're pinching my skin hyung." "Wait wait wait, this will be more comfortable." "Namjoon she needs room to like-breathe." "Ow my knee like- cannot stay in this position." "Jungkook!"

The older omega lets Hobi muscle his way in. Pressing a kiss and a nibble to the back of his neck in admonishment. Jungkook sprawls across all of your stomachs and Tae rings the top and Jimin the bottom, guarding you and Yoongi against the door. Classic alpha.

Tae runs her hands over your hair, scratching at your scalp with her long fingernail. You push into her touch like a cat. She does it to you, then Yoongi. Yoongi’s hands skim up and down your hips and he’s breathing heavy.

“Love you,” he says.

he closes his eyes first but you just watch him. A chorus of voices join but you lean down, pecking him over his eyelids. Covering his body with yours. He doesn’t need to worry about anything.

Yoongi wraps his arms around you. Mumbling something into your ear quiet enough that the rest of the pack doesn’t hear. But let it remain a mystery. Let it remain for just you and him.

You rest and cuddle. And Yoongi keeps twitching inside of you. Every time you think that he’s done and that his cock can’t possibly give you anymore he starts to twitch again. Cuming just a little bit more.

It almost feels like Namjoon, who cum's a proportional amount to the size of his cock. Yoongi never normally cums this much, but you can't say you're complaining. One hand resting protectively over your tummy.

You hear Jin's familiar 'tsk' and fingers are at your hole. They guide a bit of spend back up into it. But your eyes are already closed.

You were already tired before and your heat still rages. It's not fire anymore. Something in you satiated. It's not a raging inferno but the kind of warmth that glows from coals, that sizzles on the edge of your skin, like deep-seated honeying of suns and far away stars teeming with wishes and life-giving warmth.

Yoongi decides that he wouldn’t mind doing this, just when you go into heat. He’ll get tests done later; Namjoon will drag him to the hospital after this week to take his blood and measure his hormones.

Dr.Pearl and another beta specialist will come to the conclusion that it’s both your mating mark and your slick that caused a momentarily biological shift that’s temporary at best and a one-off probably (it won’t be a one-off, Yoongi will grow a knot through every one of your heats after this). They’ll prescribe Yoongi less of your slick and a bit of distance from your scent during your pre-heat (both professional opinions that Yoongi will opt to ignore because seriously what the fuck?)

For now, you settle down atop him, keeping his knot safe inside, and go to sleep. Not before feeling each one of your packmates press a kiss to the place between your shoulder blades. Surprisingly sensitive, surprisingly ticklish. You feel it all. The brush of Hobi’s nose, the skim of Tae’s long hair. The plush feeling of Jimin's lips more like petals than skin. The brush of Jin and Namjoon’s stubble. The nibble of Jungkook's teeth.

Yoongi’s lips remain planted to your forehead, he sleeps that way through the rest of the afternoon. The little huffs of his breath tickle your baby hairs, and you can’t say that you mind.

Being the lowest member in the pack’s hierarchy means different things for each pack. Especially with two older omega’s in heat, and you below them in the hierarchy.

As the days drag on, you feel like a bit of a chew toy (not that you’re complaining).

As the lowest packmate in the hierarchy, you bear the brunt of it when their instincts shift from hungry to nesty. The breeding’s mostly done (mostly, but not quite) now is time for nesting, for preparing. It takes time for seed to take. That time that you spend cuddled close. Safe between Jin and Jungkook. Walled in on either side, safely tucked between their chests. Both of their heartbeats beat through either ear.

At least until you wake up.

You omega’s are a conspiratory little bunch. The nest is deep and colorful with many spots to hide. You do not try to hide from Jinnie or Jungkook, there is no need to. the alpha’s are who you hide from, peaking over the edge of an inner nest, the walls built up a bit like an igloo. The three of you playing a pretend game of hide and seek.

Hiding from them and the pleasure that they give you. Because they want to get in the way of all your fun.

It’s not getting in the way of the fun so much as it’s partaking in it, sticking their knots where you need them- but where is the fun in simply fucking? Foreplay is where all the fun happens anyway. Bouncing on a knot can get so boring.

Unless it’s Yoongi’s knot of course. You don’t think you’ll ever get tired of that. His refractory period is a lot longer than the other alphas, even Namjoon who tends to knot for a good 30 minutes. You’ve had him 4? Maybe 5 times since the first? And now he slumbers, hips ringed with hickeys, cock lying limp and pretty pink against his stomach, utterly spent.

You’d ridden Yoongi until he was trembling, until his breath came out as gasps and not growls. Until his knot couldn’t even pop anymore and Namjoon had quite literally scruffed you to get you off of him. Too sensitive for anymore. Twitching duly when you’d popped off for the final time, a glob of cum leaking down your hole to your other one.

And yet, you could tell by the smell of him that Yoongi was drowning in ecstasy, nothing about his scent in pain or discomfort. You did a good job. Your pack had told you, you did.

But still, your mate needs his rest, in the meantime, the omegas can play.

The morning is thick and heavy, sunlight slow moving like honey when the alpha’s start to wake to the sound of soft breathy moans. the alpha's don’t immediately register that none of them are awake and that it’s purely omegan whines and whimpers that coat the air in the sound and smell of sweet pleasure.

Honey, cake, and cream.

Jungkook giggles softly, looking down and you can’t help but smile too- dopey. Fucked out. Fucked dumb. They’re not exactly surprised that you’ve gone non-verbal. Babbling only for Tae and Yoongi when they seriously prod you for a question.

This is just another spike of your heat only… you didn’t bother to wake your alpha’s up for it. You don’t really need your alpha’s knot when Koo is so soft and when Jinnie is- honestly very big for an omega, perfect enough for a bit of comfort in your hole.

But putting the pack omega’s cock all up inside you would not be good. You want to be good for Jungkook, your nestmate who has bitten you so thoroughly your skin aches from his teeth. From your chest to your shoulders and neck. To your hips and backside. Everywhere he’s bitten you up. So that anyone who sees you will know.

The three of you giggle and rub. What started as cuddling and a bit of grinding has become something different.

You and Jungkook hover above Jin lying down, Jungkook teased him a little bit ago for his grandpa's behavior, for not wanting to move and being too cozy. His omega cock stands hard and proud. Not terribly big, but not as small as Jungkook either. You and Jungkook seem not to notice the difference.

You and Jungkook sit perched above Seokjin, the pack omega’s hands roaming without care. His face is pink and his eyes are half closed, sleepy, and happy to let you and Jungkook take what you need.

At least Jin’s heat is near ending. Your and Jungkook’s roar in the meantime. You grind into each other, tummy to tummy, Jin below the two of you left to lazily rock up into the drippy sweet cleft between your pussy and Jungkook’s cock. It’s all very slick as you move against each other. Rubbing and grinding and giggling.

Hoseok blinks awake in the nest, picking himself up with a jerk.

A combination of your slick soaks Jin’s lap, and turns the grind sudsy, almost soapy as he slides up through your pussy kissing Jungkook’s cock. Omega’s do love to scent and rub and grind; you’re doing some mixture of the two. Not scissoring, but it would be scissoring if Jungkook had a pussy instead of the little nub he calls his cock. Jungkook reaches down, tapping his cock against your clit. You purr and squeak at it.

You’re… a bit of a mess, after having been fucked by every available alpha and Yoongi so hard like that earlier- your hole is a bit of a wreck, you're leaking slick and globs of alpha cum that Jin and Jungkook are only too possessive over. Pink when Jungkook reaches down to part your pussy with his hands and sees your wrecked entrance. He's too happy to smear it all over.

You can hardly blame Koo for his fascination, dragging his own little cock and forth between the mess. Putting his cock in (not that you can even close around it, small as Jungkook is) just to feel the heat of your body and what the alpha’s did to you.

It’s a good thing that most of Jungkook’s knot collection is locked safely away in the closet. Otherwise he might be tempted to see if you can take the largest one. The one that’s larger even than Namjoon that Jungkook's only managed to take on occasion when the pack feels like devoting multiple days into opening him up. The one that often leads to multiple days of aftercare because it actually is a little medically questionable for Jungkook to take.

Jungkook might have a bit of a thing for it; a size kink. thats never more apparent than when you're close. when he puts his hands around your waist and his hands almost meet. Watching you take things that look too big, that fuck you dumb like this is jungkook's favorite.

Now that the alphas aren’t making him feel so…so omegan, so fucked out. He’s sorry he missed most of it. He wants to see it again, wants to watch you get fucked open on namjoon's cock.

Jimin lifts his head from the nest, doing a double take and cursing when he realizes that it's not a wet dream just- just real. Namjoon rubs a hand across his jaw, sitting up on his knees in the half-darkness. Clearly he's been awake for a while. His hand goes ridged on Namjoon’s wrist but the pack alpha doesn't look down at him- he doesn't tear his eyes away from you three.

Namjoon’s cock presses up between his boxers, put on for modesty- and because normally omega’s in heat can’t be trusted not to get a little handsy. Hard, insistent. Now, Namjoon wishes that you'd get a little handsy. That would be better than just watching.

“You didn’t?…” he asks, trailing off. Namjoon swallows hard shaking his head. Namjoon already has his hand hooked into Hobi's collar, keeping him in place. Keeping him from interfering. Hobi lets out a lupine whimper. More a puppy than a man.

“Jin asked me not to intervene.”

The pack alpha’s restraint is legendary, especially when Jin giggles at the way you’re bouncing or trying to bounce on Jungkook’s cock. The pack omega tuts, and slips in besides Jungkook, half pushing him out of the way. Jimin starts, but there’s no reason to.

After fucking Namjoon there is more than enough room in your pussy.

The sight of you and Jungkook rubbing your used holes together is something that should honestly be recorded for the communal pack spank bank. The three of you pink-cheeked and healthy, and-

Knocked up. The three of you look like you’ve just been knocked up even though they know you haven't. Your skin glows healthy, your bodies supple and fed. Relaxed and loopy, showing the signs of the care the pack have lavished you with.

Jinnie's glowing too- skin smooth and blemishless, lips puffy and glossy from being kissed so much (as they should be). Although his glow is softer and less harsh. Jin’s heat is already ending, just another ten or so hours now. The fever quiets to a soft hush, a gentle need instead of a rabid one.

Was it the pack omega that dragged you and Jungkook to get off on top of him? It won’t be long now. Namjoon can tell you’re both close to cumming from the way you're shaking and the way Jungkook's breathing.

The slick glossy look of your thighs, your hiccups, the sight of Jin’s cock pressing between your slick folds, peaking out, rubbing against your clit, and the head of Jungkook’s little cock. The pack omega’s hands are hungry twitching as jin cranes back and inarticulately tucks his hands into both your holes. stroking both of them. Jin’s cheeks look round, pouting as he concentrates.

“Want pups, my pups, gimme,” you and Jungkook giggle, pressing sloppy kisses to each other’s mouths, Jinnie’s too- although the pack omega does little but pout and rock into the warmth. Into the wet.

The alpha’s watch and it’s torturous to keep themselves back. But they're good alpha's. When your and Jungkook's rocking reaches a fever's pitch and then quiets. Trembling and overwhelmed. Clinging to each other, threatening to topple.

When you’re finished there is more than one available knot, hard and aching, ready to sit on.

~-~

That’s not the last time that Jungkook seeks you out during his heat. far from it.

You’re not surprised that both his and yours have lasted longer than Jin’s (probably by a day or so). Your and his hormones spike and feed off each other, your heat spikes syncing until your packmates have to handle both of you at once. Your hand remains knotted with his, whining every time one of your alphas tries to cajole you gently away from him. Unwilling to be parted from him during knotting for comfort.

The lulls between Jin’s heat spikes get longer and longer while yours and Jungkook’s remain the same. Jungkook’s even speed up a little if anything.

Jungkook loves going into heat with you- he really does, it feels like he’s always reaching, always craning his neck to watch you. The tender nape of his neck is bruised from the number of times that the alphas have had to scruff him docile. All of him feels Bitten and nibbled at every available opportunity.

Really, Jungkook's sort of in heaven.

The alphas never throw him around the same way they do when he's in heat. They don’t treat him like he’s delicate, like he’s precious, especially with you around to dote on and fuss with. You take the brunt of Jin’s protective instinct too.

Jungkook can be as bratty as he wants, bite whichever alpha he wants, and chirp as long as he needs to. Outside of heat they rarely ever hold him down and make him take it. They always hold back. Only in heat at his most vulnerable do the alphas really stop treating him like he's fragile.

He likes pushing their buttons and making them bite. Now, Jungkook does it because he can't stand it.

Cute aggression? It must be cute aggression.

He wants to squeeze and nibble and wreck you, Watching as jimin tucks his face into your neck as his knot twitches, your entrances stretched tight around it and your legs wide open so that Yoongi can gift tortuously small touches to your clit, all but torturing it as you seem to squirt and squirt and squirt.

So much until you’re dripping around the hollow of his wrist. Your petal pink lips parted, ready for a nibble. He'd barely satiated his desire to mark you up earlier. The haze of hormones is thicker than smoke in the air, turning his brain mushy as he listens to Yoongi beg.

“One more, just one more for me. You made me cum until I couldn’t anymore so now it’s your turn.”

You sob, but thats not a no. Your knees get brought up. Cute, plush, like a fucking stuffed animal. Jungkook once again, gets the inexplicable urge to squeeze you.

The alpha's have you both pressed chest to chest. Underneath you, Jimin continues to drive his cock in smooth efficient bunches, a knot already popped inside. You'd asked him to be mean with it and sob you do. Begging and pleading for more more more at the same time you say you can't take another orgasam.

Jungkook remains above you on his hands and knees. Namjoon lies along Jungkook's spine. Punching a groan from Jungkook’s chest with every impossibly long and thick drag of his cock. Making the omega feel all of it.

A fresh wave of your slick squirts against jungkook's chest and Jungkook's arms buckle. He sort of falls half on top of you. Yoongi hums and puts Jungkook back on his hands and knees so that he can keep touching your pussy. Jungkook rests his body against Yoongi's arm to keep himself up. Mouth open.

Jungkook thinks he might imagine it. He must, because he can feel Namjoon’s cock pressing against his tummy, feel it as the bulge kisses your skin the give of your belly button.

Your giggle feels like a punch to his gut. As your hand slides up his slick stomach to palm at the belly bulge, touch him the same way he touched Namjoon's cock through you. He loves it. He presses his forehead against yours, your eyes just as dilated and as gone as his. Rubbing his face against yours in a half kiss- half scent mark.

There's a lot of squirting, mostly from you. Jungkook likes watching you squirt. It's so pretty.

Jimin yanks his knot out of your hole, a move that he wouldn’t be able to pull if you hadn’t been knotted by Namjoon recently. Perhaps inspired by watching you knotfuck Yoongi. Pulling at you so hard that it honestly to god looks like it hurts, it looks mean. It makes you squirt violently again against Jungkook's straining abdominal muscles.

Jungkook bites your cheek. Hmm, squishy.

He bites the other side, and it blooms under his teeth.

You tremble and almost seem to pass out of a second. And then- really do pass out once Namjoon pulls back, reaches around Jungkook, and says something to Yoongi, who pulls his fingers away from your clit, you jerk trying to chase the pleasure. Only to run headlong into Namjoon’s hand, landing hard over your clit.

You gush through Namjoon’s fingers, soaking the place where he and Jungkook join. At the same moment Namjoon shoves his slick-coated knot into Jungkook’s hole.

Your head lols back against Jimin's shoulder and you let out a single broken whimper. they're pushing you to your breaking point. (But you have a gut feeling that once you break and they put back together, you'll finally feel whole).

Across the nest, Jin perks up a little horrified. He's being fussed over by Tae and Hobi, happily doted upon while Hobi's knot rests safe inside. knot warming. Comforting Jin through the end of his heat. Hobi turns and Tae starts to get up to intervene but then-

Jungkook giggles at your sobs, lapping at your tears. Clenching wildly and grinding back against Namjoon’s knot, the pack alpha moves him so that Jungkook can press his lips to your slack mouth.

You blink, dazed, look up at him.

“Meanie Joonie” Jungkook giggles, the omegaspace haze so thick he can hardly string a coherent sentence together. “Meanie Minnie! Meanie Yoonie! Again! Wanna see!” Jungkook moves, trying to get his hand in between your legs to spank your clit again, but his swats don’t do anything, too gentle.

Jungkook is literally getting the daylights fucked out of him right now, he hardly has the energy to lift his own head, let alone spank your pussy the way he wants.

oh, after this heat, after this, he's going to have so much fun figuring out how much you can take.

Yoongi's teeth look incredibly sharp, a little feral at being asked. But Jimin nods and fuckes his knot out of you and Yoongi spanks your clit again. You've never squirted so many times in a row but you leak like a faucet now.

The next flood of your slick lands on Jungkook’s cock. Jutting against your stomach with the force of Namjoon’s thrusts. He giggles again. Shifting closer away from Namjoon- hissing at the tension around his knot. So that Jungkook can press your slick stained and swollen tummies together better.

When he cums too seconds later, from another brutal press of Namjoon’s knot to his prostate and a mean pinch to the head of his cock- he giggles and uses his hand to spread his spend over your stomach.

You’re already lost to exhaustion. But Jungkook pecks your nose, tucks his face under your throat, and goes right to sleep.

When Jungkook wakes, he's still like that. He's not being filled, and things are calmer.

The freshly fallen night is a hush on the edge of the nest, There is a different need coursing through him. A different sort of wanting. A physical hunger. His body is exhausted, sore, and bitten.

Your chest smells like Tae's lipstick, like her kisses. Jungkook’s pretty pretty pretty alpha, the prettiest alpha that is on the other side of the nest, talking with Jin and sharing soft kisses. She must have come over earlier to check on you, must have kissed you here.

Jungkook is dimly aware of her soft words, “Do you want a knot Jinnie? Some food? Some water? A cloth? How are you feeling? Does anywhere ache my love?”

Jin's answering hum is exhausted but happy. After a second he quietly admits, “My thighs hurt.”

Yoongi is summoned, Hobi too. To squeeze and help relax the pack omega. The sound of his squeaky laugh and shy moan a welcome return.

Jungkook dozes while you and Jinnie rest, his body over your body, lined up chest to chest, nuzzling first at your throat and then lower when Jungkook's instincts tug at him. The pack is not as worried about him being snappy. They've long since decided that whatever happened at the beginning of the heat was just that- an anomaly at the beginning. Both of your instincts settling.

But now, Jungkook crouches over you like an alpha might. Protective.

Possessive.

There is something syrupy sweet in the air, just below your skin. Jungkook couldn’t smell it until he started nosing at your throat, but now he can. Something laces through your veins, something that smells divine, something that he can almost taste, like sugar only sweeter.

He begins to move lower.

Your breasts smell like Tae, like alpha, they’ve been given so much attention, teeth marks and bruises line your areolas, Tae has sucked your nipples pink and sensitive and stiff puffy already. Imprints of Jungkook’s pretty alpha and her pretty teeth stay there like a shadow, a bruise. There is a word you call her, 'mommy.' He likes it when you call her that. It has Jungkook’s pretty alpha smelling muskier and impossibly prettier.

Jungkook’s mouth is perilously empty, it's starting to bother him. Jungkook lips his lips. Dry.

Her voice comes distant now, your hands push at Jungkook’s shoulders when he noses, but only briefly before Jungkook’s pretty alpha tuts, holding you still and keeping you from squirming as he noses, pushing through your sweet skin, searching for something. Girl omega’s are so soft. So soft everywhere.

Jungkook loves it. Is this Omegaspace? Or pupspace? Or some combination of the two.

Something starts squirming underneath him, a chest rising and falling, a heartbeat beating rabbit prey fast. But the squirming stops as quickly as it begins. Jungkook's pretty alpha looms closer, coming to see what you're fussing for and cooing at your quiet squeaks and chirps.

Tae's wrist is close, close to Jungkook's teeth as she grabs your wrist and holds you steady. Restraining you gently. “Let Jungkook have at you pup, he’s been a very good omega, don’t you want to help soothe him?”

Of course, Tae does not notice that Jungkook's going after something new, and does not notice that this isn't normal soothing. Sucking at your chest is her favorite thing. She doesn't think anything strange of Jungkook's hungry licking and desperate sucking.

There is some sweet whining on the edge of Jungkook’s senses. Independent of the sweetness beneath his nose, the warmth reaches his lips and he opens his mouth to suck. His breath going ragged.

Closer, closer still, warm and soft against his face, like a nest made flesh, like Jungkook’s nest in one person.

Jungkook sucks at your chest, lips pressing once they find the source of it- of that smell. Your nipple on the roof of his mouth is exactly what he'd been missing. Comforting. You are so soft, so soothing. He likes it. There is no fire from heat with you here at his front and yet, Jungkook still burns. The sweet smell under your skin is closer this way. Jungkook needs it, needs you like water. Clinging.

His taste buds spark with something, just a little at first then more the more that he sucks. Jungkook makes a soft sound and Tae just shushes him. Alpha, he wants to speak, alpha found it! His squishy Omegaspace brain wants to tell Tae. The urge to show and tell is quickly overridden by the need for more.

It's so sweet. So fatty that Jungkook's head spins. Mouth filling with liquid that tastes like you, but a bit like Jinnie too.

You taste Milky.

Jungkook's eyebrows come together and Tae teases, her fingers running against his cheek slowly filling. throat bobbing Her voice sounds like it does when she's grinning. Tae can be forgiven for not immediately realizing what’s happening because Jungkook is swallowing it down before any of it has a chance to make it to open air, gasping and sucking wildly. Hungry.

"Oh, tasting something good bunny?" Jungkook's sure she must be smiling even though his eyes are still closed. Still half asleep but waking up.

A little more, something hot and sweet fills his mouth, and Jungkook sucks it all down, more with every tight press of his lips. Your squirming stops and you sigh, going rim rod straight for a second and then relaxing.

You're staring up at Tae all dazed and cute, letting out sweet babbles of "mommy mommy-alpha mommy please." Your toes curling in the nest. But who knows what you're asking for.

tae reaches down and puts her fingers in your mouth, giving you something to suck at, quieting your desperate whimpers.

Jungkook doesn't like it, doesn't like her touching you. this milk is his- it belongs to him. The milk sweet and fatty fills his mouth, slowly at first, then more. You stop squirming below him, sighing in relief body going slack. Jungkook's arms go firm around your waist, holding you still, holding you close.

It's good, yummy even. Jungkook sucks more and more and more without really understanding. His heat-fried brain not sorting through the facts of the situation.

"Does Jungkook feel good little pup? Is he making you feel all tingly?" Tae teases, softly now, like she's conscious of the idea of waking everyone else up. She leans down crouching over to nip at your throat. Settling you. But there's nothing to settle, your head lol's to the side, staring blankly ahead. Whimpering. drooling around tae's fingers, she takes them out and slips them down your throat. stroking gently.

"Hopefully he doesn't bite you too sensitive because it's my turn once he's done, gonna squirm and cry for me gonna-" Tae breaks off, inhaling jagged.

Jungkook's tongue rolls against your nipple, keeping a small dribble from slipping down your body. Lips parted in ecstasy, a single drop drips from his tongue onto your skin, just a little.

But it's enough.

There is something pearly, dribbled down around your sternum. Almost translucent, but still white and cloudy.

Tae blinks like she can't really believe it.

Then she growls, loud, shocked. violent enough to wake the others. Whereas before she'd been stroking through Jungkook's hair, now her hand goes vicelike and tries to pull him off. Jungkook whines and squirms, unwilling to be parted from you until Tae growls again in warning.

Namjoon picks up his head from the nest at the sound. Jin blinks awake against his throat and Yoongi shifts and shuffles awake. Rubbing his eyes with a closed fist when he sits up.

When Tae finally succeeds in pulling him off of you, he looks almost hurt, pouting up at her. Tae's gaze eviscerates him. Their eyes narrow at the spill of it, the glimmer of milk on his lips. A bit of milk dribbles down Jungkook's cheek. Traveling down his collar bones to his pectorals and abs, gathering in his belly button, in the little furrow of skin between his lap and tummy.

Tae's finger gathers it on her fingertip and guides it back up to Jungkook's mouth, a breathless growl. Incredulous, near worshiping.

"Messy puppy."

How many more biological surprises could the pack possibly have in store for them? They're a little too tired to be particularly alarmed, and yet, they drag their bodies over. To make sure, to see.

To taste.

Hoseok hangs his head, his whine supine. "Jesus fucking Christ, you-" Namjoon looks away then looks back again. Like he can't quite bring himself to watch and can't quite tear his gaze away.

“I’ve only just gotten used to the idea of Yoongi knotting and now-"

Jin wordlessly rubs a hand over his face, Jimin doesn't say anything, trying to muscle Yoongi out of the way, looking down at you with something indescribable, at Jimin's movement, Namjoon's hands go to your elbow, your wrist, and Jin snaps.

"No, everyone behave. She is not a chew toy."

Everyone goes quiet, admonished. Tae continues to hold you, still looking down, and Jin realizes that if he's not careful, everyone is going to snap. Tae is going to snap. He can see it in the tremble of her body, the curl of her teeth over her lip, her control is seconds from snapping. Her scent spikes climbing higher and higher, almost smelling like she's in rut.

but you're his pup. jin bends under the force of his instincts, checking on your first. Jin leans over you, brushing the hair out of your eyes, and revealing your glassy fuzzy gaze.

"Daddy?" you ask, confused. Jin hasn't heard that name in a little while, not that he's complaining.

"Sweet little puppy, my sweet little pup, are you alright, is it too much?"

Your hand's press and release in the nest. "No just- just hurts- aches, Koo.” Your eyelashes flutter, “Koo makes it better.”

Jungkook is a possessive little thing, hisses and splutters and clings to your front. even as yoongi and namjoon try to get him off of you You squirm looking up at Tae and Yoongi and Jin, the haze cuts for a moment and they recognize your franticness as more than just overstimulation.

"Do you want us to get Jungkook off of you?" Yoongi asks, voice husky. Namjoon holds Jungkook prepared to wrench him off of you if you say so. Jungkook isn't in his right mind, but Yoongi can't help but watch as he sucks like a man starved, throat bobbing with every swallow. His cheeks warm and round-looking. Oh, oh this is-

Yoongi is getting hard. The skin around his new knot tugging. He really really thought that after this morning when you rode him like your life depended on it- that would have been that.

You nod then shake your head. "Want Mommy to choose- want Tae-tae."

Namjoon uses the hand in Jungkook’s hair to pick him up off of you for a second. Jin has to pinch the back of his neck to get his teeth to release. Your nipple is pink and bitten when his mouth finally leaves you.

They watch for a second, but it barely takes a moment before the milk is back, dribbling out, trailing down the curve of your breast. Jungkook is still half asleep. Shifting downward happily when he realizes the pack don’t mind it if he licks up whats spilled. Bending down to lap up what’s trailed down to your tummy and navel.

Tae's nostrils flare and her eyes are all pupil, dark and brown, and glassy. Yoongi jogs her out of her reverie.

"Tae." he asks, an edge of dominance to his voice that wouldn't have sounded the same yesterday, not before Yoongi had a knot. Yoongi shakes his head, wordlessly. And he sees Tae return to herself, just a little.

You squirm under Jungkook. Upset, lower lip wobbling. "No, I want, want Koo- it- it aches-" Tears bead at the edge of your eyes and Yoongi is not thinking, not truly, when he reaches down to feel.

You whine as Yoongi toys with your chest, fingers rubbing gently over your wet peaks, rolling them until more milk beads. Mesmerized. Slowly at first and then more aggressively, tugging at them until your back arches.

"Tae," Namjoon's voice is stressed, Jimin shuffles up beside her, offering a comforting touch on her shoulder. "Tae" Namjoon repeats, a bit more command in his voice, her gaze jerks up in his direction.

"Yes"

"Can you handle this without going into rut?"

"Yes alpha." Namjoon watches her for a second longer. Judging the haze in her eyes, and then tips his head down. Permission. But Namjoon is nearby, Namjoon is watchful and wont let any of them go too far.

It’s gentle- how the alphas manhandle you, placing you square in Namjoon's lap, reclining there for your mommy to have her turn. He can hold your wrists this way, you want to squirm, need to squirm. The ache is overwhelming. You just want to full feeling to end. Jungkook was so close to making it go away.

“Be still little treasure, sweet sweet pup, let Taetae have what’s hers.”

Jungkook tries to go back. But Tae doesn't let him, muscling him out of the way until she growls and nips. Speaking with snarls and whines and not with words. But Jungkook is but a pup beneath Tae's play wrestling. She's always been stronger than him and after a brief scuffle of push and pull, he whines. Resting his head on your shoulder.

Tae can hardly think through it. Her pup, her sweet little pup, chest swelling from her attention. Was it her sucking that did this? Was it her sucking that tugged your biological impulse until it shifted into real change?

You are so perfect she could cry, she could knot the air with how horny it makes her.

Tae looks at your face, your tears spill down your cheeks and your voice cracks, "Mommy?” you think if Tae checks, if she makes sure that you’re okay, everything will be fine.

Tae lowers herself gently over you, hair tickling your skin, and connects her mouth to your chest.

Tae is immediately gone, milk filling her mouth that tastes like ambrosia, like the heavens made liquid, like home. she grinds her popped knot against the nest as she sucks and sucks and sucks. immune to your squealing. Hand reaching down to paw uncaring of your overstimulation. You're as wet between your legs as you are on your chest. Her brain is a mess of more and more and more.

For a second, Tae's alpha convinces her that she's actually done it, she's actually pupped you. Why else would you be sweetening so much? Why else would you be like this, sweet and swollen on her tongue.

You're getting slick all over the nest again, Tae can feel slick gathering around her wrist, fingers losing their concentration, so focused on getting more milk in her mouth, sucking that she forgets to finger you properly. Your chest is so sensitive you feel like you could scream. Every suck makes you sob in overstimulation.

Above you, Yoongi curses.

Each packmate must have their turn with you, once they all rouse and confusion quickly melts away into downright giddiness. It's dizzying, your eyes are closed half the time, and the other half you're not sure you can make sense of what's infront of you either.

Brain settling into that place where everything feels good, where nothing matters but the pleasure and the soft praises falling from their mouths. Namjoon muscles Tae out of the way for a taste after she's turned slack-jawed and milk-drunk. And his spiky head pressed against your skin makes you feel- makes you-

Obey obey obey. You lose track of what’s happening, but your pack does give you what you want, what your body needs. You don’t have to squirm too much before someone, one of your alpha’s or is it Yoongi? Shuffling between your legs to bury his head in your chest.

Having them feed from you is a flurry of sensations. They bury their faces in your chest, hair tickles skin, stubble pressing. Someone giggles, Tae maybe. She presses a kiss to your button mouth. Eyes furrowed as you cry and cry and cry.

You don’t understand why you’re crying, why you’re overwhelmed. But you don’t need to think too hard about it or anything. Any needs that you do have are taken care of.

The pack always know what you need, that you need to feel steady, held and kept. the second you start to push. They restrain you.

Why would you even need a breeding bench when you have your packmates to keep you still? There are hands holding you down everywhere, your wrists, your ankles. Your knees. You push against their touch just to feel them put you in your place.

And as much as you struggle to admit it, you do feel better, and less tense. Less full. Less like a rubber band poised to snap when they pull back.

You cum like that, fingers in your pussy, mouth around your nipple. You don't know how much you have or how much milk they're taking from you but it's enough to leave the alpha's milk drunk and dopey. Even Jinnie is a little dazed from it when he has his turn.

It shouldn't surprise you that Yoongi is the gentlest, pushing Namjoon away after you've come, kissing him, cursing low at the taste in his mouth.

"Really hyung, your mate, fuck-"

"Fuck." Yoongi agrees. Nosing at your chest before he latches, lips sucking your nipple into his tongue, waiting for that first spark. And oh- oh- drinking from you feels like cuddling. You could call him a sap and you'd be right but there's something so instinctual about it. He knots and you give milk. Round and round your instincts go on the merry-go-round until both of you get off.

Who knows maybe your body stopped and waited to make the shift until Yoongi's did.

You only really squirm when Jin guides Hoseok down. He's blushy and tries to pull back, But the pack omega doesn’t take his shyness for an answer without a no. All pups need to eat, all pups need to get their fill. Your milk smells so sweet, so filling. Lifeblood and love and satisfaction made sustenance. Your body wouldn’t be milking up so nicely if it wasn’t for your alpha’s. They should taste the result of their efforts.

Hoseok only lets himself take one mouthful, shivers rising up and down his body before he moves aside and lets Jimin have a taste.

Jimin- who almost immediately tries to bite and snarl. Nipping at your skin when tae jerks him away from you by his hair maw open. He's barely had a sit but that's enough for Jimin to turn feral. Immediately straining, immediately pulled in your direction. A dark purple bruise is already forming around your nipple. Too rough, Jin fusses, pulling a blanket over to you, building a nest around your body.

"No Jiminie- bad!"

Namjoon takes Jimin from Tae. The alpha snarls and splutters but whines when Namjoon snaps at his throat.

You are not lucid, not really. Eyes closed and reaching for your packmates. Someone touches you, hands frantically checking your body- but you want to tell them that Jiminie really- he just got a little teethie. It's okay. You're fine!

Tae bends to kiss it better. They guard you while the sound of snarls sound from the other side of the nest. Namjoon dealing with Jimin. They guard you. Their sweet milky pup, who could possibly be more precious?

After Yoongi has another turn, you decide dimly that it's a good thing, your body moving the edge of its tolerance and doing this. Lactating. Swelling with milk. Maybe it's because it's been so long since you've gone into heat.

After a few minutes, the bellies of your pack are warm nourished, and full. It’s okay, you can sit here like this, open and still for each of them to take a taste. Sucking your nipples pink and puffy.

“Is it permanent?” Jungkook slurs when he’s woken up a bit, yawning until his jaw pops, milk-drunk and sleepy. Nuzzling into your shoulder while Jimin gives you so much attention that you’re squirming (this time wearing Namjoon’s collar since someone needed to hold onto him and keep him from biting).

His ass glows where he sprawls and every time he so much as threatens to growl Namjoon leans over and pinches his sore behind. A warning that everything, all that sweet sweet milk in his tummy. Belongs to Alpha. Jimin can only have it if he's good.

“Is it gonna be like this all the time?"

There is a computer-cracking light on the edge of the nest, a square of light that Namjoon clicks through. Licking his lips again, although your milk no longer coats them. He brought it out earlier when Jin had questions about Yoongi, but now he’s glad to have close access to it.

“It’s fairly common with female omega’s, something about the extra glands and phantom pregnancies.” Namjoon’s voice has gone from hoarse to strong. Your milk on his throat.

Namjoon looks at you, then blushes and looks away.

You don’t know if you’ve ever made Namjoon blush like that. You still lay prone, blinking up at Tae. Wordless. Your brain is small under the feeling of so much attention. A tension in you is released easily.

Jin gets up from the nest, so quick that he goes dizzy, he’s wearing boxers now, boxers, and a big shirt. Jin too had tasted you. A few swallows. Good, it tasted so good. But your head lolls in the nest to the side, letting out little shallow breaths as Jimin sucks at your chest, your other breast still swollen looking.

Oh, Jin's little pup. You're being so good.

Jin’s instincts bear down on him. An impressive weight that makes him buckle. “I need to go cook something. If everyone's going to eat but her- that’s- I-” Jin huffs and makes to leave the nest in a huff. determined and not the least bit wobbly.

Hoseok trails after. Lips glossy from milk, too flushed to think straight, tripping on the edge of the nest and hitting the door on the way out. Embarrassed a little- but then again everyone is paying attention to you so it goes without teasing.

Huh, the pack omega is leaving the nest. Does that mean the heat is over?

No not quite, you and Jungkook still burn with fever. It's just Jin's heat that's ended. Who knows, maybe one sip of your milk had his body reacting, reassuring him that the work is done, at least one omega got pupped during this heat (you certainly did not get pupped, the contraceptive did its duty, but your confused body has Jin's confused as well).

Although you squirmed initially, the fact of the matter is that once everyone's had a sip, your nipple sucked hard and glossy- it’s a little hard not to need it. The release of pressure, the tension. Your body makes more the more they suck.

You try to enjoy breakfast once Jin's made it, feeling warm and sleepy, bites fed to your mouth. Chewing and swallowing obediently. But it’s hard, you’re so tired. Unable to hold yourself up no matter how much they try and get you to. Limp propped against Yoongi's chest, Namjoon's, your body so heavy and so tired and now sore the second someone stops sucking.

No sooner has Yoongi slipped one of Hoseok’s shirts over your head than has wetness started to gather at the front and an uncomfortable pressure began to build. They give up and take it off because Tae is eyeing you hungrily and really. Your whines of displeasure and teary eyes are too much for them to handle. Simultaneously denied and overstimulated.

Tae sets you back against Jimin’s chest, the alpha holding around your middle. She may have had one sip earlier but now that they’ve established that yes feeding from you is something you need she’s going to hog you.

She ducks low, kissing your nose, your lips, your chin before she buries her head where you’re softest.

“Mommy mommy please.” You whine as she teases, using just her lips to mouth there, waiting until milk beads, sensitive, slip down your skin to lap it all up.

“Oh little pup, don’t want to let any go to waste? We can’t have that. You’re so sweet like this. How good you are- how lucky we are. Alpha’s fucked you so good you can’t help but milk up huh? Wanted a pup so bad that your body caught on before a pup did huh? How cute. Aren’t we so lucky Minnie?”

“So lucky,” Jimin groans, holding around your middle, hands pressed to your stomach. Slipping lower as Tae sucks.

There is some hushed whispering, a rustle of bed sheets, you blink up at the ceiling, and then a vibration sounds, and you let out a broken, “oh.” as it starts.

You turn, look, and Yoongi grins, tears bead at the corner of your eyes, but it’s hard not to rock up into it. You remember- the alphas putting a collection of vibrators and knots and dildos on the edge of the nest, in case they needed them. But it's a good reward now, an easy orgasm that hits you warm.

Your body is hungry for pleasure, endlessly hungry for it in heat. Tae laps up the center of your chest while she switches from tit to tit, both milk and sweat. Feral as she does it, a look down at her says her eyes are dark, teeth sharp.

But she’s so careful, so gentle as she sucks. Yoongi turns the vibration up higher, and you jerk, or try to. Sandwich in on all sides. Surrounded by them, carried to the precipice of pleasure by the vibrator pressed to your clit, keeping you pinned there beneath the waves of pleasure. So much. Too much. Your body is so sensitive from the last three days of this. You can’t possibly handle it.

“Can’t cum again, can’t Mommy, too- too little. Too much.” You babble, but Tae tuts. Pulling off of you, a bead of milk on her pink lips.

“Good pups cum as many times as their Mommy wants them to, come on pup, make a mess all over Mommy’s dress for me."

You obey her with a broken whimper.

~-~

notes:

namjoon is so fucking horny when he's talking about yoongi's knot and i lowkey love it, how kinda like- obviously guided by hornyness he is.

also it is 1000% the mating mark that's making yoongi have a knot like- his biology is all fucked up because beta's aren't supposed to mate, the hormones in his body that keep him neutral are being kinda 'adjusted' by the m/c's slick and mark and hormones.

me 🤝 the m/c, wanting to bite yoongi's nose.

i really wanted the scene with yoongi and the m/c to kinda be like- a final opus and like super intense, how did i do?

i struggled with writing some of the dialogue in this initially- which is so /not/ how writing usually goes for me, usually the dialogue is very easy to me but i worry that i'm getting a bit repetitive with my kinks.

honestly why do i feel the need to make the smut poetic like??? is this only for me or is this a thing???? "Yoongi fucks the same way he talks, sweet but firm. he cums that way too. Warm and slow. You feel every syllable and every drop." like thats so pretty.

the m/c bites tae because she's making yoongi overwhelmed and that's the m/cs job 😠.

okay but the reason why i describe yoongi as breathing heavy is because i personally may have...stumbled uppon a audio of his breathes and him breathing heavy and fuck if that isn't hot.

part of yoongi's smutt scene was inspired by badoobee's 'real man' so yeah, i don't really really really like the message of her song, but it is sexy so 🤷‍♀️

yoongi with the life fucked out of him: 😵‍💫 mc: i did a good job 🥰 honestly though in my mind he has trouble being in the same room as her after she litterally rides him until he can't cum anymore.

honestly jk and her holding hands while they're both getting fucked is such a cute image like fuck i love them so much. i love this version of jungkook so much- i'll always be happy with his charecter in bily.

dang, i really did make jungkook's parts super super horny.

i feel like everyone who reads this should know it's completely possible to make yourself lactate just from nipple stimulation like- even if you're male. lowkey when am i going to write a normal non-abo total power exchange fic with cisswap taegi turning the m/c into their little milksub, and they decide (because the m/c's mommies know best) that they'll put her through a sucking schedule to see if they can make her chest turn milky as an experiment! only to offer her milk up to all their friends ie the rest of bts, bonus points if she starts leaking when they're at a normal friend gathering and it turns into everyone trying it.

Similarly to how yoongi always pops a knot after this, i think the m/c also lactates through every heat after this. and then one day in the distant future after one heat it just...doesn't stop. And the pack realize it's a sign that she actually /does/ want to be knocked up or at least her inner omega has decided she's ready to actually be bred.

is this self indulgent? yes. do i care? no.

even i have to admit that i'm a little bit tired of writing smutt at this point tbh...but luckily we have just one chapter after this with smutt! and it's mostly aftercare and a lovely little spanking scene <3

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antinousletmehit · 21 hours ago

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Im so happy your request are open cause i crave a odyssey telemachus fic (totally not the person who asked about it), so could you maybe do a telemachus x reader were reader is like really sweet and everybody likes her and such in the palace but one day some suiters/ or a group of boys make a comment about her that isn't nice and telemachus gets mad cause he swore himself/ took the job on him to protect reader (who's his partner) and basically beats the guy up and readers secretly likes that he did that for her (sorry this is long, hope this isn't weird request)

The great hall of the palace was filled with the usual raucous laughter and crude remarks from the suitors. Telemachus, seated near the throne, clenched his jaw as he listened to the incessant chatter. He was used to their arrogance, their disrespect for his family and home, but today, one comment had him gripping the hilt of his sword so tightly his knuckles turned white.

It had been about you.

“She’s a fine little thing, isn’t she?” one of the suitors, Eurymachus, had sneered to the others. “I’d wager she’d be more welcoming to me in her bed than to the boy prince there.” The laughter that followed was like a dagger to Telemachus’s pride. He turned his head just enough to catch Eurymachus’s smug expression, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

“I wouldn’t mind testing that theory,” another suitor added, his tone slimy, drawing more laughs.

That was the last straw.

With a sharp motion, Telemachus rose from his seat. The hall grew quieter as his chair scraped against the stone floor, the suitors looking up at him with mild amusement. “Say that again,” he growled, his voice low and dripping with menace.

Eurymachus raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Which part? That your little dove might prefer—” Before he could finish, Telemachus lunged forward, his fist colliding with Eurymachus’s jaw. The suitor stumbled back, knocking over a table as the other suitors scrambled out of the way. Gasps and shouts erupted as the young prince grabbed Eurymachus by the collar, shaking him roughly.

“You don’t get to talk about her like that!” Telemachus barked, his voice echoing through the hall. “Ever.” Eurymachus tried to shove him off, but Telemachus was faster, landing another punch before one of the suitors attempted to intervene. Telemachus whirled on him, his sword drawn in a flash.

“Who’s next?” he snarled, his chest heaving with anger. The suitors exchanged uneasy glances, none of them eager to test the prince’s fury. Slowly, they backed off, muttering under their breath. Eurymachus, now nursing a bloody lip, glared at Telemachus but wisely kept his mouth shut.

The tension in the hall was thick as Telemachus sheathed his sword and stormed out, his blood still boiling. He didn’t stop until he reached the quieter parts of the palace, where he could breathe without wanting to break something—or someone—else.

He didn’t expect to see you there, waiting for him.

“Telemachus,” you said, your voice soft but tinged with concern. “I heard… what happened.”

He froze. “I didn’t mean for you to find out,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “They were saying things about you, and I just—”

“—punched Eurymachus in the face?” you finished, a small smile playing on your lips. He glanced at you, expecting anger or disappointment, but what he saw instead made his heart skip a beat. You looked… pleased.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said, stepping closer, your fingers lightly brushing his. “But the fact that you did… it means a lot to me.”

His cheeks flushed, and he shifted uncomfortably. “I couldn’t just let them talk about you like that. You deserve respect. More than they could ever give.”

You tilted your head, your smile widening. “You know, there’s something kind of… attractive about a man who defends his lover’s honor.”

He blinked, caught off guard by your words. “Attractive?”

You laughed softly, reaching up to touch his face, your thumb brushing over a small cut on his cheek. “Even with a little blood, you look good, Telemachus.”

His lips parted, a faint smile tugging at the corners. “If I knew you’d react like this, I might’ve punched him sooner.”

You rolled your eyes but leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Just don’t make a habit of it,” you murmured against his mouth.

“No promises,” he said with a grin, wrapping his arms around you. “But I’ll try to keep my temper—for you, and you only.” The thought of what he’d done sent a thrill through you, and as you leaned into his embrace, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, his fiery temper wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

#odyssey!telemachus #the odyssey #telemachus of ithaca #telemachus #telemachus x reader #greek mythology x reader #greek mythology

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wondergirlsthings · 1 day ago

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Love at First Sight: Jude Bellingham’s Journey to Finding and Connecting with Reader. Part²

Jude Bellingham x Reader

Part¹

The match had ended hours ago, yet Jude Bellingham still found himself thinking about you. He replayed the fleeting moment when your eyes met in the stands, the way you had smiled—so effortless, so genuine. It was maddening, the pull you had on him without even knowing it.

Back at the training center, he couldn’t concentrate. His teammates noticed something was off. Even his usual banter with Eduardo Camavinga was half-hearted. Finally, after a long pause during lunch, Jude leaned back in his chair and sighed.

“You alright, mate?” Camavinga asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, just…” Jude hesitated before running a hand through his hair. “There was this girl at the match yesterday.”

“Ah, I see,” Camavinga said, smirking. “The one from the stands? I noticed you kept glancing up.”

Jude’s cheeks flushed slightly, but he didn’t deny it. “I don’t know who she is, but I have to find her.”

Camavinga laughed. “You sound like a guy in a rom-com. What’s your plan? Just announce it on Instagram?”

Jude rolled his eyes, but the idea stuck. Later that day, he posted a photo of himself from the game with a cryptic caption: "Sometimes, the most important moments happen off the pitch." His followers flooded the comments, speculating wildly about its meaning, but none of it brought him closer to you.

It wasn’t until two days later, during an event at the club’s headquarters, that fate finally intervened. Jude had been reluctantly attending a fan meet-and-greet when he caught sight of a familiar face in the crowd. It was you, standing near the back of the room, chatting with a friend.

His heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, he froze. Was this real? After all his wondering, after all the what-ifs, there you were, looking just as captivating as you had in the stands.

He didn’t think twice. Excusing himself from the group he was with, he made his way through the room, his pulse quickening with every step. When he reached you, you turned, clearly surprised to see him standing there.

“Hi,” he said, his voice slightly breathless. “This might sound strange, but…I saw you at the match the other night.”

You blinked, stunned, before a small smile crept onto your lips. “I remember. You were staring at me.”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guilty. I don’t normally do this, but I couldn’t get you out of my head. I had to find you.”

Your cheeks flushed, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to fade away. “Well, here I am,” you said softly.

Jude smiled, his confidence returning. “Yeah, and I’m not about to let you disappear again. Can I take you out sometime? Maybe somewhere less… crowded?”

You nodded, your heart fluttering. “I’d like that.”

In that moment, Jude knew this wasn’t just a chance encounter—it was the start of something special.

----------------------------------------------

The evening arrived sooner than expected. After that initial meeting, Jude couldn’t stop thinking about you. He was used to getting attention, used to the constant buzz of people around him, but something about you felt different. It wasn’t just the way you looked—it was your confidence, the way you carried yourself, and the ease with which you spoke. You weren’t fazed by his fame, and it was refreshing.

True to his word, Jude planned something quiet for your first official hangout: a cozy dinner at a discreet restaurant tucked away in the heart of Madrid. He was taking no chances—he wanted to get to know you, not just be another name on your contact list.

When he arrived at the restaurant, you were already there, sitting at a corner table, the soft light from the candles illuminating your face. You were even more beautiful in person, something that took Jude by surprise. The connection he’d felt before was there again, stronger this time.

“Hey,” he greeted you, his voice warm with a hint of nervousness, though he tried to hide it.

You smiled up at him, and his heart skipped a beat. “Hey, Jude. You look nice.”

“Thanks, you too.” He slid into the chair across from you, the moment feeling a little surreal.

You both fell into easy conversation, the initial awkwardness of meeting again quickly fading away. You talked about everything—what you did for fun, your favorite places in Madrid, and even your mutual love for football. Jude was struck by how down-to-earth you were. You weren’t asking for autographs or obsessing over his career; you were just... normal.

As the night went on, the atmosphere between the two of you became lighter, more playful. Jude laughed easily, something he didn’t always do in public. You were funny, sarcastic, and sharp-witted, always keeping him on his toes.

The waiter brought over dessert—chocolate mousse—and you raised an eyebrow.

“This looks dangerous,” you said, teasing him.

Jude grinned, leaning back in his chair. “What’s life without a little danger?”

“I’m pretty sure I’ve got a sweet tooth, so I’m not complaining,” you said, taking a spoonful of mousse.

Jude watched you for a moment, his eyes softening. “I’m glad you agreed to come out tonight.”

You shrugged nonchalantly, but there was a warmth in your eyes. “I’m glad you found me, actually. It’s not every day a footballer tracks you down in front of thousands of people.”

Jude laughed at that, but his gaze stayed fixed on you. “I know. I wasn’t sure if you’d think I was crazy, honestly.”

“Well, you kind of are,” you said, grinning, “but that’s part of your charm.”

“Charming, huh?” He raised an eyebrow. “What else have you noticed about me?”

You took a sip of your drink, eyeing him playfully. “You’re humble, for one. I thought you’d be all arrogant, but you’re nothing like I expected.”

“Good to know I’m living up to my reputation,” he said with a smirk, though inside, he was relieved.

The rest of the evening flew by in a blur of laughter and genuine conversation. There was no pretension, no awkward silences. It was just you and him, two people who had somehow ended up in the same place at the right time.

When the night wound down, Jude offered to walk you back to your apartment.

“You sure?” you asked as you stood outside the restaurant, the cool night air wrapping around you both.

“I’m not letting you walk alone,” he said, looking at you with that soft intensity you had come to recognize.

The walk was quiet at first, but comfortable. Every now and then, your hands would brush, and Jude couldn’t help but notice the electric spark that shot through him each time.

“So,” you said, breaking the silence, “what’s the plan now?”

He paused, considering it for a moment. “I don’t know. Maybe… a movie night? But no football documentaries, I promise.”

You laughed. “Good. You’re already a footballer. I think I can handle a break from the football talk.”

You reached your apartment building, and Jude stopped in front of the door, unsure if he should make the next move.

“Well, this is me,” you said, glancing up at him. “I had a really good time tonight, Jude.”

“Me too.” He stepped closer, a hint of uncertainty in his eyes, but it was quickly replaced with a quiet confidence. “Can I see you again?”

You smiled up at him. “I’d like that.”

And before he could say another word, you kissed him. It was gentle at first—testing, hesitant—but when he kissed you back, it deepened, a spark igniting between you both. Your heart raced, and for a moment, you forgot about everything around you, lost in the warmth of his embrace.

When the kiss finally broke, you were both breathless, standing there in the moonlight, eyes locked.

“I guess that’s a yes, then,” Jude murmured, a playful glint in his eyes.

“Definitely a yes,” you whispered back, your lips curling into a smile.

As you watched him walk away, you realized that this was only the beginning—there was something special between you two, and you couldn’t wait to see where it would go.

#jude bellingham x yn #football x reader #jude bellingham x you #jude x reader #jude bellingham x reader #Real Madrid x reader #Real Madrid

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sunnysidesevenup · 3 days ago

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Okay since apparently more people than me have seen those “fellow honest doesn’t know basic math” takes/jokes whatever lol, I’m gonna ramble about how I write Tilly and Fellow because they’re SO FREAKING SMART and they have very different skill sets born out of their respective lives. Obviously this is all made up headcanons for Fellow since we know basically nothing about him lmao so. do with my headcanons what you will ig.

First off I believe Fellow probably had some basic schooling and either got kicked out of the school itself, or whatever guardians he had stopped sending him because it “wasn’t worth it” or smth. I don’t think his resentment would be born out of just not going y’know? So I think he definitely learned basic math and writing/reading/science, etc from a more formal education, but all his actual practical knowledge is entirely him seeking it out on his own. He definitely went to a library and used those resources to learn anything that could help him.

Fellow does all the budgeting in the household, managing rent, electricity, food bills, etc. his sewing skills help cut down on clothing cost a little, and he has various skills from taking odd jobs. He definitely started out only doing honest work but then rapidly realized that no one was paying him very much, and none of it could cover the cost of anything, and he just probably slowly slid into less than legal means to make money. He’s VERY good at weighing risk vs reward, can talk his way out of things, and in general is just really, really clever.

Tilly on the other hand has zero formal schooling, and all his knowledge is entirely from listening to other people talk. He doesn’t ask anyone to teach him anything because that will put him in a vulnerable position, so he pretends he knows things until he figures it out. He also has no need for any type of budgeting considering he doesn’t stay anywhere and mostly just convinces people to give him things, so his math skills are much weaker and he’s happy to have Fellow do any of that. His reading is also not great, considering it’s hard to learn to read from just watching other people and he doesn’t seek any resources out. He’s also dyslexic, so the few times he was trying to learn, what people were saying was NOT matching up with what he was seeing, so he gave up. Fellow tries to teach him some stuff and Tilly straight up believes he’s messing around because what do you MEAN the letters are not supposed to float around and flip??? They eventually figure out what’s going on though.

However, his ability to read people and his memory for what people tell him is incredible. He listens VERY closely to what people are saying and then incorporates it into whatever lies he’s telling that week, which is how he’s able to convince certain high society people that he’s actually one of them sometimes. People often complain to him about their work life, so if the company is big enough, he’ll steal whatever he needs to get into the building and wait long enough for them to believe they just lost it. And then he’ll just walk in, identify people from description and context clues, and just greet them like he works there. I mean, the company is pretty big, so if this guy knows their name and work drama then surely he works there, right? (He’s stolen so many things this way lmao).

Tilly can learn the history of places, local stories, the best and worst areas of the city, who to avoid and who is helpful, maps and directions for wherever he is, just from talking to people, and he remembers it all even months later. He’s good at blending in and imitating people’s attitudes and knowledge.

They are both incredibly skilled at using people’s own egos and expectations against them. Fellow tends to use flattery and Tilly uses distraction, so teamed up together it’s hard not to end up doing what they want. They’re good at surviving separately, but things are much easier together. Tilly is often surprised by how quick Fellow can make calculations in his head, and Fellow is often surprised when Tilly can recite things he learned years ago from overheard conversations like it happened yesterday.

Both of them are still terrible at cooking, though, so congrats to Gidel for being the only person in the household who can make any thing edible.

#foxglove - sunny’s ships! ☀️#twst tilly oc #fellow honest #ernesto foulworth #twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst oc #twst original character

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stollengoods · 2 days ago

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Chapter 9

It’s Not Me, It’s You

Myung-gi x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Cursing and smut (but the smut is very much fluff, like it’s sweet, it’s not degrading or rough.)

Summary: Nam-gyu confesses his love for you~

————

Once you guys were in the bathroom, Nam-gyu shut and locked the door behind him. You made your way in front of the sink, leaning against it. Nam-gyu’s back slid down the door until he was sitting on the floor as he blew out a breath.

“Did you tell Se-mi about us ?” You asked frustrated.

He shook his head, “Not directly at least.”

“What does that mean ?”

“Before you and I met, Thanos and I formed a small group. Which included: Me, Thanos, Min-su, and Se-mi…”

“Okay ?”

“When we came back from the bathroom, they were all sitting together like we did after the game earlier. And Thanos asked if we did anything so I told him. Se-mi just happened to over hear I guess.”

Your fingernails dug into the palm of your hand, “Ugh god I hate that bitch.” You mumbled.

Nam-gyu’s head turned to you, “Now what’s going on with Myun-gi ? He said that you told him nothing happened between us but I thought the whole point was to make him jealous ?”

You picked at your cuticles, your voice a bit lower now, “It was… I mean originally nothing was supposed to happen, I just wanted him to think something did…”

Nam-gyu’s eyes narrowed in confusion, “And when you told him nothing happened between us, he believed you ??”

You pursed your lips, “No, not exactly… but then the first game happened and we were more distracted by trying to survive so he either forgot or got distracted-“

“Or he trusted you.”

Your head snapped in his direction, “Don’t give me that bullshit.”

Nam-gyu stood up, “I’m not saying you’re in the wrong, but you’re an honest person y/n, you’re not a scummy person like he is and I think he knows that so he let it go because he trusted you.”

You gave him a small smile as he approached you, “Thank you.”

“Yeah, of course.” His eyes looked down at you with such softness and you bit your lip.

You grabbed his hand and pulled him forward. He stopped when his hips practically touched yours, his hands on either side of the sink beside you. Your hands went under his shirt and he hissed, “Fuck your hands are cold.”

“Shut up.” You giggled, lightly hitting his stomach.

He smiled, putting a strand of hair behind your ear before leaning in and pecking your lips. “So are we going to finish what we started or ?” You teased, raising an eyebrow and that made him chuckle.

He leaned in and deepened the kiss this time, your hands slipped out of his shirt and went straight to his hair. God did you love his hair, it wasn’t too long but it was long enough to run your fingers through and tug on it.

He slipped in his tongue and you trailed one of your hands down to his pants. You rubbed him on the outside of his pants earning a few groans from him. You pulled away from him removing your shirt and bra, he did the same. You then kneeled down in front of him, tugging his pants and underwear down and he kicked them to the side.

You firmly grabbed his shaft stroking it lightly and he let out the prettiest moan. You sped up your movements, then wrapped your lips around him. You looked up at him, he was biting his lip at this point with eyes screwed shut.

Once your mouth was in sync with your hand movements, he couldn’t help the whimpers that escaped his lips as his hand laid on top of your head. He moaned your name as his legs began to shake and you pulled away, a taste of pre-cum on your tongue.

You stood up and he quickly pulled down your pants and underwear and you kicked the to the side along with his clothes. He helped you up on the sink as you sat there with your legs spread apart on full display for him.

He bit his lip before getting on his knees and caressing your thigh with his thumb. Your thighs trembled in anticipation, you weren’t expecting him to go down on you. His lips pressed soft kisses up your thighs before his tongue played with your clit. Your breathing got heavier as you watched him, he then inserted two fingers into you.

You threw your head back in pleasure as your hand instinctively went to his head clutching a fist full of his hair. It didn’t take long for you to come undone as he helped you ride out your orgasm.

You opened your eyes in a daze and nearly had a heart attack when you saw half his face covered in blood. “What the fuck ? Is this a sick dream ?”

Nam-gyu chuckled, looking at himself in the mirror behind you, “You’re on your period silly.”

You blinked your eyes a couple of times, “Oh.”

He went to the sink next to you and washed his face and fingers. “I’m sorry… I-I didn’t know-“

He walked back over to you with a smile on his face, “Don’t be.” His hands squeezed the top of your thighs, “I don’t mind.”

You looked at him with caution, “R-really ?”

He shook his head before leaning in and attaching his lips again, you felt his manhood rub against your pussy and grabbed a hold of it, lining his tip up with your entrance.

He broke away from the kiss, “Is this what you want ?”

“More than anything.” You breathed.

He slowly entered you and both of you rolled your eyes back in satisfaction. He trailed kisses up and down your neck as he began to move, your nails causing red marks to form on his back as he did so.

“Y/n.” He said.

“Yeah ?” You whined.

“I love you.” He whispered in your ear.

“Huh ?” From how good he was making you feel, you weren’t sure if you had heard him right.

He touched his forehead with yours, “I said I love you.”

You looked at him through half hooded eyes, “Are you serious or is this the drugs talking ?”

“I mean it, y/n, I love you.”

“I love you too.” You heard yourself saying and it felt so natural. You only knew Nam-gyu for a short period of time but you enjoyed talking to him, he made you feel special, and most importantly he made you feel safe.

“Nam-gyu.” You spoke.

“Yeah ?”

“Cum in me.”

“Seriously ?” His eyes looked shocked but in an eager way.

You bit your lip nodding your head, “Please.” You whined.

He smiled, “I’ll be the best father, baby, I promise.”

You clenched around him at his words, “Fuck baby please.” You whined, “I need to feel all of you inside me.”

His thrusts got faster as you clawed more and more at his back. You came which resulted in him cumming not too long after. You felt his seed fill you up and dribble out around his cock. He was about to pull out but you embraced him.

“Not yet, baby, let’s stay like this for a little bit.”

You felt him smile against your neck as he nodded his head. His thumbs rubbed circles on your thighs and you played with his hair for a little while until the guard banged on the door saying it was almost time for dinner.

Nam-gyu helped clean you up once he pulled out of you and then put on his clothes. You pressed a button on the wall and it dispensed a tampon that you quickly put in before throwing on your clothes.

You were about to open the door but Nam-gyu pulled you in for another long kiss. You smiled when you broke away, him doing the same as you guys walked out the bathroom and followed the guard back to the common area.

————

(A/N): One more chapter ! What mini series should I do next ? Thanos, Dae-ho, or Se-mi ?

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aevrsies · 3 hours ago

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❥ EYES LOCKED, HANDS LOCKED ! | nico hischier

nico x fem!reader

warnings: fluff | a short make out sesh | not any more i can think of!

word count: 918

summary: in which reader has a crush on nico, does he feel the same?

authors note: reader is jack & luke’s sister!

It was 9:30 PM, and with no plans for the evening, you found yourself lounging on the couch, mindlessly scrolling through the movies on Netflix. Jack and Luke were out with friends, leaving you alone at the apartment. The last thing you expected was for Nico Hischier to suddenly show at your door.

You were watching a movie when suddenly, the sound of the doorbell broke your concentration. Who could be at the door at this hour? you wondered to yourself, a little confused. When you opened it, you were met with the unexpected sight of Nico—the guy you’d had a crush on ever since Jack first introduced you to him.

"Hi, Y/N," Nico said, his voice a little hesitant. "I know it’s kinda late, but I was wondering if I could stay here for the night. Jack said it was okay." He flashed you a quick, almost shy smile. You nodded, stepping aside to let him in.

"Are you hungry or anything?" you asked, glancing toward the kitchen. "I could make you something to eat."

"No, it's fine," Nico replied quickly, a soft shake of his head. "I don't want to be a burden." He gave you a gentle smile before both of you fell into a brief silence. You returned his smile before heading back to the couch.

“You can sleep in my room since I'll be up watching Netflix all night," you offered, trying to make him feel at ease.

"Oh no, seriously, it’s fine. I can sleep on the couch," Nico replied quickly, his eyes meeting yours, lingering just a bit longer than usual.

"You could watch a movie with me, if you want," you suggested with a smile.

"Oh, sure! If that’s fine with you," Nico agreed, his voice soft. He moved to sit beside you on the couch, a little unsure but clearly relieved to stay close.

You put on a movie for the two of you to watch, then turned to Nico. "I'm gonna grab a snack, so I’ll be back in a second," you said with a casual smile. Nico gave a small nod in response, his gaze briefly following you as you walked toward the kitchen.

You were in the kitchen, dialing Jack’s number, but as expected, he didn’t answer. A sigh escaped your lips as you wondered how you’d make it through the night without you accidentally making it painfully awkward between you two. You were just about to call Luke when, out of nowhere, Nico appeared in front of you.

"Hey, didn’t mean to scare you," he said, his voice laced with curiosity. "What are you up to?"

"Oh, nothing... I was just calling my brothers," you replied, your voice betraying a hint of nervousness, maybe even shyness. You couldn't quite hide the way your heart seemed to race a little.

“Well, I just wanted to ask you something,” Nico said, his voice hesitant.

“Yeah?” you responded, curiosity bubbling up as you wondered what he was about to ask.

“Do—do you like me?” His words hung in the air, catching you completely off guard. You were at a loss for words, your mind scrambling to process what he’d just said.

"Sorry, I didn’t mean to make things awkward between us. Just forget I asked," Nico quickly added, turning to walk back to the couch. But before he could take another step, you stopped him.

"I never said I don’t like you," you said softly, your voice gentle, almost comforting, as if trying to ease the tension that had suddenly settled between you two.

Next thing you know his lips were on yours. The kiss lingered for a while before he pulled away. “Is that fine with you?” you had nodded in response before dragging him to the couch so you guys could continue. You sat in his lap and started kissing him again, but this time you don’t even know if you guys are gonna stop. His lips were soft, almost like a cloud. His hands were on your hips as he was kissing you passionately.

Eventually, you had to pull away, breathless, the need for air taking over. "That was..." you tried to find the right word, your mind still surprised at what happened. "Amazing." Nico let out a soft, almost playful giggle, his eyes twinkling as he smiled. “We should really get some sleep. It’s already 10 PM,” he said, his voice more considerate now, as if aware of the time and the change in atmosphere.

You nodded, still catching your breath, and made your way toward your room, glancing back over your shoulder to invite him in. Nico hesitated, his voice laced with uncertainty as he asked, “Are you sure you want to sleep in the same bed?” The question lingered in the air, but you didn’t hesitate. You nodded quickly, the comfort of his presence soothing any doubt, and jumped into the bed with a smile. Nico followed suit, slipping under the covers with you.

As you settled in, Nico’s arms wrapped around you instinctively, pulling you closer, almost as if he wanted to shield you from the world. His embrace felt warm and safe, the perfect contrast to the coolness of the room. "Goodnight," you whispered, your voice soft, tired, and full of contentment. "Goodnight," Nico replied just as quietly, his voice reassuring, before the two of you drifted into a peaceful sleep, the world outside fading away.

You didn’t even stop to think, what if Jack or Luke saw you guys?

#nico hischier x reader #nico hischier #nico hischier imagine #nhl imagine #evelyn’s writing ✧#nhl x reader #new jersey devils #new jersey devils imagine

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fuqnia · 1 day ago

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I Thought I Was Unique (1) ₊˚⊹♡

♡ kyle broflovski x fem!reader insert | college au, smut

♡ A/N | sorry this took forever, i genuinely struggle writing kyle. this is definitely not one of my best works, but i'm proud as there is some good moments! i really do like kyle, so i'm sorry that i didn't do him justice </3 as usual this is a long one LOL sorry.

♡ C/W | nsfw (18+), all characters are aged up! drinking, inexperienced reader, oral sex (female receiving), fingering, p eating, squirting, kissing, reader is kinda dumb (?)

♡ Synopsis | kyle thought being your best friend was enough—until damien came along. now, the jealousy he buried beneath sarcastic remarks is impossible to ignore. as he watches you drift further away, Kyle’s left wondering if he ever had a chance—or if he’s already lost you for good.

event masterlist | part two ₊˚⊹♡

"Kyle, are you even listening to me?"

You shot him a pointed look as the two of you walked side by side toward the library. Kyle’s gaze was fixed ahead, his brows furrowed slightly, and his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket.

“I am,” he replied flatly, though the monotone delivery screamed otherwise.

“No, you’re not,” you huffed, stepping in front of him to block his path. He stopped abruptly, his green eyes meeting yours with a mixture of annoyance and impatience. “You’ve had that scowl on your face for the last five minutes, which, by the way, is not the appropriate response when your best friend is talking about their existential dating crisis.”

Kyle raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching. “First of all, no one says ‘existential dating crisis’ except you, and that might be why you’re single.”

You gasped, mock-offended. “Excuse me for being self-aware, Mr. Cynic of the Year.”

Kyle sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, fine. I heard you. You’re freaking out about what to wear for your date with Damien. I just don’t get why you’re trying so hard to impress a guy who probably spent this morning journaling about how the rain ‘matches his soul.’”

“What the hell does that mean?” you snapped, narrowing your eyes at him.

“It means,” Kyle said, crossing his arms and giving you a sharp look, “that Damien is all image and no substance. He’s, like, the human equivalent of a faux-leather jacket from Wish.

“Jesus Christ, Kyle,” you groaned. “You don’t even know him.”

Kyle threw up his hands in mock surrender, his expression darkening slightly. “I know enough. I know he thinks silver chains and brooding looks make him hot shit. And I know you’re wasting way too much time stressing about impressing a guy who probably uses the word ‘capricious’ in casual conversation.”

“Why do you even care so much?” you muttered, your face hot.”

“I don’t,” Kyle shot back, but the slight edge in his voice made you wonder. “I care that you’re running yourself into the ground over this pretentious asshole when you could literally do better in your sleep.”

You stared at him, caught between being pissed off and wondering if he had a point.

You had met Damien a few weeks ago at the beginning of the semester, in one of your shared sociology classes. He had this certain presence, the kind that made people instinctively lean in when he spoke. His dark hair was always perfectly styled, sharp against his pale skin, and he had these striking gray eyes that seemed to study everything—like he was dissecting the world in real time. He dressed like he’d stepped out of an indie rock band’s music video, all sleek black jeans, worn leather boots, and button-ups with just enough undone to show a silver chain beneath. His answers in class discussions were always thoughtful, maybe a little pretentious, but captivating.

You never expected him to notice you, let alone talk to you, but then one day he did. It started with him borrowing your pen when his ran out of ink, followed by a few casual comments after class. Before you knew it, he was sliding into the seat next to you, effortlessly chatting about everything from sociological theory to obscure albums. Then, out of the blue, he’d asked you out. Just like that. He’d said it so casually, like it wasn’t a big deal at all, but you’d been internally screaming ever since.

Kyle must’ve noticed your hesitation because he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face like dealing with you was a full-time job.

“Look,” he started, his tone a little softer but still blunt. “Wear whatever you want. It doesn’t matter. Damien wouldn’t notice if you showed up in a clown suit, and if he does notice, it’s probably just so he can complain about the way it doesn’t match your ‘aura’ or some other pretentious crap.”

Your jaw dropped. “Okay, wow.”

Kyle shrugged, stepping past you and motioning toward the library steps. “I’m just saying, if this is the guy you’re stressing over, I’m not impressed.”

“Well, thanks for the pep talk, Dr. Phil,” you shot back sarcastically, already walking backward toward the Sociology building. “I’ll text you after my classes are done, okay? Maybe you can teach me how to not overanalyze everything and be more like you—effortlessly smug and annoyingly confident.”

Kyle rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress a small smile. “Don’t trip and die on your way to class,” he called after you, voice light but laced with affection. “Not that Damien would notice.”

Class finally ended, the professor’s words fading into a dull buzz as students shuffled out of the lecture hall. You stayed seated for a moment, gathering your things at a leisurely pace, before pulling out your phone.

You typed out a quick message to Kyle: “my class is over. u still at the library?”

When you hit send, the notification that his phone was on Do Not Disturb popped up. Of course. You rolled your eyes, shoving your phone into your pocket as you stood. Typical. It wasn’t like he was hanging on your every word, especially when it came to Damien. If anything, he probably preferred not hearing about him at all.

The hallway was crowded, the noise of chatter and the shuffle of feet blending into a familiar campus symphony. You maneuvered through the crowd, adjusting your bag on your shoulder as you headed toward your dorm. The walk wasn’t long, but the lingering thought of Kyle’s passive-aggressive silence made it feel a little longer.

It wasn’t like you expected him to be glued to his phone waiting for updates, but a part of you wondered if he just didn’t care. Or maybe he cared too much and was tired of hearing about something he clearly thought was a waste of time. Either way, it stung.

You pushed open the door to your dorm, the faint scent of your floral air freshener barely cutting through the oppressive quiet. As expected, Red wasn’t there. She rarely was, always out doing something that made her the life of whatever party or adventure she stumbled into. Normally, her absence didn’t bother you, but today, the empty room felt suffocating.

You let out a heavy sigh, dropping your bag by the door and kicking off your shoes. You had been counting on Red’s help to figure out what to wear for tonight—her sharp eye and brutal honesty would’ve made this whole process easier. But she wasn’t here, and the weight of the decision fell squarely on your shoulders.

You paced in front of your closet, chewing on your bottom lip. Your fingers twitched nervously at the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head before tossing it onto your bed. “Okay,” you muttered to yourself, stepping toward the closet and gripping the handle. “Just… pick something he’ll like. It’s not that hard.”

But it was that hard. Every piece of clothing you owned stared back at you, a glaring reminder of how none of it seemed to fit Damien’s style. Your usual wardrobe was colorful and comfortable—completely you. But Damien was sleek, dark, and brooding. The kind of person who probably thought wearing black was a personality trait.

With a frustrated huff, you dug through the farthest corner of your closet, pulling out a black, fitted dress Red had convinced you to buy for a Halloween party last year. It was tight in all the right places, with lace detailing and a slightly sheer neckline. Paired with the black ankle boots gathering dust on the shelf, it felt like the kind of thing Damien would approve of.

You slipped into the dress, the unfamiliar fabric clinging to your body in a way that made you fidget. Tugging at the hem and smoothing the neckline, you stepped into the boots and walked over to the mirror.

The person staring back at you felt alien. The dark silhouette, the sharp edges of the dress, the stark contrast against your usual style—it all screamed Damien. It screamed trying too hard. But wasn’t that the point? You were trying.

You leaned closer to the mirror, your hands fiddling with the lace at the neckline. “Is this what he wants?” you muttered under your breath, your voice laced with doubt. The longer you stared, the more the reflection seemed to mock you.

What was Kyle’s snarky comment earlier? Something about not needing to impress Damien because he wouldn’t notice anyway. You scoffed at the memory, shaking your head as if it would banish the thought. “What does he know?” you whispered, even though a small part of you wondered if he was right.

You sighed, tearing your gaze away from the mirror as the unease twisted in your stomach. Damien better notice. Because if he didn’t… what was even the point of all this?

Crossing the room, you grabbed your makeup bag from your desk and set it down in front of the mirror. The familiar routine of foundation and concealer was oddly grounding, your shaky hands steadying as you worked. The familiar strokes of the brush, the soft dabs of the sponge—it was comforting, like muscle memory guiding you through something that felt normal.

But when you got to your eyes, you froze.

You stared at the neutral palette you always used—soft browns, light golds, and shimmers that never felt too bold. They were safe. Predictable. And completely wrong for tonight.

Your hand trembled as you reached for a darker palette, one you’d barely touched since buying it on a whim months ago. The smoky grays and deep blacks seemed to mock you, daring you to take the plunge. You swallowed hard, gripping the eyeliner pencil like it might slip through your fingers if you didn’t hold tight enough.

“Okay,” you whispered to yourself, your voice barely audible over the quiet hum of the dorm’s air conditioning. “Just do it. It’s not that hard.”

But it was hard. Your hand wavered as you dragged the pencil along your lash line, the dark line feeling heavier, bolder than you expected. You leaned in closer, your breath fogging the mirror slightly as you added a dramatic wing, thick and sharp, until it almost didn’t look like your face anymore.

The lashes came next—long, dark, and voluminous. They felt foreign on your eyelids, their weight adding to the unfamiliarity staring back at you.

And as you worked, the silence of the room pressed down on you. You couldn’t stop the thought from creeping in: I wish Kyle were here.

He’d know exactly what to say. He’d probably roll his eyes and call you ridiculous for overthinking all this. He’d tease you, sure, but he’d also tell you what looked good, what worked and what didn’t. Kyle was brutally honest like that, in a way that could cut you down and build you back up all at once.

Kyle had been your constant since childhood. Through scraped knees, middle school insecurities, and late-night talks about whether you’d ever have your first kiss, he’d always been there, grounding you with his sharp wit and unflinching honesty. He had a knack for calling you out when no one else would—like in seventh grade when you tried to impress your crush by wearing glittery blue lipstick, and he deadpanned, “You look like you ate a Smurf.” Or the time in high school when you nervously asked if you were undateable, and he scoffed, “No, you’re just waiting for someone who doesn’t suck—maybe lower your standards just a little, though.” Even if Kyle didn’t consider you his best friend—Stan held that title, obviously—you couldn’t imagine anyone else filling that role for you. He was your rock, your voice of reason, even when his words were sharp enough to sting. But you knew Kyle cared in his own way, enough to tell you the truth, even when it wasn’t what you wanted to hear.

But Kyle wasn’t here. And the absence of his steady, no-nonsense presence made the room feel colder, quieter, and lonelier than you wanted to admit.

You blinked at your reflection, biting your lip as the final touches of your makeup came together. The smoky eyes, the dark lashes, the sharp winged liner—it was bold. Dramatic. Something Damien would like, you told yourself.

But was it something you liked?

You shrugged into your black cardigan, the soft fabric settling over your shoulders like a weak shield. It didn’t fit the look—too cozy, too soft against the sharp edges of the dress. But without it, you felt exposed, like your skin wasn’t your own. You tugged at the sleeves, glancing once more at your reflection.

Your stomach twisted as you turned away, sinking onto the edge of your bed. The mattress dipped under your weight as you grabbed your phone, unlocking it with a swipe that felt too slow. You scrolled to Stan’s chat, hesitating for a moment before typing. hey, u busy? The message sent, and you watched the screen like your life depended on it. Nothing.

You bit the inside of your cheek, navigating to Cartman’s contact. what’s up? Maybe he’d say something snarky, something that would distract you from the gnawing doubt in your chest. But the seconds dragged on, and his name stayed gray.

Kenny was next. yo, help me out w something. It wasn’t like him to leave you hanging, but the silence was deafening.

Your phone fell from your hands, landing softly beside you on the comforter as a sharp breath escaped your lips. The walls of your dorm seemed closer than usual, the air thicker, heavier. Your hands trembled slightly as you ran them through your hair, trying to ground yourself, but it wasn’t working.

The dress felt too tight, the cardigan too warm, the makeup too much. Everything was too much. What am I even doing? you thought, your head dropping into your hands.

Kyle’s name floated to the front of your mind, uninvited and yet completely necessary. He’d probably hate this. He hated being interrupted when he was in the zone. You could practically hear his voice in your head—sharp, sarcastic, always cutting straight to the point. You seriously couldn’t figure this out on your own?

You frowned, staring at the blank wall in front of you as guilt twisted with the anxiety already brewing in your chest. He was probably still at the library, hunched over some massive textbook or typing out yet another med school application.

Don’t bother him, you told yourself. Figure it out. You don’t need Kyle for this.

But you did. You hated how much you did.

You stood up abruptly, your heart pounding as you grabbed your bag. You paced the room for a moment, chewing on your lip as if the movement would somehow settle the storm in your chest. It didn’t.

“Fuck it,” you muttered under your breath, slinging the bag over your shoulder and heading for the door. You didn’t care if he snapped at you or told you off for showing up unannounced. You’d deal with the fallout later.

You made your way out of your dorm building and speed-walked across the empty campus, your pulse hammering in your ears as you prayed you wouldn’t run into anyone you knew. It was Friday evening, and most people had already vacated the grounds, either heading home or off to start their weekends. The deserted paths only heightened your nerves, the sound of your footsteps echoing faintly as you neared the library.

The glass doors slid open with a soft hiss, and you were greeted by the faint smell of old books and disinfectant. The quiet inside felt oppressive, making your anxiety bubble even higher. Without hesitation, you walked straight to the elevator and jabbed the button for the third floor. You rubbed your sweaty hands against the sides of your dress, the fabric doing little to calm the clammy sensation on your palms.

He’s probably still there, you told yourself nervously.

The elevator dinged, and the doors opened to the silent expanse of the library’s upper level. It was eerily still, with only two people visible—one slouched over a textbook near the shelves, the other scrolling on their phone near the windows. You bit your lip, glancing around nervously, the thought of Kyle having already left sending a spike of panic through your chest.

Finally, your eyes landed on him. He was tucked into a corner table near the far side of the room, hunched over his laptop. His AirPods were in, his curls a familiar mess as his fingers tapped furiously at the keyboard. Relief washed over you so fast your knees almost buckled.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself before making your way over. Each step felt painfully loud despite the carpeted floors, and by the time you reached him, your heart was pounding again.

You slid into the seat across from him, dropping your bag onto the floor with a soft thud. Kyle didn’t look up at first, too focused on whatever he was typing. But then he stopped, his brow furrowing as if he sensed your presence.

When he finally glanced up, a scowl was already etched on his face, his lips parted in irritation—probably expecting some random person to bother him. But the moment his green eyes landed on you, the scowl faltered.

“Wait—” he began, pulling out one AirPod as his expression softened. But his gaze quickly swept over your outfit, his brows shooting up in confusion.

“What…” Kyle trailed off, his eyes narrowing slightly as he leaned back in his chair. “What the hell are you wearing?”

You stared at Kyle, his question hanging in the air like a challenge, and suddenly it was like a dam broke inside you.

“Does it look bad? Be honest—no, wait, don’t be too honest, because if you say yes, I’ll spiral, but I need you to tell me if I look like an idiot. Like, what was I thinking? This isn’t even my style. I mean, I literally look like I crawled out of some e-girl TikToker’s algorithm. Do you think Damien’s into that? What if he isn’t? What if he takes one look at me and thinks I’m trying too hard? Or, worse, what if he doesn’t notice at all? Like, maybe he’ll just be polite about it, but secretly he’ll be thinking, ‘Wow, she really doesn’t know how to dress.’”

Kyle’s lips pressed into a thin line, and his eyebrows pulled together slightly, a flicker of irritation crossing his face as he glanced briefly at his laptop. You didn’t notice, too lost in the chaos of your own thoughts, twisting the fabric of your dress between nervous fingers.

“And my makeup—ugh, is it too much? I mean, I’ve never done a smokey eye before, and it seemed like a good idea at the time, but now I’m worried I look like a raccoon. Or, like, someone trying to cosplay as a vampire but not fully committing to it. God, why didn’t I just stick with my usual eyeliner? Simple. Safe. Normal. But no, I had to go full-on drama queen because, oh, Damien likes bold looks, right? Or does he? Do I even know what he likes?”

Kyle’s jaw tightened slightly, his hand shifting to rest against the edge of the table. He still didn’t say anything, his green eyes watching you closely now, his gaze unreadable—not because it lacked emotion, but because it seemed to hover somewhere between amusement and exasperation.

“And what if my dress is wrong? It’s black. Classic, right? But what if it’s not his version of black? Like, what if he likes… edgier black? I don’t even know what that means, but I feel like it’s a thing. Do I look too try-hard? Or not try-hard enough? God, I probably look like I’m trying to impress him. Which I am! But it’s, like, obvious, isn’t it? Am I overthinking this? Kyle, am I overthinking this?”

You barely paused for breath, your fingers digging into the table as you leaned forward. “And what if he doesn’t like me at all? Like, not just the dress or the makeup, but me. What if this whole thing is a pity date and he’s just doing it to be nice? What if he—”

“Are you done?” Kyle’s voice cut through your frantic rambling like a knife, calm but firm.

You froze mid-sentence, blinking at him, startled by the interruption. His mouth was slightly open, like he was about to sigh, and his brows were arched in a way that screamed, “Are you serious right now?” His gaze wasn’t indifferent anymore—it was laced with the kind of tired fondness that only came with putting up with someone you cared about, even when they were driving you insane.

Kyle leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he fixed you with a look that managed to be both irritated and patient. “Seriously. Are you done? Or is there more?”

Your face flushed as you realized how far you’d spiraled, your words tangling in your throat. Your hands trembled slightly as you reached across the table, grabbing his hand without thinking.

“Kyle,” you said, your voice trembling, “I really, really need your help.”

Kyle stilled for a moment, his gaze softening as he looked at your hand wrapped around his. His fingers twitched slightly before he let out a small sigh, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. “Alright,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Tell me what’s going on. And this time, maybe try breathing between sentences, okay?”

You took a deep breath, your fingers twisting nervously in your lap. “Do I… look good?” you asked, your voice quieter than you intended.

Kyle studied you for a moment, his green eyes narrowing slightly as he leaned forward, letting go of your hand and resting his elbows on the table. He didn’t say anything right away, which only made your stomach churn harder. Finally, he let out a small sigh, tilting his head to one side as if trying to figure out how to word his answer.

“Do you want the brutally honest answer,” he started, his tone deadpan, “or the one that’ll make you stop looking like you’re about to puke on my laptop?”

Your lips twitched, but you weren’t sure if you wanted to laugh or cry. “Kyle, please. Just… tell me.”

He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms and letting his gaze trail over your outfit, your makeup, and finally landing on your expression. “You look fine,” he said, his tone even, but then he quickly added, “Actually, scratch that. You look good.”

You blinked at him, your brows furrowing. “Just… good?”

Kyle’s lips quirked into a faint smirk. “Would you rather I said you look like a goddess descended from the heavens, ready to smite mere mortals with your beauty? Because I can do that if it’ll help.”

Your cheeks burned, and you shook your head. “No, I just—ugh, I don’t know what I was expecting. I’m not fishing for compliments.I just… I need to know if I look like me, or if I look like I’m trying too hard.”

Kyle’s expression softened at that, and he tapped his fingers lightly against the table. “Alright, I’ll give you the real answer. Do you look like you? Not exactly. This whole goth-y, smokey, whatever-you’re-doing thing isn’t your usual vibe. But does it look bad? No. It’s different, but it works. You pull it off.”

You stared at him, your breath catching in your chest. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Kyle said, shrugging as if it wasn’t a big deal. “You’re overthinking it. Like you always do. Damien’s not gonna be analyzing your makeup or whatever. He’s gonna see you, the same person you always are. That’s what matters, right?”

You wanted to believe him, but doubt still gnawed at you. “What if he doesn’t like it?” you whispered.

Kyle’s jaw tightened slightly, and for a moment, he looked like he was biting back a sharp remark. Instead, he let out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair. “If he doesn’t like it,” he said carefully, “then he’s a fucking idiot. And he’s not worth all this stress you’re putting yourself through.”

The conviction in his voice made your chest tighten, and you found yourself nodding, even as tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. “Thanks.”

He rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth tugged into the faintest of smiles. “Yeah, yeah. Now, are we done here? Or do you want me to give you a breakdown of your accessories next?”

You shook your head, settling back into your chair. “No, we’re not done.”

Kyle’s brows lifted, and he tilted his head, giving you a look of mock exasperation. “Oh, great. What now? Are we dissecting your shoe choice?”

“No,” you said, your tone firmer than before. “I wanna know what first dates are like.”

That made him pause. His teasing expression dropped, replaced by something more serious, though his lips pressed into a thin line. “You’re seriously asking me?” he said, his voice measured but tinged with disbelief.

“Yes, I’m seriously asking you,” you replied, frustration creeping into your voice. “You’ve dated, what, like ten girls? You have experience.”

Kyle’s shoulders stiffened, his fingers curling slightly against the edge of the table. “Okay, first of all, ten is an exaggeration,” he muttered, his gaze darting briefly to the side. “Second, why are you even asking me? You’ve probably read more romance novels than I’ve had dates.”

“Because books aren’t real life!” you snapped, throwing your hands up. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do or say. What if there’s an awkward silence? What if he doesn’t like me?”

Kyle exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “God, you’re overthinking this. It’s not a job interview. You sit, you talk, you eat. That’s it. Done.”

Your frustration boiled over, and you leaned forward, jabbing a finger in his direction. “Easy for you to say, Mr. I-Can-Date-Whoever-I-Want. Not all of us have your stupid… whatever you have!”

Kyle blinked, his mouth parting slightly, as if taken aback by your outburst. For a moment, the two of you stared at each other, the tension thick between you. Then, he sighed, his shoulders relaxing as he leaned back in his chair.

“Look,” he began, his voice softer but still carrying his usual bluntness. “First dates… they’re awkward. They’re supposed to be. You’re figuring each other out. But if Damien’s not willing to sit through some awkwardness to get to know you, then he’s not worth it.”

You bit your lip, his words settling over you like a weight. “But what if—”

“Stop,” Kyle interrupted, holding up a hand. “Seriously. You’re gonna be fine. Just be yourself.” His gaze softened, and for once, there was no sarcasm in his tone. “If he doesn’t like that, then he’s the idiot. Not you.”

You blinked at him, his words settling over you like a weighted blanket. For a second, you thought you might actually relax, but then the nerves came rushing back, bubbling over before you could stop them. “But, like… what does a first date even look like? Am I supposed to, I don’t know, laugh at everything he says even if it’s not funny? What if I say something dumb and he judges me for it? Or—”

Kyle let out a sharp exhale, dragging his hands down his face like he was trying to physically hold onto his patience. “You’re doing it again,” he muttered. “You’ve got to chill. Seriously. Just talk to him. It’s not that comp—”

“What was your first date like?” you blurted, cutting him off mid-sentence.

Kyle froze, his brows knitting together in confusion. “Why does that matter?” he asked cautiously, leaning back slightly like he wasn’t sure where this was going.

“Because I don’t know what I’m doing, Kyle!” you shot back, your voice trembling as you gestured wildly. “I’ve never been on a date. I’ve never kissed anyone—not for real, anyway. I’ve never had someone look at me like I actually mattered. And now, here I am, with someone who might actually like me, and I don’t want to blow it!”

The rawness of your confession lingered between you, and for a moment, Kyle’s sharp features softened, a flicker of concern crossing his face. But then he shook his head, his lips pressing into a stubborn line.

“Nope,” he said firmly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Not telling you.”

Your jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious,” he replied, his tone flat but his eyes glinting with defiance. “What my first date was like has nothing to do with your existential crisis.”

You slammed your hands down on the table, leaning in so close that Kyle instinctively pulled back. “You’re going to tell me,” you hissed, your voice low and menacing. “Or I’ll call Sheila, crying, and tell her you did something to me.”

Kyle’s eyes widened, his face flushing an almost comical shade of red. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he hissed, glancing around to make sure no one was within earshot. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I absolutely would,” you replied smugly, crossing your arms as you leaned back in your chair. “I’ll even throw in some fake sobbing to make it sound extra dramatic.”

“Jesus Christ,” Kyle groaned, rubbing his temples like the weight of the world was suddenly on his shoulders. “You’re an actual menace, you know that?”

“And yet, here you are,” you shot back, your smirk growing. “So spill. What was it like?”

Kyle glared at you for a long moment, the muscles in his jaw working as if he were physically restraining himself. Finally, he slumped back in his chair with a heavy sigh. “Goddammit,” he muttered under his breath.

Your hands clapped together excitedly, a wide grin spreading across your face. “I knew it! Your first date was with Heidi, wasn’t it? You mentioned it once, like, forever ago, but you never said what happened. Spill, dude!”

Kyle shot you a withering look, his eyes narrowing as if debating whether or not to humor you. “Are you seriously this invested in something that happened in middle school?” he asked, his tone dripping with disbelief.

“Yes, I’m seriously this invested,” you replied, crossing your arms with a determined glare. “Come on, I want the details. Where did you go? What happened? Did you wear something embarrassing?”

Kyle scoffed, but as you waited for him to answer, a familiar thought crept in. The boys rarely talked about their relationships in front of you. Whether it was Stan’s on-again, off-again drama with Wendy or Kenny’s stories about his flings, the conversations always seemed to stop short when you were around. You had a hunch it was because you’d never had anything to contribute—no first date stories, no breakups, no experiences to commiserate over. It was like they didn’t want to remind you of what you didn’t have. And while you knew they meant well, it still stung.

Kyle groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Fine,” he said, his tone reluctant. “But don’t expect some big, romantic thing. It was middle school. Everything about it was stupid.”

You leaned forward eagerly, ignoring his grumbling. “Okay, so what happened?”

Kyle slouched back in his chair, crossing his arms as he stared at the ceiling like he was trying to summon the memory from the depths of his brain. “Heidi asked me out first, which should’ve been my first clue it was gonna be a mess. She told me to pick where we’d go, so I panicked and said we could meet at the arcade after school. I thought it’d be low-pressure—play some games, get a soda, whatever.”

“That actually sounds cute,” you admitted, tilting your head.

“Yeah, except I showed up wearing a hoodie with a giant ketchup stain on it because I didn’t notice it until I was already there,” Kyle muttered, his ears turning slightly red.

You bit your lip to keep from laughing. “Oh no.”

“Yeah, she didn’t mention it, but I could tell she noticed,” Kyle continued, shaking his head. “Anyway, we played some games—she destroyed me at air hockey, by the way—and it was actually kind of fun. I thought, ‘Okay, maybe this isn’t so bad.’ But then we went to get snacks, and I spilled half my soda on her shoe.”

“Oh, Kyle…”

“I know!” he exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “I was mortified. I kept apologizing, and she kept saying it was fine, but I could tell she was annoyed. I thought for sure she’d never speak to me again after that.”

“But she did?” you prompted, intrigued.

Kyle sighed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. “Yeah, she did. When the arcade was closing, I walked her home because her mom wasn’t there to pick her up. Right before we got to her door, she, uh… kissed me.”

Your eyes widened, and a nervous laugh bubbled out of you. “She kissed you? Like, on the lips?”

“Yes, on the lips,” Kyle muttered, his cheeks turning pink. “And then she just said, ‘Thanks for walking me home,’ like it was no big deal, and went inside. I stood there for, like, five minutes trying to figure out if that actually happened or if I imagined it.”

You froze as Kyle’s words sank in, your stomach twisting at the thought. A kiss. You barely heard the rest of what he said because your brain was spiraling into panic mode.

“On the lips?” you repeated faintly, sitting up straighter.

“Yes,” Kyle said again, slower this time, his eyebrows furrowing. “Are you okay? You’re looking at me like I’ve got two heads.”

You didn’t respond. Instead, you pushed your chair back with a sharp scrape, rounded the table, and plopped down into the seat directly next to him. Kyle blinked in confusion, but before he could say anything, you grabbed his sleeve, your fingers twisting nervously.

“What if Damien tries to kiss me?” you blurted, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

Kyle blinked again, his lips parting slightly. “...What?”

“What if Damien tries to kiss me on the first date?” you repeated, your voice rising as panic seeped into your tone. “I don’t know what to do! What if I screw it up? What if I’m bad at it? Kyle, I’ve never kissed anyone before!”

Kyle exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face like he was bracing himself for a train wreck. “Oh my god,” he muttered. “Here we go.”

“I mean, technically, I’ve been kissed,” you continued, ignoring his exasperation. “But it doesn’t count because Kenny was high as hell at Clyde’s party, and he thought I was Tammy fucking Warner! And you spit out your drink when it happened, Kyle! You spit out your drink!”

Kyle closed his eyes briefly, his lips pressing into a tight line as he let out a long, measured sigh. “Yeah, I spit out my drink because Kenny was groping your hair like a creep, and you just stood there like a statue.”

“It was mortifying!” you wailed, throwing your hands up. “And now I’m going on a date with Damien, who’s, like, a whole other level of sophisticated. What if he expects me to be good at it? What if I mess it all up?”

Kyle opened his eyes, fixing you with an unimpressed stare. His lips were set in a straight line, and his eyes were as sharp as ever. “It’s not some cosmic test. If Damien tries to kiss you, you just… kiss him back. That’s it.” he said flatly

“That’s it?” you repeated, your voice incredulous. “Kyle, it’s not that simple! You’ve kissed people before—you don’t get it!”

Kyle snorted, shaking his head slightly. “Look, if it’s freaking you out that much, go practice on someone. Get it out of your system before your big date. Problem solved.”

“You’re so helpful,” you snapped, throwing your hands in the air. “Who the hell am I supposed to practice with? My date is in less than 30 minutes! What, should I just grab a stranger off the quad?”

Kyle’s mouth opened, likely to say something scathing, but you didn’t give him the chance. Instead, you lunged toward him, your hands gripping his shoulders as you tried to physically push him out of his seat.

“You!” you yelled, your voice shrill with desperation. “You’re gonna help me! Get up!”

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?” Kyle barked, shoving back against you. His chair scraped against the floor as he dug his heels in, his lips pressed into a hard line of disbelief. “I’m not doing this!”

“You said I should practice! Who else am I gonna practice with?!” you shouted, your weight leaning into him as you tried to push him upright.

Kyle’s hand shot out, slapping over your mouth to stop your tirade. “Shut up before the entire library thinks I’m murdering you,” he hissed, his eyes darting around. A couple of heads turned your way, but Kyle shot them all a glare that made them quickly look away.

You mumbled something against his palm, your words muffled and unintelligible, but the damp sensation against his skin made it clear you were licking his hand.

“For fuck’s sake—” Kyle groaned, pulling his hand away and wiping it on his jeans with a look of utter disgust. “You’re like a feral dog.”

“I’m literally asking for help here!” you spat, crossing your arms.

“And I’m trying to help!” Kyle snapped back. With a long-suffering sigh, he turned to his laptop, his fingers flying across the keyboard. “If you’d stop acting like a lunatic for five seconds—”

He paused, then spun the laptop around to face you. The screen displayed a WikiHow article titled How to Kiss Someone. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms with a smirk. “There. Study up.”

Your eyes narrowed as you scanned the article. “Are you serious right now?”

“As a heart attack,” he replied dryly, looking far too pleased with himself. “Read the diagrams. Learn something.”

You glared at him but reluctantly turned back to the laptop. The WikiHow article stared back at you, its bright illustrations and overly simplistic instructions almost mocking in their unhelpfulness. Tilt your head slightly. Close your eyes. Relax your lips.

Your chest tightened with every word, frustration building with each vague instruction. “What the hell does ‘relax your lips’ even mean?” you muttered under your breath, scrolling down as a lump began to form in your throat. The cheerful, clinical tone of the article felt like a slap in the face.

You gripped the edge of the table, your breathing shallow as the panic started to creep in. I can’t do this. I’m going to screw everything up, and Damien’s going to laugh, or he’ll just look at me like I’m pathetic. The thought of his cold, gray eyes filled with judgment made your stomach churn.

Why does this feel so impossible? The realization hit like a punch to the gut: this wasn’t just about tonight. This was about all the moments you felt left behind—watching everyone else grow up and move on while you stood in the same place, pretending it didn’t bother you.

Kyle’s voice snapped you out of your spiraling thoughts. “Hey.” It was softer than you expected, almost hesitant. You glanced up to see him watching you, his tone carried something that almost resembled concern. “You good?”

You shrugged, trying to play it off, but your voice betrayed you. “Yeah. Fine,” you muttered, staring down at the table as your nails dug into your palms.

Kyle sighed heavily, leaning back in his chair like he was bracing himself for something. “Look,” he began, his tone awkward and reluctant. “Kissing’s not that complicated, okay? Just—” He waved a hand vaguely, his attempt at reassurance painfully half-hearted. “Lean in. Make sure you’re not smashing your nose into theirs. And don’t do that weird fish-lips thing people do in movies. That’s it.”

You stared at him, heat rising to your face as the lump in your throat threatened to choke you. “That’s it? That’s your big advice?” Your voice cracked, frustration and embarrassment bubbling over.

Kyle raised an eyebrow. “Pretty much. I mean, what do you expect me to say? There’s no step-by-step manual.”

You let out a bitter laugh, your head falling into your hands. “This is a disaster,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I’m going to screw this up so bad.”

Kyle’s exasperated groan broke the tension, but it only made your chest tighten more. “You’re not going to screw anything up,” he said sharply, leaning forward. “It’s a kiss, not brain surgery.”

“But what if—”

“Stop,” Kyle interrupted, his tone snapping like a rubber band. He reached out suddenly, grabbing your hands and forcing you to look at him. “Do you just want to practice on me?”

The words hung between you like a live wire, crackling with tension. Your heart stumbled in your chest, your breath catching as his question settled over you. “What?” you managed to whisper, barely able to process what he’d just said. You weren’t serious about you practicing on him earlier, you were just so worked up and panicked about Damien.

Kyle sighed again, his grip on your hands tightening slightly, grounding you despite the whirlwind in your head. “You’re spiraling,” he said, his voice lower now, steadier. “If you don’t stop, you’re going to psych yourself out so bad you won’t even show up to the date. So, yeah. If it’ll help you stop freaking out, then fine. Practice on me.”

Your thoughts collided, tangling into a chaotic mess. The idea of kissing Kyle, your best friend, felt so far-fetched, so surreal, that you almost laughed. But at the same time, there was a pull, a strange comfort in the fact that it was him offering this. He’s safe, you thought. It’s just Kyle.

Your heart pounded like it was trying to escape your chest. “You—you’re serious?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, your gaze searching his for any sign of a joke.

“Dead serious,” Kyle replied. “But decide fast, because I’m not sitting here all night while you freak out about this.”

Your hands trembled in his grip, and you swallowed hard, your heart thundering in your ears as you tried to find your voice. “Okay,” you said finally, barely audible. “Okay.”

Kyle’s face turned an alarming shade of red, the tips of his ears glowing as he avoided your gaze. He glanced around the quiet floor, his sharp green eyes darting to the two other students seated far away, confirming no one was paying attention. Still, he muttered under his breath, his words a string of half-cussed frustrations. “This is so fucking stupid.”

Before you could respond, he scooted his chair closer to yours, the legs scraping faintly against the floor. His hands tightened around yours, his grip firm but not rough, grounding you in a way that made the tension in your chest ease ever so slightly.

“Y-You don’t have to,” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable or anything. I—”

“Shut up,” Kyle interrupted, his voice low and clipped. He still wasn’t looking at you, his gaze fixed on some arbitrary point past your shoulder. “It’s fine. Let’s just get it over with.” His voice wavered slightly, but his words carried an unyielding bluntness that could only belong to him.

You blinked, caught off guard by his tone, and he finally turned his eyes toward you. They softened just a fraction, but the pink in his cheeks deepened as he muttered, “This changes nothing, alright? We’re still friends. Just friends. Don’t… don’t get weird about it.”

The sheer awkwardness of the moment sent your emotions into overdrive. Relief and embarrassment collided in your chest, making your breath hitch. It’s just Kyle, you reminded yourself, though the thought wasn’t as comforting as you wanted it to be. “Okay,” you whispered again, your voice cracking slightly. “Just friends.”

Kyle’s grip on your hands tightened once more, and he exhaled sharply, almost like he was psyching himself up for something monumental. His jaw worked like he was chewing over words he wasn’t ready to say, and when he finally looked at you, the vulnerability in his expression was something you hadn’t seen before.

“Don’t make this a big deal,” he muttered, though the way his eyes flickered nervously over your face said otherwise.

Your gaze dropped to his lips, your breath catching in your throat. The air between you felt heavy, thick with unspoken emotions that made your heart pound so loudly you were sure he could hear it. You didn’t say anything, too afraid that any words might shatter the fragile moment.

Kyle hesitated, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. His voice dropped to a near whisper, so soft you almost missed it. “I’m gonna… I’m gonna kiss you now, okay?”

Your eyes lifted to meet his, wide and uncertain, but you nodded. “Okay,” you said, your voice barely audible, your fingers tightening slightly against his as you leaned in instinctively.

His lips met yours, and for a moment, everything felt… manageable. But the second he began to move his mouth against yours, panic surged. You leaned in too fast, bumping his nose with an awkward thud that made both of you flinch.

“Jesus,” Kyle muttered, pulling back and rubbing his nose. His brows furrowed, but there was an edge of amusement in his voice. “You trying to break my face or something?”

“I’m sorry!” you blurted out, your face burning with embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to—I was trying to…” You trailed off, unable to finish as you covered your face with your hands.

Kyle sighed, though the corner of his mouth twitched like he was holding back a laugh. “Okay, let’s try this again, but, like… aim better this time.”

You peeked at him through your fingers. “I’m trying!”

“I can tell,” he deadpanned, his eyes narrowing slightly. “That’s the problem.”

You groaned, dropping your hands and shaking your head. “Fine. Let’s just do it again. No more aiming for your nose. Got it.”

Kyle leaned in again, his expression a mix of determination and exasperation. This time, as his lips met yours, you managed to avoid his nose, but in your desperation to keep up, you tilted your head too far, effectively smashing your mouth against his in a way that felt clumsy and awkward.

Kyle broke the kiss, pulling back with an incredulous look. “Are you serious right now?”

Your face burned hotter than ever, and you shrank back, covering your face again. “I said I’m sorry! This is hard!”

He let out a short, sharp laugh, not quite amused but more in disbelief. “It’s not rocket science. It’s just a kiss.”

“Easy for you to say,” you mumbled into your hands.

Kyle sighed, his lips pressing into a straight line as he reached out to pull your hands away from your face. “Okay, look,” he said, his voice quieter now, but still laced with his usual edge. “We’re practicing. That’s the whole point, right? You’re supposed to be bad at it. Stop freaking out and just… follow my lead this time.”

You nodded reluctantly, swallowing the lump in your throat as he leaned in again. “This is so embarrassing,” you muttered, your voice barely audible.

“Yeah, well,” Kyle sighed, his voice tinged with exasperation. “You agreed to this.”

His hand came up to cup your cheek, the smoothness of his palm grounding you as he leaned closer. When his lips met yours, it was softer than before, slower, and you could feel the deliberate way he guided the kiss. He was giving you time to adjust, to fall into the rhythm he set.

You tried to focus, to match his movements, but your nerves kept you stiff. Your shoulders tensed, your hands clutched awkwardly at your lap, and your breath hitched in short, uneven bursts.

Kyle pulled back slightly, his lips brushing yours as he murmured, “Relax. It’s just me.” His voice was low and steady, with an uncharacteristic gentleness that made your chest tighten.

You nodded faintly, exhaling shakily as you forced yourself to loosen your shoulders. His lips found yours again, this time with more intention. The warmth of his mouth was overwhelming, but his touch remained careful, his thumb brushing along your jawline as if to reassure you.

When he tilted his head, angling the kiss, your breath caught again. His movements grew bolder, his tongue flicking against your bottom lip. You gasped softly, your lips parting instinctively, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss. His tongue slid against yours, slow and deliberate, coaxing you to respond.

Your hands flew to his shoulders, gripping him tightly as you tried to keep up. His tongue moved with confidence, the pressure and rhythm steady, and your heart pounded in your chest as a warmth spread through your entire body.

Kyle’s other hand slid into your hair, threading through the strands as he tilted your head slightly to better angle the kiss. The shift made you gasp again, and the sound seemed to spur him on, his tongue tracing along yours in a way that made your knees feel weak, even though you were sitting.

Your mind was racing, a frantic swirl of disbelief and confusion that you struggled to push aside. This is crazy, you thought, your hands tightening slightly on Kyle’s shoulders. You were kissing Kyle—your best friend since you were kids. The one who teased you about your braces in middle school, who shared his notes when you bombed a math test, who walked you home when it was too dark for you to feel safe alone. Kyle, who probably never even thought about kissing you, not once, not until this ridiculous, desperate practice session. And yet here you were, feeling his lips move against yours with a confidence that made your heart race.

Your breaths grew shallow, soft pants escaping between kisses as you leaned further into him, your body instinctively seeking his. The closeness was intoxicating, his scent filling your senses as his hands held you steady. The kiss was consuming, every part of you hyper-aware of the way his lips moved, the heat of his touch, the way his chest rose and fell against yours.

When Kyle finally pulled back, his breathing was heavier than before, his lips slick and slightly swollen. His face was flushed, a deep red spreading from his cheeks to the tips of his ears, and his green eyes darted away from yours as if searching for something to focus on.

He ran a hand through his hair, muttering under his breath, “Jesus Christ.” He cleared his throat, his voice a little uneven as he finally looked at you again. “Okay, so… not bad for a first real kiss, I guess.”

You stared at him, still breathless, your chest rising and falling as you tried to process what had just happened.

Kyle’s eyes narrowed slightly as he studied you, and his expression turned serious. “But you need to loosen up more,” he said, his tone shifting into something almost instructional. “You’re way too tense. I could feel you holding your breath half the time.”

You blinked at him, your cheeks heating further as his words sank in.

“And,” he continued, his blush deepening as he spoke, “don’t just sit there. Move a little. Match the rhythm. Kissing isn’t supposed to feel like one person’s doing all the work.”

Your lips parted as you tried to come up with a response, but he kept going, his eyes avoiding yours as he muttered, “And stop clenching your hands so hard. You’re not fighting me, you’re—ugh, never mind.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, his expression a mixture of flustered and annoyed. “Look, just… try to relax next time, okay? You’ll get it.”

The corner of his mouth lifted, like he was about to say something else but decided against it. He glanced at you briefly, then back down at his laptop, muttering, “You’re lucky I even helped you with this.”

You pressed your hands to your cheeks, the warmth radiating from your skin almost unbearable. Your heart was still pounding, and the ghost of his lips lingered on yours, leaving a faint tingle that you couldn’t shake. “Thanks,” you whispered, not trusting your voice to say much more.

Kyle didn’t respond, his eyes fixed on his screen, though the stiffness in his posture told you he’d heard you. You let out a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself as you reached into your bag for a makeup wipe and your lipstick.

Brushing your fingertips against your lips, you noticed the smudge in your reflection on your phone screen. Great. Your lipstick was smeared, and you couldn’t help but wonder if it had transferred to Kyle. The thought made your stomach flip uncomfortably.

Digging out the wipe, you turned your attention to him, and before he could react, you cupped his cheek, gently forcing his face toward you.

“What the hell are you doing?” Kyle protested, his eyes wide with confusion and just a hint of annoyance.

“Hold still,” you muttered, focusing on the faint smear of color on his lower lip. The sight made your heart skip a beat, but you pushed it aside, carefully dabbing at the corner of his mouth with the wipe.

Kyle flinched slightly, but he didn’t pull away. “I could’ve done this myself, you know.”

“You should be thanking me,” you countered, still focused on cleaning him up.

“Yeah, thanks,” he muttered, his voice laced with sarcasm, though he stayed perfectly still as you wiped away the smudge.

When you were satisfied, you leaned back and applied a fresh coat of lipstick to your own lips, all while Kyle stared at you with an expression somewhere between exasperation and disbelief.

“Happy now?” he asked, his tone dry as he turned back to his laptop.

You didn’t answer, your fingers brushing against your lips again, feeling the tingle that refused to fade. Instead, you focused on packing up your makeup, trying to ignore the way your hands still trembled slightly.

Kyle’s fingers clacked furiously against his keyboard, but his usual precision was off. His cheeks were still flushed, the tips of his ears burning red, and you could see his jaw tighten as he typed, clearly trying to focus on something—anything—that wasn’t you.

You got up, watching him for a moment, guilt creeping in. He didn’t have to help you with this. You knew how stressed he was, buried under med school applications and coursework. You shouldn’t have interrupted his study session, but here he was, your unfailing constant, helping you anyway.

Without thinking, you moved behind him, leaning down to wrap your arms around his shoulders. He stiffened immediately, his hands pausing over the keyboard. “What the—”

“You’re the bestest friend ever,” you murmured, pressing your cheek against the top of his head. The soft curls tickled your skin as your fingers gently combed through his hair. “I seriously don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Kyle sputtered, his hands hovering like he wasn’t sure whether to push you off or let you stay. “C-cut it out,” he stammered, his voice coming out higher than usual.

You ignored him, smiling softly as you hugged him tighter. “Nope. Just let me have this moment, Broflovski. You deserve the praise.”

“Insufferable,” Kyle muttered, though his voice was less annoyed and more resigned.

“I mean it,” you continued, straightening up but keeping your hands resting on his shoulders. “Everything’s going to be fine, you know. Damien’s not going to know what hit him. And it’s all thanks to you.”

Kyle snorted, finally glancing up at you with a look that was equal parts exasperation and disbelief. “You’re seriously giving me way too much credit. It’s not like I did anything that—”

“Shut up, yes, you did,” you cut him off, squeezing his shoulders playfully. “You’re the reason I’m not curled up in my dorm crying right now.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes darting to the side as if avoiding yours. “Yeah, well…” he muttered, shifting awkwardly in his chair. “Just… don’t tell anyone about this, okay? Seriously. Not a word.”

Your grin widened, teasing lacing your voice as you leaned down closer to his face. “Why? Afraid people will think you’re actually nice?”

Kyle rolled his eyes, though the faint flush in his cheeks deepened. “No, I’m afraid they’ll think I’ve lost my goddamn mind, letting you drag me into this,” he shot back, though his tone was light.

You smiled at him, picking up your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. For a moment, you just looked at him, thinking about how much he put up with for your sake. Kyle might’ve been blunt and sarcastic, but he was also steady—your constant when things felt overwhelming. You knew how stressed he was, how much he had on his plate, and yet here he was, helping you prepare for a date with someone he clearly couldn’t stand.

The buzz of your phone in your hand broke the moment. You glanced at the screen, unlocking it to reveal a text from Damien: “heading over now. see you in like 10. :)”

Your heart jumped, and a squeal escaped before you could stop it, echoing in the quiet library. Kyle winced, giving you an incredulous look as he rubbed his ear. “What the hell, dude?”

Ignoring his protest, you spun the phone around to show him the message, your grin threatening to split your face in two. “He’s on his way! Damien is literally coming to pick me up!”

Kyle leaned back, squinting at the screen like it personally offended him. His lips pressed into a thin line, and he muttered under his breath, “Lucky you.”

You smacked his arm lightly, your excitement bubbling over. “Kyle! This is a big deal! He’s literally coming to pick me up. Like… this is happening!”

Kyle’s expression didn’t change much, his green eyes flicking from your phone to your overly enthusiastic face. “Yeah, I can see that,” he said flatly. “Congrats. Hope it’s everything you dreamed of and more.”

“Oh, come on!” you laughed, playfully shoving his shoulder. “Can’t you at least pretend to be happy for me?”

Kyle sighed, shutting his laptop with an audible click. “I’m ecstatic,” he deadpanned, resting his chin on his hand. “Really. Over the moon.”

You rolled your eyes at his tone, turning your attention back to your phone. You used the screen as a makeshift mirror, adjusting the neckline of your dress and smoothing your hair. Your hands trembled slightly as you wiped away an imaginary smudge of lipstick from the corner of your mouth.

Standing tall, you glanced over at Kyle. He was slouched in his chair, chin propped on his hand, watching you with a mix of indifference and… something else. His brows furrowed ever so slightly, and his lips were pressed into a thin line. He looked tired, like he was holding back a comment that might come out too sharp.

“I’ll text you about how it goes, okay?” you said, your voice trying for lightness but landing somewhere between hopeful and nervous. “Promise.”

Kyle’s lips twitched, but his gaze shifted down to the table, his fingers tapping lightly against the wood. “Yeah, sure,” he muttered. His voice was flat, but there was a faint edge to it, like he was forcing himself to keep his usual sarcasm in check. “Have fun.”

You paused, the smile on your face faltering slightly. Something about the way he said it—it wasn’t dismissive, but it didn’t feel like encouragement either. It felt more like resignation, like he was bracing himself for something.

“Thanks for everything,” you said softly, your voice carrying an undercurrent of gratitude you hoped he’d catch.

Kyle gave a noncommittal hum in response, his gaze never quite meeting yours. For a moment, you hesitated, watching him in the dim library light. His jaw was tight, and his hand gripped the edge of the table as if he were steadying himself.

But you didn’t press him. With a deep breath, you grabbed your bag, adjusted it on your shoulder, and turned to leave.

As you walked away, you thought you heard him mutter something under his breath, but when you glanced back, his face was turned toward his laptop again, the screen reflecting in his eyes.

Time slipped by unnoticed, and Kyle found himself leaving the library long after the sun had set. The night air was crisp, and Kyle welcomed the bite of the cold against his flushed face. It gave him something else to focus on besides the turmoil in his chest. He shouldn’t feel like this. You were his best friend, practically a second sibling at this point. Sure, he’d kissed you. Sure, it had been… different. But that didn’t mean anything.

Right?

Kyle shook his head, his curls bouncing with the motion. His sneakers scuffed against the concrete as he walked, the faint hum of the campus nightlife buzzing in the distance. The tension in his chest only grew the closer he got to his dorm, and he groaned under his breath.

Why did it feel like this? Why couldn’t he just shrug it off? He’d kissed plenty of people before—casual flings, some serious—but this… this felt like something he couldn’t compartmentalize.

By the time he reached his dorm, his fingers were trembling, whether from the cold or something else entirely. He fumbled with his keys, muttering curses under his breath as they jingled uselessly. Finally, the door clicked open, and he stepped inside.

Stan was sitting cross-legged on his bed, earbuds in as he scrolled through his phone. He looked up briefly, giving Kyle a once-over before going back to his screen. “You good?” he asked casually, pulling one earbud out.

“Yeah, fine,” Kyle muttered, kicking off his sneakers and tossing his bag onto his desk chair. He slumped onto his bed, leaning back against the headboard with a heavy sigh.

Stan didn’t push, probably sensing Kyle’s mood. But as the room settled into silence, save for the faint sound of music leaking from Stan’s earbuds, Kyle’s phone buzzed.

He ignored it at first, but the buzzing continued, insistent. With a huff, he pulled his phone from his pocket. Your name lit up the screen, and his stomach twisted.

"omg kyle the date was AMAZING!! damien even said i looked incredible 😭 and he kissed me!! can u believe it??"

Kyle stared at the message, the words blurring slightly as his grip tightened on the phone. His chest felt heavy, his breath coming in short, uneven bursts. He unlocked the phone, reading the message again. And again.

You were exalted. You’d had the perfect date, and Damien—the asshole Kyle had spent the past week silently resenting—had kissed you. Complimented you. Held you, probably.

Kyle locked his phone, tossing it onto the desk without replying. The silence in the room felt oppressive now, like it was pressing down on him.

“Who was that?” Stan asked, his voice cutting through the tension. He pulled both earbuds out, watching Kyle with mild curiosity.

“[Y/N],” Kyle replied shortly, running a hand through his curls.

Stan raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t she have that date tonight? Guessing it went well?”

Kyle let out a bitter laugh, the sound sharp and humorless. “Yeah, it went fucking great. She’s over the moon. Damien kissed her.”

Stan winced, sitting up straighter. “Ah, shit.”

Kyle didn’t respond. His fingers drummed against his thigh, his jaw tight as he stared at the ceiling. The confession sat on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed it down, unwilling to let it out.

Stan sighed, running a hand over his face. “You like her, don’t you?”

Kyle didn’t answer immediately. His eyes flickered to Stan, and for a moment, he looked like he might deny it. But instead, he let out a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping. “Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “I do.”

Stan nodded, leaning back against his headboard. “That sucks, dude.”

“Yeah,” Kyle echoed, his voice hollow. “It does.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, both boys lost in their own thoughts. Kyle picked up his phone again, staring at your name on the screen, his thumb hovering over the keyboard. But no words came.

He left you on read.

Kyle stabbed at his salad like it had personally wronged him, the plastic fork creaking under the pressure. Across the table, Cartman was in the middle of an overly dramatic retelling of his latest triumph—something about humiliating some poor freshman who dared to question his "undeniable genius" in one of his psychology classes. Kenny was egging him on, occasionally choking on fries as he laughed at Cartman’s ridiculous embellishments.

Stan sat silently, methodically peeling the label off his water bottle, his eyes flicking to Kyle every few seconds. He didn’t need to say anything to know Kyle was having a nervous breakdown. It was written all over his face—the clenched jaw, the tense shoulders, the way he refused to meet anyone’s gaze.

“You good, dude?” Stan finally asked, his voice low enough to be drowned out by Kenny’s cackling and Cartman’s exaggerated monologue.

“I’m fine,” Kyle muttered, stabbing another piece of lettuce like it owed him money.

“Sure, because nothing screams ‘fine’ like trying to commit a hate crime against your salad,” Stan deadpanned, leaning back in his chair.

Before Kyle could retort, Cartman cut in, his voice dripping with mock concern. “Oh no, is Kahl feeling moody again? What’s wrong, Princess? Did someone forget to bow when you walked into the dining hall?”

“Fuck off, Cartman,” Kyle snapped, his grip on the fork tightening.

Cartman smirked, leaning across the table. “Seriously, though. What’s your problem? Is it because [Y/N]’s off playing dress-up with her hot-topic boyfriend while you’re here sulking like a little bitch?”

The fork clattered against Kyle’s tray as he stood abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. “I said, fuck off,” he growled, glaring at Cartman with enough heat to melt steel.

“Whoa, chill,” Kenny said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Cartman’s an asshole, but he’s not wrong. You’ve been acting like you’ve got a stick up your ass for weeks now. What gives?”

Kyle didn’t answer, his chest heaving as he looked between Kenny and Cartman, his fury bubbling dangerously close to the surface.

Stan sighed, setting his water bottle down. “He’s been ignoring [Y/N],” he said bluntly, crossing his arms. “Which, by the way, is a real dick move, considering she’s been texting me, worried about him.”

“Wait,” Cartman said, his smirk growing. “You’re ghosting her? Oh, this is rich. What, is it too painful watching her run off with her eyeliner-wearing Prince Charming?”

“Seriously, shut the fuck up, Cartman,” Kyle barked, but Cartman wasn’t done.

“Admit it, dude,” Cartman said, leaning back in his chair with a shit-eating grin. “You’re jealous. You’ve been in love with her since, like, third grade, and now you’re losing your shit because she’s finally moved on.”

“I’m not doing this,” Kyle muttered, grabbing his bag.

“Where are you going?” Stan called after him, exasperated.

“Somewhere I don’t have to listen to you assholes,” Kyle retorted, storming out of the dining hall.

The moment he was outside, the cool air hit him, but it didn’t help clear his head. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out reluctantly. The screen lit up with yet another text from you.

“hey kyle! hope ur doing okay :)”

Kyle stared at the message, his chest tightening. He hated himself for the satisfaction that came with ignoring it, for the way it fed some small, bitter part of him. It wasn’t fair—not to you, not to himself—but he couldn’t stop.

He shoved the phone back into his pocket and began walking aimlessly, his thoughts circling the same miserable drain. You were happy. You were with Damien. And as much as he hated every part of it, he couldn’t bring himself to tell you how he felt.

What was he supposed to say? That he couldn’t stop thinking about you? That every time he saw you smile, it felt like someone had punched him in the gut because he knew it wasn’t for him? That the thought of you with Damien made him sick with jealousy?

By the time he made it back to his dorm, his head was pounding. He unlocked the door and stepped inside, greeted by the sight of Stan sitting at his desk, headphones on as he scrolled through his laptop.

Stan glanced up, pulling off his headphones. “You okay?” he asked, his tone cautious.

Kyle didn’t answer. He dropped his bag on the floor and flopped onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling as the weight of everything pressed down on him.

“You’re gonna have to talk to her eventually,” Stan said after a long pause.

Kyle scoffed, covering his face with his hands. “Yeah? And say what? ‘Sorry for being an asshole. By the way, I’m in love with you’?”

Stan didn’t respond right away, and when Kyle peeked through his fingers, he saw the look on Stan’s face—sympathetic but firm.

“It’s better than this,” Stan said quietly. “Whatever this is.”

Kyle swallowed hard, his throat tight. He knew Stan was right. But knowing didn’t make it any easier.

The air in Damien’s dorm was thick, tinged with the faint scent of incense and something deeper, darker—like the storm that always seemed to linger behind his striking gray eyes. His music played low in the background, some brooding indie rock band you didn’t recognize, their melancholic lyrics weaving into the moment.

Damien’s lips moved against yours with deliberate slowness, his touch calculated but unhurried. He kissed like he didn’t care about time, like the world could crumble around him and he’d still be content with his hands gripping your waist. You were perched on the edge of his bed, but when his fingers tightened, he pulled you closer, dragging you into his lap like it was inevitable.

The weight of his hands on you sent a jolt through your nerves. You felt the heat of him even through your clothes, and when his lips parted, his tongue brushing yours in a teasing stroke, it stole your breath.

He tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss. His movements were confident but not rushed, like he knew exactly how to unravel you bit by bit. Your fingers tangled in his dark hair, your nails grazing his scalp as he let out a quiet groan, the sound reverberating through you.

Damien’s hands slipped lower, finding the curve of your ass, his grip firm as he squeezed. A soft moan escaped you, muffled by his mouth, and you felt him smile against your lips—smug, almost. Like he was proud of himself for pulling that sound from you.

“Didn’t know you had it in you,” Damien murmured when you broke apart briefly, his voice low and rough, his breath fanning against your skin. A faint string of saliva still connected you, catching the dim light before it broke, and he smirked like he’d won something.

You wanted to snap back with something witty, but your thoughts were clouded, muddled by the feel of him. “Guess I’m full of surprises,” you managed, your voice shaky as you tried to catch your breath.

“Mm,” he hummed, leaning back slightly, his eyes scanning your face like he was trying to read you. “That so?” His thumb traced a slow circle on your thigh, his other hand still gripping your waist like he was afraid you’d pull away.

The intensity of his gaze made your stomach flip. There was something unnerving about how he looked at you—not predatory, exactly, but like he was dissecting you, picking you apart piece by piece and filing you away for later.

Your lips parted to say something, anything, but then he was kissing you again, his mouth stealing the words before they could form. This time, it was slower, darker somehow, as if he wanted to take his time with you. His teeth caught your bottom lip, tugging just hard enough to make you gasp.

That sound—it was like a spark to gasoline. His tongue slid against yours, deepening the kiss, and you melted into him, gripping his shoulders for support. His hands moved again, squeezing your ass like it was second nature, and the soft sound you made in response sent a shiver up your spine.

He pulled back, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke. “You’ve been holding out on me,” he muttered, his tone laced with amusement but carrying that edge of something darker, something uniquely Damien.

You couldn’t help but laugh, though it came out breathless and shaky. “Or maybe you’re just bringing it out of me,” you replied, trying to sound casual, but the way your voice wavered gave you away.

He smirked, his thumb brushing the side of your jaw. “I could get used to this,” he murmured, his tone softening slightly, though his eyes still held that stormy intensity.

You tried to relax into the moment, to ignore the small, nagging voice in the back of your mind that whispered you didn’t belong here—that this wasn’t really you. But Damien’s hands and the heat of his lips grounded you, kept you tethered to the present, even as doubt clawed at the edges.

You leaned in to kiss him again, desperate to shake off the unease that clung to you, and he met you halfway, his movements smooth and practiced. His lips pressed against yours with a precision that felt almost too perfect, as though he’d done this countless times before—and maybe he had. That thought burrowed into the back of your mind, unwanted and distracting, as your tongue met his in a rhythm you were still struggling to master.

Your hands, unsure of what to do, hovered for a moment before one drifted to the hem of his jeans, your fingers lightly brushing the fabric. It was meant to ground you, to give you something to focus on besides the chaos inside your head. You didn’t even realize how charged the gesture might seem until Damien groaned softly into your mouth—a sound low and rough that sent a jolt through your chest.

You jerked back instinctively, your breaths uneven. “Are you… okay?” you asked, your voice trembling, your gaze darting over his face as if searching for an answer.

Damien’s lips pulled into an easy, amused smile, his gray eyes glinting in the dim light. “You’re cute,” he said, his tone effortlessly calm, as though nothing could faze him.

Heat surged into your cheeks, and you stammered, words tripping over each other. “I—I wasn’t trying to—um—sorry, I didn’t mean—”

His soft chuckle cut through your flustered rambling, a sound that felt both reassuring and maddening. “Relax,” he murmured, his hands still steady on your waist. His thumbs brushed over the fabric of your skirt, his touch gentle but charged.

You tried to follow his instruction, to let go of the tension knotted in your shoulders, but it wasn’t that simple. Your thoughts were tangled, shifting between the moment you were in and the lingering questions that never seemed to leave you alone. Damien was right here, holding you, touching you, and he liked you—didn’t he? That should’ve been enough to push everything else aside, but it wasn’t.

Your fingers tightened around the hem of your skirt, a subtle attempt to steady yourself, but it did little to calm the discomfort settling in your chest. What was wrong with you? Why couldn’t you just enjoy this?

Damien’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. He leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear. “Can I touch you?” he whispered, his tone low and intimate, his fingers brushing the edge of your skirt.

Your heart stuttered at his words, and you froze. Heat rushed through you, and uncertainty quickly followed. Did you want this? Could you even handle this right now? You swallowed hard, your throat dry as the weight of his question hung in the air.

You focused on the present—the way his hands felt on your waist, the heat radiating from his body, the intensity of his gaze. This was what you’d been hoping for, wasn’t it? The moment you’d dreamed about when you thought of Damien—the effortless allure, the magnetic confidence, the way his presence seemed to pull you in without even trying.

But something about it felt off. Like you were trying to force a puzzle piece into a space it didn’t quite fit.

“The party,” you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper, “it’s soon, so maybe… not?”

Damien stilled for a second, his hands loosening their grip on your waist. You held your breath, half expecting him to push back or, worse, to shut down entirely. Instead, a low chuckle rumbled in his chest, and he pulled back slightly to meet your eyes.

“Yeah, all good,” he said, his voice smooth, like nothing had fazed him. “No pressure or anything.”

He cupped your face gently, his thumb brushing along your cheekbone as he leaned in to press a kiss to your lips. It was slower this time, softer, like he was dialing everything back to put you at ease. The tenderness of the gesture was almost disarming, and for a brief moment, you forgot the knot of unease in your chest.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his gray eyes searching yours, his tone lighter now. “For real, don’t stress about it,” he murmured. “We’ve got all the time in the world, yeah?”

The casualness of his words was both reassuring and frustrating. You nodded weakly, forcing a smile as his hands moved from your face to your waist again, his grip looser now.

“Thanks,” you said, your voice wavering slightly.

“Don’t sweat it,” he replied, his lips quirking into a faint smirk. “But maybe we should make sure you don’t show up to this party looking like you’ve been… I don’t know, thinking too hard or something.”

You let out a weak laugh, the teasing in his tone lightening the tension. “Thinking too hard?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah,” he shot back, leaning casually against his headboard, his grin lazy but amused. “You’ve got that look on your face like you’re solving world hunger or some shit. Let me guess—freaking out about whether your lipstick’s smudged?”

Despite yourself, you laughed again, rolling your eyes as you adjusted your skirt. “Shut up.”

“Just saying,” he teased, nudging your chin up with his knuckle. “Relax a little. We’re about to go get wasted in someone’s trashed living room. It’s not that deep.”

He stood, stretching slightly before brushing his fingers through his dark hair, fixing a strand that had fallen out of place. His confidence and ease felt like a stark contrast to the quiet storm in your chest.

As you adjusted your appearance in the mirror, you wondered if you were putting too much weight on tonight. If maybe Damien wasn’t the issue, and you were just too caught up in trying to make things perfect. But even as you told yourself to relax, a flicker of doubt lingered, quiet but stubborn.

The night air was cold, but inside Kenny’s beat-up pickup truck, it was pure chaos. The windows were cracked open just enough to let in the smell of cigarettes and damp earth, mixing with the lingering scent of fast food wrappers shoved under the seats. The engine groaned with every bump in the road, and the muffler was definitely dragging somewhere behind them.

Kyle sat stiffly in the passenger seat, gripping the door handle as though his life depended on it. He hated this truck—he hated the way it rattled and creaked, the way the passenger door didn’t quite close all the way, and the fact that the seatbelt was frayed and probably not even functional. But what he hated even more was the conversation happening in the backseat.

“Man, Kyle, I’m honestly impressed,” Cartman started, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the back of Kyle’s seat. His grin was wide and full of malice, the kind of grin that meant he was gearing up for something terrible. “You’ve got balls, dude. Showing up to this party knowing damn well you’re gonna have to watch Damien stick his tongue down her throat all night? That’s some masochist-level shit right there.”

Kyle’s jaw tightened, and he stared straight ahead, refusing to take the bait.

“Oh, come on,” Cartman pressed, clearly delighted by the lack of response. “You’re just gonna sit there and pretend you’re totally fine with it? ‘Oh, it’s cool, she’s only dating Damien—you know, the guy who probably writes shitty poetry about her in his Moleskine journal. No big deal.’”

“Cartman, shut the fuck up,” Kyle muttered, his voice low and strained.

“Seriously, dude, what’s your plan?” Kenny chimed in from behind the wheel, his voice light but teasing. “You’re just gonna stare at her all night and hope Damien spontaneously combusts? Because, uh, spoiler alert: that’s not gonna happen.”

Kyle turned his glare on Kenny, but before he could say anything, Stan finally looked up from his phone, his tone flat. “Will you guys just leave him alone already?” He shot Kyle a quick look in the rearview mirror, one that said I’ve got your back—but also, you’re an idiot. “You’re not exactly helping.”

“Helping with what?” Cartman crowed, his grin widening. “Stan, are you telling me Kyle actually thinks he has a shot with her? Oh my God, that’s even better than I thought!”

“Cartman,” Kyle snapped, his voice sharp, “I swear to God, if you don’t shut the fuck up—”

“What?” Cartman interrupted, leaning even closer, his tone mockingly sweet. “You gonna cry, Kyle? You gonna get all teary-eyed thinking about how she’s probably sitting in Damien’s lap right now, twirling her hair and giggling at all his deep, brooding observations about life?”

Kenny snorted, one hand loosely gripping the wheel as he glanced over at Kyle. “For real, though, dude. Are you gonna do something about it, or are you just gonna keep sulking and jerking off in your dorm while she’s out with him?”

Kyle’s face turned an alarming shade of red. “You guys are fucking assholes,” he muttered, sinking lower into his seat.

“Yeah, yeah,” Cartman said, waving a hand dismissively. “But, like, seriously, when are you gonna stop being such a little bitch about this? Everyone knows you’re into her. Even she probably knows you’re into her, and she’s still choosing Damien over you. That’s gotta sting, dude.”

Kyle clenched his fists in his lap, his nails digging into his palms. He wanted to snap back, to tell Cartman to go fuck himself, but what was the point? Everything Cartman was saying—everything Kenny and Stan weren’t saying—was already running on a loop in Kyle’s head.

He hadn’t wanted to admit it at first. He’d tried to brush it off, to tell himself he didn’t care when you’d started hanging out with Damien. But then you’d told him about your first date—how amazing it was, how Damien had kissed you—and something inside him had cracked.

Kyle had never been in love before. He didn’t have anything to compare it to, but he figured it had to feel like this—like a constant, gnawing ache in his chest that wouldn’t go away. Like every time he saw you smile at Damien, it was a punch to the gut. He hated it. He hated feeling like this, and he hated that he’d never even realized how much you meant to him until it was too late.

Now, every time you sent him a text about Damien, his stomach twisted in knots. Every time you laughed at one of Damien’s jokes, Kyle wanted to throw something. And every time he saw you with Damien, he felt like an idiot for thinking he’d ever had a chance.

Stan knew, of course. Kyle had confessed it to him after that first date, after you’d sent him that text about Damien kissing you. He hadn’t planned on telling anyone, but Stan had a way of getting the truth out of him without even trying. And while Stan hadn’t exactly been helpful—his response was basically “that sucks, dude”—at least he hadn’t laughed. At least he hadn’t made Kyle feel worse than he already did.

But Cartman? Cartman was relentless. And Kenny wasn’t much better.

“Look, man,” Kenny said after a moment, his tone surprisingly serious. “You can either sit here and let Damien win, or you can grow a pair and tell her how you feel. Your call.”

Kyle let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, because that’s gonna go great. ‘Hey, I know you’re dating Damien, but I’m in love with you. Wanna make things super fucking awkward?’”

“Why not?” Cartman said, smirking. “At least then she’ll know. And when she inevitably rejects you, we can all move on with our lives. Win-win.”

“Jesus Christ, Cartman,” Stan muttered, rubbing his temples. “You’re such a dick.”

“What?” Cartman said, feigning innocence. “I’m just being honest.”

“Honest or not,” Kyle snapped, “no one asked for your opinion, so do me a favor and shut the fuck up.”

The truck fell into a tense silence for a moment, the only sound the faint hum of the engine and the bass-heavy music blasting from Kenny’s shitty speakers.

Finally, Kenny pulled up to the curb outside the party. The house was already packed, the music loud enough to shake the windows. People spilled out onto the lawn, red Solo cups in hand, and the faint smell of weed lingered in the air.

“Alright, we’re here,” Kenny said, throwing the truck into park. “Time to drink away our collective shame.”

Stan climbed out first, stretching as he stepped onto the grass. “God, I need a drink already.”

Cartman followed, brushing crumbs off his jacket. “I’m heading straight for the snacks. Later, bitches.”

Kenny glanced at Kyle, who was still sitting in the passenger seat, staring at the house like it was the last place on earth he wanted to be.

“You coming, or what?” Kenny asked, raising an eyebrow.

Kyle sighed, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Let’s get this over with.”

Kenny smirked, patting him on the shoulder as they climbed out of the truck. “That’s the spirit. Don’t worry—if it all goes to shit, at least you’ll have beer.”

“Great,” Kyle muttered, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets as they headed toward the house. He kept his eyes on the ground, scowling at the sight of crushed beer cans and cigarette butts littering the yard. He wasn’t even drunk yet, and he already wanted to leave.

Kenny, on the other hand, was in his element. He grinned as he slung an arm over Kyle’s shoulders, dragging him along like they were on some kind of triumphant adventure instead of a slow march into hell. “Cheer up, Kahl,” Kenny teased, his voice light and playful. “It’s a party! Who knows? Maybe you’ll finally grow some balls and make a move tonight.”

Kyle shrugged him off with a glare. “Can you not?”

“Aw, come on,” Kenny said, laughing as they stepped onto the front porch. “You’re such a buzzkill.”

The front door swung open before Kenny could knock, and the sound of pounding bass and drunken laughter hit them like a freight train. Kyle winced, his shoulders tensing as they walked inside. The living room was packed with people—some dancing, some shouting over the music, and others sprawled across the furniture with beers in hand.

“Ugh, I already hate this,” Kyle muttered, his scowl deepening.

“Yeah, no one cares,” Cartman said, brushing past him to head straight for the snack table. “Have fun wallowing in self-pity, loser. I’ve got a date with some chips and queso.”

Stan rolled his eyes, following Cartman with his hands shoved into his pockets. “Try not to eat the entire table this time, fatass.”

“Fuck you, Stan!” Cartman shouted over his shoulder.

Kenny stayed by Kyle’s side, navigating through the crowd. Kyle’s eyes darted around the room, catching glimpses of familiar faces. Tweek was in the corner, jittering nervously as Craig leaned against the wall next to him, looking completely unbothered as usual. Clyde was nearby, loudly retelling some exaggerated story to Tolkien, who was nodding along politely but clearly not listening.

On the couch, Red, Wendy, and Bebe were huddled together, laughing over something on Red’s phone. Wendy looked up briefly and waved at Stan, who gave her a small nod before disappearing into the kitchen.

Kenny grinned, raising a hand in greeting as they passed. “Yo, what’s up, guys?” he called out.

“Hey, Kenny!” Bebe replied, flashing him a bright smile before nudging Red and whispering something that made her giggle.

Kyle’s scowl deepened as he caught sight of Damien across the room. He was leaning against the wall with that same infuriatingly relaxed posture, his black leather boots crossed at the ankles and a cigarette dangling from his lips. He wasn’t even doing anything—just standing there—but somehow, he still managed to look like the cover of an indie rock album.

Kyle quickly looked away, his stomach twisting.

“Don’t even think about it,” Kenny said, leaning closer to him. “You’re not allowed to start sulking until you’ve had at least one drink.”

“I don’t sulk,” Kyle snapped.

Kenny raised an eyebrow, his smirk growing. “Sure you don’t. Come on.”

Before Kyle could protest, Kenny steered him toward the makeshift bar set up in the kitchen. It was a sad assortment of cheap liquor bottles, half-empty mixers, and a bucket of melted ice with a few beers floating aimlessly inside. Someone had written “BAR” in black Sharpie on a cardboard sign taped to the wall.

Kenny grabbed two plastic cups and handed one to Kyle before reaching for a bottle of rum. “Alright, dudel,” he said, pouring a generous amount into Kyle’s cup. “Time to loosen up. You’re gonna drink this, and then we’re gonna find something to talk about that isn’t Damien or [Y/N]. Deal?”

Kyle stared at the cup like it was full of poison. “I hate rum.”

“Then drink faster so you can move on to something else,” Kenny replied, adding a splash of Coke to his own cup.

Kyle sighed, taking the cup reluctantly. He sniffed it, wrinkling his nose at the strong smell of alcohol, before taking a small sip. It burned on the way down, and he immediately grimaced. “This is disgusting.”

“Welcome to college, buddy,” Kenny said, clinking his cup against Kyle’s with a grin.

Before Kyle could respond, a voice called out from behind them. “Kenny! Kyle! You guys made it!”

They turned to see Clyde stumbling toward them, already holding a beer in each hand. His cheeks were flushed, and he had that goofy, half-drunk grin that Kyle always found irritating.

“Of course we made it,” Kenny said, slapping Clyde on the back. “Wouldn’t miss the chance to watch Kyle have a mental breakdown in public.”

“Fuck off,” Kyle muttered, taking another reluctant sip of his drink.

Clyde laughed, clearly not picking up on the tension. “Man, this party’s already insane. You guys gotta hit the beer pong table later. Surprisingly, Tweek and Craig are undefeated right now, but I’m calling bullshit on some of their shots.”

“Maybe later,” Kenny said, throwing an arm around Kyle again. “First, I gotta make sure my boy here doesn’t bolt the second he sees [Y/N].”

Kyle froze, his grip tightening on the cup. “Kenny.”

“What?” Kenny said innocently. “I’m just saying, you should at least try to enjoy yourself. She’s not gonna be stuck to Damien’s hip all night, you know.”

Kyle glared at him, his face heating up. “I’m not talking about this right now.”

Clyde tilted his head at the two of them, clearly intrigued by Kyle’s reaction, but didn’t push further. “Alright, well, Tolkien’s probably wondering where the hell I went. You know how he gets—acts like my damn babysitter anytime I’ve had more than two beers.” He took a swig from one of the bottles in his hands before jerking his thumb toward the other side of the room. “I’ll catch you guys later. Oh, and Kyle, if you’re playing beer pong later, you’re on my team. Tolkien sucks at it, and I’m not losing to Craig and Tweek again.” He winked and walked off, rejoining Tolkien, who was still standing by the snack table with his usual air of mild exasperation.

Kenny chuckled, shaking his head as he watched Clyde go. “Man, that guy’s a mess. You gotta give him credit for his energy, though.”

Kyle said nothing, his gaze fixed on the rim of his cup as he swirled the contents inside. His thoughts were already slipping back to the one person he was desperately trying not to think about, and Kenny’s incessant teasing wasn’t helping.

Kenny let out a long, exaggerated sigh, clearly annoyed by Kyle’s silence. “Alright, dude, enough with the brooding.” Without waiting for a response, he grabbed Kyle’s wrist, pulling him toward the couch where Wendy, Bebe, and Red were seated.

“What the hell are you doing?” Kyle hissed, stumbling slightly as Kenny dragged him through the crowd.

“I’m saving you from yourself,” Kenny replied without looking back. “You’re a buzzkill, and it’s killing my vibe. Come on, we’re talking to people.”

“I don’t want to talk to anyone,” Kyle muttered, but Kenny ignored him, weaving through the mess of bodies like it was his second nature.

The girls looked up as they approached, their conversation pausing as Kenny flopped down onto the arm of the couch with his usual casual charm.

“Kenny!” Wendy greeted, her dark eyes brightening as she glanced at him, then over at Kyle. “Hey, Kyle!”

Red waved, a grin spreading across her face. “Look who finally decided to join us!”

Bebe, leaning lazily against the back of the couch with a drink in hand, raised an eyebrow as she looked Kyle up and down. “Wow, you actually got him out of his cave? Impressive.”

Kenny grinned, tipping his drink in their direction. “What can I say? I’m a miracle worker. Kyle here would’ve spent the whole night moping if I hadn’t dragged him out.”

“I don’t mope, you prick,” Kyle said defensively, his face already flushing under the weight of their attention.

“Sure you don’t,” Bebe said with a smirk, swirling her drink. “You always look this miserable, right?”

Kyle shot her a look but didn’t respond, choosing instead to take a sip of his drink. He hoped it would help him tune out the conversation, but it didn’t stop Kenny from throwing an arm around his shoulders.

“So,” Kenny said, glancing at the girls with a grin, “what’s the damage so far? Who’s hooked up? Who’s gotten blackout drunk? Give me the highlights.”

Red laughed, brushing a strand of red hair over her shoulder. “Butters is trying to play DJ but keeps fighting with Jimmy over the aux cord, Nichole and Heidi are arguing about whether Taylor Swift is overrated, and someone already spilled an entire drink on the couch. Pretty standard so far.”

“Nichole and Heidi at it again?” Kenny asked, laughing. “Man, I’d pay to see that. It’s like a weekly debate club with those two.”

“I give it ten more minutes before they start throwing drinks,” Wendy chimed in, rolling her eyes.

Kyle stood stiffly next to the couch, trying to focus on their chatter instead of his own thoughts. But the knot in his stomach refused to loosen, no matter how many sips of rum and Coke he took.

And then, over the noise of the party, he heard it—your laugh.

It pierced through the chaos like a knife, sharp and clear, and Kyle froze, his grip tightening around his cup. His head turned instinctively toward the sound, and there you were.

You were by the beer pong table, standing between Craig and Tweek, holding a bright red Solo cup in one hand. Your cheeks were flushed, and your movements had that slightly loose, carefree quality that only came with being tipsy. You gestured wildly as you spoke, making Tweek laugh nervously while Craig smirked.

Kyle’s stomach twisted as his gaze drifted lower, taking in your outfit. You were wearing a short black skirt with a silver belt, paired with an oversized black sweater that hung off one shoulder. It was edgy, sleek, and completely different from the way you used to dress. Your boots had a chunky heel, making you look taller, and the silver chain around your neck glinted under the dim party lights. Even your makeup was different—darker and heavier, with smudged eyeliner that gave you a dramatic, smoky look.

You looked incredible.

And Kyle hated it.

He hated how much you’d changed to match Damien’s aesthetic, as if you’d molded yourself into his perfect counterpart. He hated the way your skirt clung to your hips, drawing every pair of eyes in the room, including his. He hated the way you were laughing with Craig and Tweek, so at ease, so happy, while his insides were in knots.

But most of all, he hated how his chest ached just looking at you.

“You good, dude?” Kenny asked, leaning closer to Kyle and snapping him out of his trance.

Kyle blinked, tearing his eyes away from you and fixing them on the rim of his cup. “I’m fine,” he muttered, though his voice lacked any conviction.

Kenny tilted his head, following Kyle’s gaze across the room. When he spotted you by the beer pong table, his smirk widened. “Ah. I see what’s going on.”

Kyle bristled, glaring at Kenny out of the corner of his eye. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Kenny said innocently, though his tone was anything but. “I’m just pointing out that someone’s looking real good tonight. Guess Damien’s rubbing off on her, huh?”

Kyle’s jaw clenched so hard it hurt. “Shut up.”

“Relax,” Kenny said, clinking his cup against Kyle’s. “I’m just messing with you. Besides, if you don’t want to stare at her all night, you could, I don’t know, talk to her?”

Kyle shot him a withering glare. “Yeah, because that’s exactly what I want to do right now.”

“Suit yourself,” Kenny replied with a shrug, leaning back against the arm of the couch. “But if you keep standing here looking like you just lost a fight with a blender, everyone’s gonna notice.”

Kyle ignored him, his knuckles tightening around his cup as your laugh rang out again, bright and unguarded. He hated how easily it cut through him, how it made his chest tighten even as he tried to shove the feeling down.

Red, noticing Kyle’s stiff posture, glanced between him and Kenny. “What’s his deal?” she asked, lowering her voice.

“Nothing,” Kenny said, grinning. “Just loves a good party, don’t you, Kyle?”

Kyle shot Kenny another glare but didn’t respond. Across the room, you were standing with Tweek and Craig, laughing at something Craig had just said. Your cheeks were flushed, and the way you tilted your head back in laughter was enough to make Kyle’s stomach churn uncomfortably.

He tried to look away, forcing himself to focus on his drink, but Kenny wasn’t about to let him off the hook. “Dude, you’re not subtle. You might as well hold up a neon sign that says ‘I’m in love with [Y/N] and I hate myself.’”

“Shut the fuck up, Kenny,” Kyle muttered, gripping his plastic cup tighter.

“Relax, bro,” Kenny said, smirking. “It’s a party. Maybe if you stopped glaring at her like you’re auditioning for The Bachelor, you’d actually have some fun.”

Before Kyle could respond, Cartman and Stan strolled up, Cartman holding a plate of nachos stacked so high it was practically a health hazard. He took one look at Kyle’s face and grinned like a shark smelling blood in the water.

“Aw, what’s wrong, Kahl?” Cartman asked, his tone dripping with mock sympathy. “She not paying enough attention to you? Guess that’s what happens when you’re boring as shit.”

“I swear to God, Cartman,” Kyle growled, his knuckles whitening around his cup.

“What? I’m just saying, she’s got options,” Cartman said, gesturing toward you with his nacho plate. “Look at her, all dolled up and smiling like that. If I were her, I’d walk right past you too.”

Stan raised an eyebrow, glancing between Kyle and you across the room. “She does look happy, though,” he said casually, taking a sip of his drink. “She’s been smiling all night.”

Kyle turned to glare at him, but Stan shrugged. “What? I’m just saying. Maybe you should stop overthinking everything and just… go talk to her.”

Kyle opened his mouth to retort, but then he noticed it.

You had left Craig and Tweek, your drink still in hand, and were making your way toward Damien.

Kyle’s heart sank as he watched you walk across the room, your black skirt swishing lightly with each step. You looked confident, carefree, and… happy. Too happy. When you reached Damien, you flashed him that big, bright smile—the kind of smile that used to feel like it belonged to Kyle.

Damien smirked down at you, taking a drag from his cigarette before casually flicking the ash into a nearby beer can. He leaned closer to you, saying something that made you laugh again, your hand lightly brushing his arm.

Kyle’s chest tightened as he stared at the scene, his drink frozen halfway to his lips.

“Uh-oh,” Kenny said, noticing Kyle’s expression. “Here we go.”

“I’m fine,” Kyle muttered, though his voice cracked slightly. He quickly downed the rest of his drink, hoping the alcohol would drown out the growing knot in his stomach.

“Sure you are,” Cartman said, his grin widening. “Meanwhile, Damien’s over there stealing your girl. Guess she’s got a thing for guys who dress like they shop exclusively at Hot Topic.”

“She’s not my girl,” Kyle snapped, his voice sharp. “And I don’t care what Damien does.”

“Oh, you care,” Kenny said with a laugh. “You care so fucking much it’s hilarious. Dude, just look at your face right now. You’re one bad comment away from going full Incredible Hulk.”

Stan chuckled, shaking his head. “Maybe you should just go over there,” he said, clearly enjoying Kyle’s discomfort. “Say hi. You know, remind her you exist.”

“Yeah, Kyle,” Cartman said, his voice dripping with faux encouragement. “Why don’t you go introduce yourself to Damien while you’re at it? Maybe he’ll give you tips on how to not be a total buzzkill.”

“Fuck all of you,” Kyle muttered, pouring himself another drink with slightly shaky hands.

But the boys weren’t done.

“Seriously, dude,” Kenny pressed, leaning in with a grin. “You’re just gonna let her laugh at all his shitty jokes like that? You know he probably writes cringe poetry about this shit, right? Like, ‘Oh, [Y/N], the light of my dark soul, your laugh is the melody to my eternal despair.’”

Stan snorted into his drink. “Pretty accurate, honestly.”

Kyle glared at all of them, his face growing redder by the second. “I’m not going over there.”

“Why not?” Cartman said, feigning innocence. “What’s the worst that could happen? Oh, wait, I know—she’ll ignore you and keep talking to Damien, and you’ll have to sit here and watch. But hey, you’re already doing that, so really, you’ve got nothing to lose!”

“God, you’re such a fat piece of shit,” Kyle spat, his voice rising slightly.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Cartman said, waving him off. “Look, either grow some balls and interrupt, or stop staring at her like a creepy stalker. Pick one.”

Kyle’s grip on his cup tightened, his mind racing as his friends’ voices buzzed around him like mosquitoes. Part of him wanted to stay put, to stubbornly refuse to give them the satisfaction of seeing him crack. But the other part of him—the part that couldn’t stand the sight of Damien smirking down at you—was already inching closer to the edge.

“Do it,” Kenny whispered, his voice low and teasing. “Go over there. Be the hero of your own tragic love story.”

Kyle slammed his cup down on the table, the sound cutting through the noise. “Fine,” he snapped, standing up so abruptly that Kenny nearly spilled his drink.

“Holy shit, he’s actually doing it,” Cartman said, wide-eyed with amusement. “This is gonna be fucking gold.”

“Shut up,” Kyle muttered, his fists clenching at his sides as he stormed off toward you and Damien.

“Good luck!” Kenny called after him, grinning ear to ear.

As Kyle pushed through the crowd, his heart pounded in his chest, each step feeling heavier than the last. By the time he reached you, his palms were clammy, and his thoughts were a tangled mess of frustration and adrenaline.

You looked up as he approached, your smile brightening. “Kyle! Hey!”

Damien raised an eyebrow, his smirk never faltering as he exhaled a plume of smoke. “Well, well,” he drawled, his voice smooth and low. “Didn’t expect to see you here, Broflovski.”

Kyle ignored him, forcing a tight smile as he looked at you. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

Your brows furrowed slightly, but you nodded. “Uh, yeah, sure.”

Damien’s smirk widened as he took another drag of his cigarette. “Don’t let me stop you,” he said, stepping aside with an exaggerated bow.

Kyle shot Damien a glare before turning back to you, his stomach churning as he tried to find the words. The alcohol buzzing in his system wasn’t helping—it only made his thoughts heavier and harder to untangle. You were standing so close, your big, tipsy smile softening into concern as you looked at him, your wide, glassy eyes locking on his.

“Kyle, are you okay?” you asked, your voice gentle and warm but slightly slurred. You placed a hand on his arm, squeezing it lightly. “You look… I dunno, kinda stressed out or something. Are you sick?”

“I—uh, no, I’m fine,” Kyle stammered, his face heating up. He was hyper-aware of your hand on his arm, your touch sending a jolt of electricity through him that made his heart hammer in his chest. “I’m not sick.”

“You don’t look fine,” you said, your brows furrowing. “Your face is all red. Did Cartman say something to piss you off again? I swear, I’ll fight him.”

Before Kyle could respond, you turned to Damien, who had been silently watching the two of you with that same lazy smirk on his face. “Hey, Damien,” you said, your voice light and sweet. “I’m gonna take Kyle upstairs for a bit. He doesn’t look too good.”

Damien raised an eyebrow, taking another drag of his cigarette. “Whatever you say, babe,” he drawled, exhaling smoke through his nose.

You smiled at him, completely unfazed. “I’ll find you later, okay?”

“Sure,” Damien said, waving you off lazily. “Take your time.”

You turned back to Kyle, grabbing his wrist with both hands. “Come on,” you said, tugging him gently. “Let’s go somewhere quiet. You look like you’re about to explode or something.”

“I’m fine—” Kyle started to say, but the words died in his throat as you began pulling him through the crowd.

“Shush,” you said over your shoulder, your tone light but firm. “You’re coming with me, and that’s final.”

Kyle had no choice but to follow, his heart pounding as you led him up the stairs. The noise of the party faded slightly as you reached the second floor, and Kyle’s mind raced with a chaotic swirl of emotions: guilt, frustration, and that stupid, unbearable ache in his chest every time you smiled at him.

You pushed open the door to one of the bedrooms and tugged him inside, closing the door behind you with a soft click. The music from downstairs was muffled now, the quiet making the room feel oddly intimate.

You turned to face Kyle, your eyes scanning his face with drunken concern. “Okay,” you said, your voice softer now. “What’s going on? And don’t say ‘nothing,’ because I know that’s a lie.”

Kyle hesitated, his throat dry as he searched for an answer. “It’s not… it’s not a big deal,” he said, avoiding your gaze. “I just needed to get out of there.”

“Bullshit,” you said, crossing your arms. The motion made you wobble slightly on your feet, and Kyle instinctively reached out to steady you. You smiled at him, leaning into his hand for a moment before continuing. “You’ve been acting weird for weeks, Kyle. And now you’re all quiet and broody, and it’s freaking me out. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

Kyle stared at you, his chest tightening as the words he’d been holding back for weeks clawed at the edges of his mind. The alcohol in his system buzzed like static, loosening his tongue just enough to make him consider saying them out loud.

But then he thought about Damien. About the way you’d smiled at him downstairs. About how easily he’d called you “babe.”

The knot in Kyle’s stomach twisted tighter, and he looked away, clenching his jaw. “It’s nothing,” he said quietly. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” you said, stepping closer to him. “Kyle, come on. You can talk to me. You’re my best friend.”

Kyle’s heart sank at those words. Best friend. The title felt like a prison sentence, locking him into a role he didn’t know how to escape.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean to ignore you.”

You frowned, your bottom lip jutting out slightly in a tipsy pout. “Then stop ignoring me,” you said, your voice soft but insistent. “I hate when you shut me out. It makes me feel like… like you don’t want me around anymore.”

Kyle’s chest ached at the vulnerability in your voice, and he swallowed hard, forcing himself to meet your gaze. “That’s not true,” he said quickly. “I do want you around. I just…” He trailed off, the words dying in his throat.

“Just what?” you asked, tilting your head.

Kyle hesitated, his mind racing. He wanted to tell you the truth—to tell you everything. But the words felt too heavy, too dangerous to say out loud.

“It’s complicated,” he said finally, his voice barely audible.

You studied him for a moment, your expression softening. Then, to his surprise, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into a hug.

“I don’t care if it’s complicated,” you said, your voice muffled against his shoulder. “I just don’t want you to shut me out anymore.”

Kyle froze for a moment, but then he slowly wrapped his arms around you, his chest tightening as he rested his chin lightly on your head.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s okay,” you said, pulling back slightly to look up at him. Your cheeks were flushed, and your eyes were glassy from the alcohol, but your smile was warm and genuine. “Just… promise me you won’t avoid me anymore, okay?”

“I promise,” Kyle said, though his voice wavered slightly.

“Good,” you said, grinning. “Now sit down before you pass out or something. You look like you need it.”

Kyle sat down on the edge of the bed as instructed. He stared down at his hands, his fingers fidgeting nervously in his lap. The faint buzz of alcohol in his veins did little to steady his thoughts as the quiet room pressed in on him.

You followed his lead, plopping down beside him with a soft sigh. “God, my feet are killing me,” you muttered, leaning forward to tug at the zipper of one of your boots. You struggled with it for a moment, your fingers fumbling before letting out a small huff of frustration. “Why did I think heels were a good idea? Damien said they looked cute, but these things are, like, torture devices.”

Kyle’s jaw clenched at the mention of Damien, but he kept quiet. Instead, his eyes drifted toward you, watching as you wrestled with your boot. The dim light cast soft shadows across your face, and for a moment, Kyle was struck by how different you looked.

It wasn’t just the makeup—though the smoky eyeliner and dark lipstick were so far removed from your usual style that it almost felt like you were playing dress-up. It wasn’t just the clothes, either, though the short black skirt and off-the-shoulder sweater made you seem like a stranger in your own skin. Something about the way you carried yourself tonight—tipsy, carefree, and so eager to please Damien—felt like a version of you he didn’t recognize.

He hated it.

“Ugh, these boots suck,” you grumbled, finally freeing one of them with an audible thud as it hit the floor. You let out a breath of relief, wiggling your toes through your tights before moving on to the other boot. “I swear, I’m gonna burn these things when I get home.”

Kyle’s lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smile breaking through his otherwise tense expression. “You love those boots,” he said quietly, his voice low and edged with disbelief.

“Yeah, well, I loved them before they tried to murder my feet,” you replied, flashing him a lopsided grin. “Tonight might be their last hurrah.”

Kyle didn’t respond. Instead, his gaze lingered on you, taking in the slight sheen of sweat on your brow from the crowded party, the smudge of dark lipstick on the corner of your mouth. You looked… tired. Beautiful, yes, but not the way you usually were.

You caught him staring, your brow furrowing slightly as you set your other boot on the floor with a soft thunk. “What?” you asked, your voice softer now, tinged with curiosity.

Kyle hesitated, his throat suddenly dry. “Nothing,” he said quickly, looking away. He felt his cheeks heat under your gaze, and he cursed himself for being so obvious.

But you didn’t let it go. You shifted closer to him, your knee brushing against his. “It’s not nothing,” you pressed, tilting your head to try and meet his eyes. “You’ve been quiet ever since we came up here. What’s on your mind?”

Kyle clenched his jaw, his fingers curling into fists in his lap. He could feel your eyes on him, and it was unbearable. Part of him wanted to lie, to brush you off with some sarcastic comment or a half-assed excuse. But another part—the part that had been screaming at him all night—wanted to tell you the truth.

“You look… different,” he said finally, his voice low and hesitant.

You blinked, caught off guard by the statement. “Different?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Kyle swallowed hard, his gaze darting to your face before quickly looking away again. “I don’t know. It’s just… the makeup, the clothes… It’s not… you.”

Your brows furrowed, and for a moment, you didn’t say anything. When you finally spoke, your voice was quiet, almost defensive. “I thought it looked good.”

“It does,” Kyle said quickly, his words tumbling out before he could stop them. “I mean, you look… amazing. But it’s just… it’s not the you I’m used to. That’s all.”

You frowned, your fingers picking at the hem of your skirt. “Damien likes this look,” you said softly, almost as if you were trying to convince yourself. “He said it suits me.”

Kyle’s chest ached at the mention of Damien again, and before he could stop himself, the words slipped out. “What about what you like?”

Your frown deepened as you turned to face him fully, your body shifting so that your knees touched his. “What does it matter what I like?” you asked. “For the first time in my life, someone’s actually interested in me. Someone thinks I’m… I don’t know, worth noticing. And you… you can’t even be happy for me.”

Kyle froze, his lips parting as he processed your words. “That’s not—” he started, but you cut him off, your voice rising just enough to make him stop.

“Don’t,” you snapped, your hands balling into fists on your lap. “You’ve been ignoring me for weeks. Ignoring my texts, rejecting every time I tried to hang out—like I don’t even matter to you anymore. And now, when I finally feel like someone cares, you’re sitting here questioning me. What’s your problem?”

Kyle felt his frustration bubbling just under the surface, a mixture of guilt, confusion, and the alcohol buzzing in his system. “I don’t have a problem,” he said sharply, his eyes locking with yours. “I just—Damien’s not—”

“Oh, my God, don’t start with that again!” you exclaimed, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “You don’t like Damien. Fine. But maybe, just maybe, this isn’t about you! Maybe I don’t need your approval for every decision I make!”

Kyle’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching against his thighs. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?!” you demanded, your voice cracking as the anger surged in your chest. “Because all you’ve done since Damien and I started hanging out is act like I’m making some huge mistake. You don’t know him. You don’t even try to get to know him. You just sit there and judge me like… like I’m doing something wrong by being happy for once!”

Kyle opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat. He didn’t know how to explain it—how to tell you that seeing you with Damien made his stomach churn, that every time he thought about you two together, it felt like he was losing something he didn’t know how to hold onto.

But before he could even try, you leaned in closer, your voice dropping to a low, biting tone. “And don’t think I didn’t notice, by the way,” you said, your eyes narrowing. “The way you’ve been acting ever since that night.”

Kyle’s heart stuttered, and he froze. “What night?” he asked, though he already knew.

“Oh, come on, Kyle,” you snapped, your expression sharp with anger. “You know what I’m talking about. The practice kisses. Remember that? Or are you just going to pretend it didn’t happen?”

Kyle’s face flushed, and he looked away. “I wasn’t pretending anything,” he muttered, his voice low.

“Bullshit!” you shot back, your voice rising. “Ever since that night, you’ve been weird. You won’t talk to me, you won’t look at me—hell, you won’t even answer my texts half the time! What the hell, Kyle? Was it that horrible? Was I that horrible?”

Kyle’s head snapped up at that, his eyes wide with disbelief. “What? No! That’s not—God, that’s not what it is, [Y/N]!”

“Then what is it?” you demanded, your voice breaking slightly. “Because I can’t figure it out. One minute, you’re helping me, you’re… you’re my best friend, and then the next, you’re shutting me out like I don’t even exist. And now, you’re sitting here acting like you care, but all you’re doing is making me feel like I’m doing something wrong. What do you want from me?”

Kyle wanted to say something—anything—to make you understand, to fix the mess he’d created, but the words wouldn’t come. He felt like he was caught in a trap of his own making, his own silence pulling him further and further away from you.

“Nothing,” he said finally, his voice hollow. “I don’t want anything from you.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head as you stood up abruptly, putting distance between the two of you. “Right. Nothing. Of course,” you said, your tone dripping with sarcasm. “Well, congratulations. You’re doing a great job of getting exactly that.”

Kyle flinched at your words, but he didn’t move, his hands gripping the edge of the mattress like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. His knuckles had gone pale, the tension in his shoulders evident even though he was sitting so rigidly still.

You noticed immediately, the anger draining from your face as guilt flooded in to replace it. "Shit," you muttered, scooting closer to him. Without even thinking, you reached out and carefully pried one of his hands from the mattress, your fingers sliding between his. His palm was clammy and tense, but you held on anyway, squeezing his hand gently.

"I’m sorry," you said softly, looking up at him with wide, apologetic eyes. "I didn’t mean to snap at you. I just… I don’t know. I feel like I can’t talk to you about this stuff anymore, and it really sucks. You’re my best friend. You’re supposed to be the one I can go to about anything, but it feels like every time I try to bring it up, you shut me out."

Kyle’s eyes flickered down to your intertwined hands. With a small shake of his head, he whispered, "You’re right. I have been shutting you out, and that’s on me. I’m sorry, okay? I’m… I’m listening now. I promise. You can talk to me about Damien, or whatever else, and I won’t be a dick about it this time."

Your lips twitched into a small smile, the tension in your shoulders easing just a little. "You mean it?" you asked, your voice quiet, almost hesitant, like you were afraid of pushing too far.

Kyle nodded, his eyes finally lifting to meet yours. "Yeah. I mean it. I’ll actually listen this time. No more… whatever the hell I’ve been doing lately." His voice was soft but firm, like he was trying to reassure both you and himself at the same time.

The smile that spread across your face was so big it made your cheeks ache. You beamed at him, your eyes sparkling with a mix of relief and happiness. "Thank you," you said, your voice filled with genuine gratitude. You shifted your position, pulling your legs up onto the mattress so you could sit cross-legged, still holding onto his hand like it was some kind of lifeline. "You have no idea how much that means to me."

Kyle let out a shaky breath, a small smile graced his features. "You don’t have to thank me," he muttered. "I’m just trying to make up for being an asshole."

"You’re not an asshole," you said quickly, squeezing his hand again. "You’re just… complicated sometimes. But that’s okay. I mean, I’m not exactly the easiest person to deal with either, so…" You trailed off with a small laugh, your free hand brushing a strand of hair out of your face.

Kyle huffed out a soft laugh, shaking his head. "You’re easier to deal with than you think," he said, his voice tinged with something almost… fond. But he quickly cleared his throat, looking away as if to hide whatever had just slipped into his tone.

You didn’t press him on it, instead letting the moment hang in a comfortable silence for a few seconds. Then you shifted slightly, leaning your shoulder against his. "So… what do you want to know?" you asked, your voice light and teasing, but with an edge of sincerity. "Because if I’m finally allowed to vent about Damien without getting side-eyes and snarky comments, I’ve got a lot to say."

Kyle groaned, his head falling forward slightly as he rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. "God, you’re really gonna make me suffer through this, aren’t you?"

"Yep," you said with a grin, popping the "p" for emphasis. "You owe me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kyle muttered, though there was a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Alright, fine. Let’s hear it. What’s the latest Damien drama?”

Your face lit up at his begrudging interest, and without hesitation, you launched into a breathless rant, leaning forward slightly. “Okay, so, don’t laugh. But, um, you know how we… uh… practiced, right?”

Kyle froze for half a second, his smirk fading as his lips pressed into a thin, flat line. His grip on the mattress tightened imperceptibly, though he tried to play it off. “Yeah,” he said, keeping his tone as neutral as possible, though his jaw had already started to clench.

“Right, well, I think it’s actually been paying off,” you continued, oblivious to the way Kyle’s entire posture had shifted. “Damien and I were in his dorm the other day—”

Kyle’s stomach dropped. He could already tell where this was going, and he had no idea how he was going to get through it.

“—and we were making out,” you said, your voice softening slightly as if you were confessing a deep secret. You laughed lightly, looking down at your lap, where your fingers fidgeted nervously. “Don’t laugh!”

“I’m not laughing,” Kyle muttered, his tone clipped as he stared straight ahead.

“Anyway,” you continued, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, “we were making out, and then Damien—uh, well, he asked me if he could touch me.”

Kyle’s throat felt like it had closed up. His mind was blank for a moment, his ears buzzing faintly as he tried to process what you were saying. His grip on the mattress edge tightened so much that his knuckles turned white, but you were too lost in your own thoughts to notice.

You laughed again, more nervously this time, and quickly added, “I didn’t know what to do! I panicked and made up some excuse about how we needed to get ready for this party. Like, how stupid is that?”

Kyle's eyes darted to the floor as a wave of irritation, jealousy, and something darker coiled in his chest.

“And I know this is gonna sound dumb,” you continued, still completely unaware of Kyle’s growing anger, “but, like… what does he mean by ‘touch’? Like, do guys have a specific definition for that? Does it mean, like… everything? Or just…”

You trailed off, your cheeks flushing as you turned to Kyle for answers. When you noticed how quiet he was, you frowned slightly. “Kyle, are you listening?”

“Yeah,” he muttered through gritted teeth, not trusting himself to look at you.

“Okay, good, because I have questions.” You shifted on the bed to face him fully, your expression earnest despite the awkward subject matter. “So, like… how does that even work? Like, if he were to finger me or, um, go down on me or something… What are guys even thinking about when they do that? Is there, like, a technique or…?”

Kyle’s head shot up at that, his eyes burning as he finally met your gaze. “Seriously?” he snapped.

Your brows furrowed, taken aback by his tone. “What? I’m just asking. You’re a guy—you should know this stuff!”

Kyle let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Why the hell are you even asking me about this?”

“Because I trust you!” you said, your voice rising slightly in exasperation. “And you’re supposed to be helping me, but you’re just sitting there acting all weird and pissed off! What is your problem?”

“My problem,” he bit out, his voice low and taut, “is that I don’t want to hear about how you’re letting Damien stick his hands down your skirt like he’s auditioning for a fucking porno!”

Your mouth fell open, your cheeks heating up. “What the fuck, Kyle?!”

“I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking!” he snapped, standing abruptly and pacing a few steps away from the bed. His hands balled into fists at his sides as he struggled to keep his voice steady. “You’re sitting here asking me for advice on how to let that pretentious asshole feel you up like it’s some kind of fucking homework assignment, and I’m supposed to just be okay with that?”

You stared at him, your expression caught between anger and hurt. “You’re being a total asshole right now,” you said, your voice trembling slightly.

Kyle laughed bitterly, running a hand over his face. “Yeah, well, maybe I don’t give a shit about Damien and all his ‘techniques.’ Did you ever think about that?”

You stood up, your hands shaking as you pointed an accusatory finger at him. “Why can’t you just be happy for me? Huh? For once in my life, someone actually likes me, and instead of being supportive, you’re acting like a jealous, immature dick!”

Kyle froze at that. For a moment, neither of you said anything. Finally, he turned to face you fully, his green eyes blazing. “You think this is about jealousy?” he said, his voice low and biting. “You think I give a shit about Damien liking you? Newsflash, [Y/N]: I’m pissed because you’re better than this—better than him. But you’re too fucking blind to see it.”

Your lips parted in shock, your heart pounding as his words sank in. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” you demanded.

“It means you’re wasting your time with some asshole who only wants you for one thing,” Kyle shot back, his voice shaking with anger. “And the worst part is, you’re letting him. You’re letting him treat you like you’re some… some easy conquest, and you don’t even realize it!”

Your eyes widened, the sting of his words landing like a slap to the face. You blinked, stunned into silence for a split second before the anger surged in your chest. “That’s not true, and you don’t know a damn thing about him! Damien isn’t like that!” You snapped, your voice trembling as much with fury as with hurt.

Kyle scoffed, throwing his hands up in frustration. “Oh, come on. You really think he’s not? Guys like him don’t just stop at making out. They push. They push until they get what they want. And if you think he’s any different, then you’re being delusional.”

Your mouth fell open, but it wasn’t shock that overcame you this time—it was white-hot rage. “You’re such a shitty best friend!” you shouted, the words spilling out before you could stop yourself. “I don’t even recognize you anymore!”

Kyle flinched at your words, but he didn’t respond, his jaw tightening as he stared at you. That only made you angrier.

“You know what’s funny?” you continued, your voice rising. “I didn’t act like this when you started dating in middle school. Or high school. Or whenever the hell you were hooking up with random girls while I sat there and helped you come up with stupid lines to impress them!”

Kyle opened his mouth to interject, but you cut him off. “No! Let me finish!” you snapped. “When you were fumbling through your first relationship or getting ghosted by whatever girl you liked at the time, I was there. I was supportive. I didn’t tell you that you were being stupid or delusional, or that you were wasting your time. I actually cared about what you were going through!”

The alcohol in Kyle’s system buzzed in his head, loosening the filter on his words. Before he could stop himself, he shot back, his tone laced with venom. “Yeah? Well, maybe that’s because I didn’t need someone holding my hand every five seconds and begging me to tell them what to do.”.

You inhaled sharply, trying to keep your composure, but your voice trembled as you spoke. “I wasn’t… I wasn’t asking you to hold my hand, Kyle,” you choked out, wiping at your eyes. “I just wanted advice. That’s it. I wanted my best friend to help me, the same way you helped me with… with…” Your voice cracked, and you covered your mouth with your hand for a moment, trying to steady yourself. “The same way you helped me when I asked for tips on kissing.”

Kyle froze, the sight of your tears was like a punch to the gut, but the alcohol clouded his better judgment, and he didn’t reach out to comfort you. Instead, he clenched his fists, his own emotions bubbling too close to the surface.

You sniffled, wiping at your face again, though the tears kept coming. “It’s not fair,” you said, your voice breaking as you looked at him with glassy, red-rimmed eyes. “It’s not fair that all four of you—Stan, Kenny, Cartman, and you—you’ve all had sex, and I haven’t. You’ve all done it, and I’m the one who feels like… like I’m the weird one. Like I’m stuck behind everyone else.” You laughed bitterly, though the sound was shaky and laced with pain. “I just wanted to feel like I belonged for once. Like I wasn’t the last one left behind. And I thought… I thought Damien might actually like me enough to change that. But I guess you think I’m just stupid for even trying, huh?”

Kyle shook his head quickly, the guilt in his chest growing heavier with every tear that rolled down your face. “That’s not—” he started, but you cut him off again.

“No, Kyle, it is!” you said, your voice rising as the emotions poured out of you. “You’re not even trying to understand! All you’re doing is making me feel like I’m pathetic for wanting someone to like me back. Do you even realize how lonely it feels to be the only one who hasn’t—who hasn’t…” You trailed off, your voice breaking again as a fresh wave of tears spilled down your cheeks.

Kyle swallowed hard, his throat tightening as he watched you crumble in front of him. He wanted to reach out, to apologize, to fix this, but the words felt trapped in his throat, tangled up in his own mess of emotions.

“I don’t get it,” you said quietly, your voice barely audible over the pounding of Kyle’s heart in his ears. “Why can’t you just be happy for me? Why does it feel like you’re trying to tear me down every time I talk about Damien?”

Kyle’s fists tightened at his sides, his nails digging into his palms as his frustration finally boiled over. “You’re so goddamn oblivious!” he snapped, his voice cracked slightly, but he didn’t care. He tilted his head at you, his eyes burning with an intensity that made your stomach churn. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

You flinched at the venom in his tone, but you held your ground. “Get what, Kyle? That you’ve been treating me like shit for weeks and now you’re trying to act like you’re the victim? Enlighten me!”

Kyle let out a bitter laugh, the sound laced with mockery as he leaned forward, his gaze locking onto yours. “You want me to spell it out for you? Fine. You sit here, all teary-eyed, whining about how unfair it is that you haven’t had sex yet—like it’s some fucking milestone you need to check off—and then you come to me for advice like I’m your personal guide to navigating Damien’s bullshit!”

Your breath hitched, his words hitting you like a slap to the face. “I—that’s not what this is about! I just wanted—”

“What, more tips?” Kyle interrupted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He leaned back against the wall, his arms crossing over his chest as he glared at you. “You want me to give you a step-by-step guide, is that it? Hell, maybe I should just show you, huh? Is that what you want?

The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of his words hanging between you like a storm cloud. Your eyes widened, a mix of shock and hurt flashing across your face as you stared at him, your chest tightening.

“Wow,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “You really are an asshole.”

Kyle’s smirk faltered for a moment, but he quickly masked it with a defensive scowl. “Yeah, well, maybe I’m tired of pretending everything’s fine when it’s not,” he shot back, his voice quieter now but no less biting.

You frowned, his words digging under your skin like splinters, too deep to ignore. Your hands curled into fists at your sides, your nails biting into your palms as you bit back the lump forming in your throat. “Maybe you should,” you said.

His brow furrowed, and for once, he looked caught off guard. “What?” he asked, his voice softer, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard you right.

“Maybe you should show me,” you snapped, taking a step closer, your heart pounding in your chest. “At least then you wouldn’t be able to ignore me afterwards, right? Isn’t that what you want—to stop pretending?”

Kyle froze, his eyes wide and unblinking as he stared at you like you’d just dropped a grenade between the two of you. His mouth opened, but no words came out, his jaw working silently as if he was trying to piece together something coherent to say.

You laughed bitterly, the sound sharp and humorless as you crossed your arms over your chest. “What’s the problem? You were so eager to offer, weren’t you? You can guide me through it—give me tips, just like we did with the kissing practice. Isn’t that what you want?”

His face flushed, the tips of his ears burning red as he averted his gaze, his hands flexing at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them. “That’s not—” he started, but his voice caught, and he let out a frustrated breath instead.

“That’s not what?” you pressed, stepping closer still, your voice shaking with anger. “Not what you meant? Not something you actually want to deal with? God, you’re such a fucking coward.”

His head snapped up at that. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said sharply, his voice taut as he glared at you. “You don’t get it.”

“Then help me get it!” you shouted, your frustration spilling over. “Because all I see is you treating me like shit! You push me away, you won’t talk to me, and now—now you’re acting like I’m the one who’s out of line for trying to fix this!”

Kyle flinched at your words, his shoulders stiff as he dragged a hand through his hair. “You don’t understand,” he muttered, his voice quieter now but no less tense.

“Then make me understand!” you demanded, your voice breaking as tears pricked at your eyes. “Because I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep chasing after you when all you do is make me feel like I don’t matter to you at all.”

“You do matter!” he shouted, his voice cracking as his fists clenched at his sides. He looked away, his breathing uneven, as if he was struggling to keep himself together. “You matter more than—” He stopped himself, biting down hard on the words.

“More than what?” you asked, your voice trembling. “If you won’t say it, then show me. Because I don’t know what else to do.”

Kyle frowned, his eyes narrowing as he stared at you. Your words echoed in his mind, loud and relentless, daring him to cross a line he’d spent weeks trying to avoid. He didn’t want to be here—not like this. He didn’t want to hurt you, didn’t want to lash out and say something he couldn’t take back.

But the frustration, the jealousy, the suffocating weight of everything unsaid—it was too much. It burned in his chest, tightened his throat, and made him want to rip out his own hair. Part of him wanted to tell you the truth, to finally explain why he’d been so distant, why the sight of you with Damien made him feel like the ground was crumbling beneath his feet. But the other part, the louder part, told him it was a bad idea. You wouldn’t understand. You’d look at him differently, maybe even hate him. And that thought—that fear—was worse than anything else.

He clenched his jaw, forcing the words down before they could escape. If you wanted him to show you so badly, fine. He’d show you. Maybe then you’d finally realize what you were doing to him, how impossible you’d made it to keep pretending.

His hand shot out, grabbing your wrist. You gasped softly, your eyes widening as he tugged you toward the bed. The surprise left you off-balance, and you stumbled slightly as he guided you backward. His grip wasn’t harsh, but it was firm enough that you couldn’t pull away.

The edge of the mattress hit the backs of your knees, and you sank down onto it without a word. The quiet creak of the springs filled the room as you looked up at him, your lips parted in shock.

Kyle moved without hesitation, sinking to his knees in front of you, his heart was pounding so loudly he could barely hear himself think. His hands found your knees, the warmth of your skin beneath the hem of your skirt grounding him and rattling him all at once.

His lips twisted into a bitter smirk as he looked up at you, his eyes dark with frustration and something bitter. “I’ll show you. I’ll give you tips, advice, whatever the hell you need—for Damien, of course.”

A mixture of anger and a sharp pang of longing twisted in your gut. The intensity in his eyes—focused, almost searching—held you captive, leaving you breathless. The weight of his hands on your knees felt grounding, but the heat of his gaze burned into yours, making it impossible to look away.

“Kyle…” you started, but your voice faltered, your words dying in your throat as his smirk widened.

“Go on,” he said, his voice soft but sharp, his fingers tightening slightly against your skin. “You’ve got questions, right? About what he’ll want, what you’re supposed to do. I’m here to help. Just like you wanted.”

Your hands rose instinctively, pressing against your cheeks as if the pressure could ground you, could slow the racing of your heart. Your palms met the streaked remains of your makeup—smudged eyeliner, sticky mascara—and you could feel the remnants of your tears clinging to your skin. The sweater you wore suddenly felt suffocating, clinging to your body like it weighed a thousand pounds, and your throat tightened as a fresh wave of emotion threatened to overtake you.

You wouldn’t cry. Not again.

You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, forcing down the tears. When you opened them, Kyle’s gaze was still locked on you, his expression intense. The weight of his hands on your knees, warm and steady, felt like a tether keeping you in place even as everything else spun out of control.

Taking a deep breath, you forced your voice to steady, though the words trembled slightly as they left your lips. “Yeah,” you said quietly, the word almost catching in your throat. You swallowed hard, your voice firming as you met his gaze. “Yeah, this is what I want.”

His reaction was immediate. His smirk disappeared, his lips parting slightly as his hands froze against your knees. He stared at you, his eyes wide with something between shock, guilt, and confusion. The mocking edge he’d wielded so sharply just seconds ago seemed to falter, crumbling under the weight of your words. He didn’t say anything, didn’t move, his breathing shallow as he looked at you like he couldn’t figure out if you were serious or just trying to call his bluff.

The silence stretched, until you broke it with a quiet voice that carried a sharp edge of defiance. “Don’t people usually… kiss … like before they do stuff?”

Kyle flinched, the question cutting through the tension like a blade. His jaw tightened, and his fingers flexed against your knees before pulling back slightly, hovering like he wasn’t sure if he should stay or retreat.

“[Y/N]…” he started, his voice hoarse, almost uncertain.

But you didn’t let him finish. You leaned forward, your eyes searching his face as your voice dropped to barely above a whisper. “Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do? Or were you just going to skip all that and get straight to the lesson?”

His breath caught in his throat, his shoulders stiffening as his hands fell to his sides. He couldn’t look at you, his gaze darting away, but the tension in his body told you he’d heard every word loud and clear. “You wanted me to show you,” he said finally, his voice low, like he was trying to convince himself more than you. “You said—”

“I know what I said,” you cut him off, your voice sharper now. “And I’m still waiting. Are you going to follow through, or are you going to keep pretending?”

For a moment, it looked like Kyle was going to apologize. His lips parted, and you could almost see the words forming in his head, the tension in his shoulders easing as if he’d decided to back down. But then his eyes flicked to your face—the frown you were wearing, the way your lips were set tight with frustration—and something in him twisted. The guilt, the jealousy, the anger—it all came rushing back, crashing over him like a wave. You were too close, too vulnerable, and the way your expression cut through him like a blade only made it worse.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, almost detached, like he was stating a fact instead of responding to the charged moment between you. “Yeah. People usually kiss beforehand.”

You hesitated, your fingers fidgeting with the hemline of your skirt. The fabric bunched between your fingertips, the nervous motion grounding you as you tried to find your voice. “So…” you started, your tone softer now but no less steady. “We should kiss, right?”

Kyle let out a sharp breath, dragging his hand over his jaw in frustration. His fingers brushed against the rough stubble along his chin, the motion almost aggressive, as though he could scrub away the tension building in his chest. He looked at the wall for a moment, as if it held an answer he couldn’t find in you, then sharply turned back.

His hands returned to your knees, warmer and heavier than before, and he leaned in until your faces were level. “Yeah,” he said, his voice low and edged with mockery. “We can.”

One of his hands slid up from your knee, his fingers trailing over the curve of your thigh before settling against your cheek. His palm was warm, his grip firm but not harsh as he tilted your chin up. The motion was precise, calculated, like he was laying claim to this moment—not to you, but to the control he needed to feel.

Kyle leaned in slowly, his thumb brushing against your cheek as his smirk widened. “You want tips, right?” he murmured, his voice soft and mocking, the words settling heavily in the space between you. “You want to know how it’s done?”

Then he kissed you.

The moment his lips met yours, everything else fell away. The kiss wasn’t gentle, wasn’t tentative or shy—it was confident, almost overwhelming in its intensity. His lips moved against yours with a practiced ease that left you scrambling to keep up, the heat of his touch and the weight of his presence drowning out every coherent thought in your head.

Your hands twitched at your sides, unsure of where to go, what to do. You wanted to reach out, to steady yourself against the torrent of sensations crashing over you, but your limbs felt frozen, your inexperience glaring like a neon sign in the darkness.

Kyle tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss. His other hand remained on your knee, his grip tightening just enough to anchor you, to keep you from pulling away—not that you could have, even if you wanted to. The kiss was messy, and you could feel your lips trembling against his, your movements hesitant and uncoordinated. He noticed immediately, and his smirk returned, barely breaking the kiss as he slowed his movements, guiding you without saying a word. His lips parted, his teeth grazing your bottom lip in a way that made your stomach flip, and you couldn’t stop the small, startled sound that escaped you.

Kyle pulled back just enough to hover close, his breath warm against your lips as he smirked again. “Relax,” he said softly, the word dripping with amusement.

You nodded slightly, swallowing hard as you tried to follow his lead. When he kissed you again, his lips softer this time but no less insistent, you let yourself lean into the moment. Your hands finally found their way to his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his hoodie as you tried to steady yourself.

The kiss stretched on, your body growing warmer with each passing second. Kyle’s hand slipped from your cheek to the back of your neck, his fingers threading lightly through your hair as he shifted closer. The movement pressed him further into your space, and the overwhelming intimacy of it all made your heart race.

When he finally pulled away, your lips felt swollen, your breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts. Kyle stayed close, his forehead almost brushing yours as his thumb traced slow circles against the back of your neck. His eyes locked onto yours, as his lips quirked into a small, knowing smirk.

“That’s how it starts,” he said, his voice low and rough, his words heavy in the quiet room. “Did you get all that, or do you need me to show you again?”

The weight of his words settled over you, pressing against your chest like a stone. The warmth of his hand on the back of your neck, the lingering heat of his lips on yours—it all felt too much and not enough at the same time. Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, a mix of frustration, embarrassment, and shame.

You swallowed hard, willing the sting back, and fixed him with a frown. Your voice was quiet but firm when you spoke, every syllable trembling with the emotions bubbling dangerously close to the surface. “I know how to fucking kiss people,” you snapped back. “Damien likes it when I kiss him.”

The words hit like a slap, the sharp edge of your voice cutting through the tension in the room. Kyle froze, his smirk faltering as his eyes narrowed. His hand dropped from the back of your neck as though it had been burned, and for a moment, he just stared at you, his jaw tightening.

“Yeah?” he said finally, his voice laced with mockery, though there was something else beneath it—something raw, almost vulnerable. “Well, maybe Damien has low standards.”

Your heart lurched, the insult landing harder than you wanted to admit. “What the hell, Kyle?” you fumed, your hands tightening on the fabric of your skirt.

He let out a bitter laugh, dragging a hand through his hair as he leaned back slightly, putting distance between you. “What? I’m just being honest,” he said, his tone biting but uneven, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to keep going. “You’ve already got Damien to boost your ego.”

You flinched at his words, the ache in your chest blooming into something sharper, angrier. “Why are you being like this?” you asked, your voice breaking slightly as the frustration boiled over. “You don’t get to act like you’re better than him just because—”

“Because what?” Kyle cut you off, his eyes blazing as he leaned forward again, his hands gripping his knees tightly. “Because I don’t spend all my time feeding you bullshit lines and telling you exactly what you want to hear?”

Your mouth fell open, the shock coursing through you like a jolt of electricity. The room was silent save for the faint thump of music and chatter from downstairs, but inside your head, it felt deafening. You stared at him, your chest tight, the words caught in your throat as you tried to process what he’d just said. Finally, your voice came, low and trembling, like you were balancing on the edge of a cliff. “You’re such an asshole.”

He flinched slightly, the harshness of your tone cutting through his anger. His shoulders stiffened, but he didn’t look up, his gaze still fixed on the floor.

“You’re all assholes,” you continued, the words spilling out now like water breaking through a dam. “You, Kenny, Cartman, Stan—all of you. Do you have any idea what it’s like to sit there and watch you guys get into relationships? To see you all with girlfriends, hookups, whatever, while I’m just… nothing?”

Kyle’s gaze softened slightly, his fists loosening as your voice cracked. He looked like he might say something, might reach out, but you didn’t give him the chance.

“You didn’t even talk to me about it!” you said, your voice rising. “None of you ever said anything. You just acted like I didn’t exist in that department. Like I wasn’t even worth considering.”

The tears you’d been holding back threatened to spill again, and you blinked hard, willing them away. Your fists clenched in your lap, your nails biting into your palms as you fought to steady your breathing.

Kyle looked up at you then, his eyes softer than before, like he was trying to figure out how to respond without making things worse. But your anger was still boiling, and the words kept coming.

“And you—you’re the worst,” you said, your voice thick with emotion. “You shut me out for weeks. You treat me like I don’t matter, and then you have the nerve to say shit like that? Do you even hear yourself?”

He didn’t respond, but his expression shifted, his gaze flickered with something dark. Before you could say anything else, he leaned forward, his movements deliberate but sudden enough to make your heart skip a beat. For a split second, you thought he was going to kiss you again, his face so close to yours that you could feel the warmth of his breath. But instead, his head tilted slightly, and his lips brushed against your neck.

Your breath hitched, your body stiffening as his mouth moved against your skin, soft but insistent. His hands slid back to your knees, steadying himself as he kissed the curve of your neck.

“Kyle, what—” you started, but your words were cut off by a sharp gasp as his teeth grazed your skin, followed by the heat of his tongue.

You tried to keep going, your voice faltering as you spoke through the growing haze of confusion. “I’m… I’m not done—ah—yelling at you,” you said, your words breaking as his lips pressed against a sensitive spot near your collarbone.

He didn’t respond, his mouth trailing slow, deliberate kisses along your neck. The suction of his lips sent shivers down your spine, and you couldn’t stop the small, involuntary sounds escaping you.

“D-don’t think this means—ngh—I’m forgiving you,” you stammered, your hands gripping the edge of the bed as his mouth lingered just below your jawline, the sensation making your knees weak.

Kyle hummed softly against your skin, the low sound vibrating through you in a way that made your heart jump into your throat. “Keep talking,” he murmured, his voice muffled but teasing as he pressed another kiss just below your ear. “You’re making it interesting.”

You wanted to snap at him, to push him away and continue your rant, but every time you tried to form a coherent sentence, his lips found another sensitive spot, leaving you gasping and clinging to the mattress for support.

Swallowing down another gasp, you forced your hands to let go of the bed and instead gripped Kyle’s shoulders, your fingers digging into the soft fabric of his hoodie. His lips moved lower, brushing against the delicate skin of your throat, and the warmth of his breath sent shivers racing down your spine.

“Y-you think this is—” you started, but your voice broke as he sucked lightly at a spot just below your jaw. You bit your lip hard, trying to steady yourself as your mind fought to regain control.

Kyle didn’t let up, his lips trailing kisses down the curve of your neck, his hands gripping slightly on your knees to hold you steady. Your breath hitched, but the frustration burning in your chest wouldn’t let you stay quiet.

“You’re—you’re such a goddamn idiot,” you said, your voice trembling as you dug your nails into his shoulders. “You think this makes you better than me? That it makes you some kind of—ah—expert?”

He hummed against your neck, his tongue brushing over your skin in a way that made your legs tense. “Go on,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

“You’re not—you’re not even good at this,” you spat, though the way your voice wavered betrayed the lie. “Your exes probably faked every second of it. All of them. Every. Single. One.”

That made him pause, his lips freezing against your neck for a moment before he pulled back just enough to look at you. His gaze bore into you, like he was both annoyed and amused by what you just said.

“Is that so?” he asked, his voice laced with mockery and amusement.

“Yeah,” you shot back, even as your cheeks flushed from the intensity of his gaze. “I bet they faked it because they couldn’t stand you. I mean, look at you, Kyle. Overthinking, over-analyzing—you probably spent more time lecturing them than actually doing anything.”

Kyle’s smirk widened, his hands sliding slightly up your thighs as he leaned back in. His breath brushed against your ear as he spoke, his voice low and taunting. “You’re awfully bold for someone who can’t even sit still when I touch you,” he said, his lips grazing the shell of your ear.

You opened your mouth to fire back another insult, but it dissolved into a sharp gasp as he bit lightly at the sensitive skin just below your ear. “I can sit still,” you snapped breathlessly, though the words lacked conviction as your body betrayed you, leaning into his touch despite yourself. “You’re just—you’re just—”

“Just what?” Kyle asked, his tone dripping with mockery as he pressed another kiss to your neck, his lips lingering this time, soft but mean.

Your body betrayed you, leaning into the heat of him as the sensations overwhelmed you. Unable to meet his gaze, you buried your face in his shoulder, the fabric of his hoodie soft against your cheek. His lips moved with calculated precision, each kiss lingering longer, the occasional flick of his tongue sending jolts of electricity down your spine.

You could feel it now—an undeniable warmth pooling between your thighs, the wetness a stark reminder of just how much your body wasn’t listening to your mind. Your cheeks flushed, humiliation creeping in alongside the heat, and it only made everything worse.

“I hate you,” you muttered, your voice muffled against his shoulder, though the words lacked any real conviction.

Kyle hummed against your neck, his lips curling into a smirk as he latched onto the sensitive skin just above your collarbone. His mouth moved with purpose, the slight sting sending a sharp jolt through you as it became clear he was leaving a mark. You lifted your head from Kyle’s shoulder, the sudden realization striking you: when you went back downstairs, everyone would see it. Your chest tightened at that, panic mingling with the lingering frustration and heat. Sliding your hand up to his cheek, you pressed your palm against his jaw, trying to push him away, your voice breaking as you gasped for breath.

“Kyle,” you said, your voice trembling, “stop—ah—everyone will… they’ll see—”

His lips didn’t pause, his mouth trailing lower toward your collarbone, the sensation pulling another sharp intake of air from you. You pressed harder against his cheek, your fingers brushing the soft stubble on his jaw as you tried again.

“I mean it—nngh—Kyle, we have to—oh my god, just… stop!” you gasped, your words cutting short as his teeth grazed the edge of your collarbone.

Kyle pulled back slightly, his lips hovering just above your skin as his hands tightened on your thighs, keeping you in place. “You’re the one who wanted this,” he said, his voice low and rough, the smirk on his lips sending a shiver down your spine.

“I didn’t—I didn’t mean like this,” you stammered, your voice shaky as you tried to steady your breathing. “Come on. Everyone’s going to see it, and—”

“And what?” he interrupted, his tone sharper now as he raised an eyebrow. “You don’t think Damien would like it? You don’t think he’d want to see proof that you’ve been practicing?”

The words sent a fresh wave of heat through you, your cheeks flushing hot as you tried to push him away again. He had no right to bring up Damien, so you changed the subject. “What do you think Kenny or Cartman would say if they walked in right now, huh? Or Stan? What would they think about you doing this?” You hissed out.

His jaw flexed, the tension so visible it was as if he was biting back a retort. But his eyes didn’t waver from yours, waiting for you to finish.

“About you being such a—” You hesitated, your breath catching as you debated whether to say it, but the heat of his hands on your thighs, the sting of his earlier words—they all pushed you past the breaking point.

“—such a pathetic, jealous asshole.”

Kyle’s eyes darkened, his lips parting as though he was about to say something, but instead, he pressed them together into a thin, tense line. His hands stopped their subtle movements, his fingers stilling against your legs. His expression shifted, the simmering frustration now flaring into something harder, sharper.

But he didn’t speak.

Instead, his hands moved again, this time sliding to the hem of your skirt. His fingers brushed the fabric, his touch firm and deliberate as if testing the waters. The subtle press of his fingertips against your bare skin sent a shiver up your spine.

“What would they say?” Kyle said finally, his voice low and steady, though it carried an edge that made your breath hitch. “Probably the same thing Damien would if he knew about this.”

He leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ear as his breath fanned against your skin. “Or maybe they wouldn’t say anything at all,” he murmured, his tone cutting through the charged silence like a blade. “Because they don’t see you like this.”

“Kyle,” you managed, his hands pressing a little higher, the heat of his palms searing against your skin. “You don’t know what you’re—”

Kyle interrupted you, his tone harsh. “Are we doing this, or not? Because if you’re just gonna sit there running your mouth, maybe I should remind you what you asked for in the first place.”

Your chest tightened, the weight of his words pressing down on you like a physical thing. Your eyes darted toward his face and then away just as quickly. Finally, you mumbled, “Yeah.”

You gripped the hem of your skirt, the fabric cool under your fingertips as you pushed it down over your hips. The smooth material slid along your legs, pooling at your ankles in a crumpled heap. The cool air against your skin was a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from your face, your cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and something you refused to name.

You didn’t look at him at first, your gaze fixed on the floor. But you could feel his eyes on you, heavy and unrelenting, and it only made the heat in your chest spread like wildfire.

“Happy now?” you muttered, your voice unsteady as you glanced up at him, the frustration creeping back into your tone.

Kyle didn’t respond immediately. Your eyes traced over his face, catching on the freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks like constellations against pale skin. His nose, slightly crooked from that time he broke it in middle school, gave his face a stubborn kind of charm. And his hair—messy, bright red curls that always looked like they were on the verge of rebellion—framed his expression in a way that softened his sharp features, even now.

For a moment, your face softened too, and the ache in your chest bloomed into something heavier. You missed him—really missed him. The Kyle who didn’t snap at you, didn’t shut you out, didn’t make everything feel so impossibly complicated.

The thought was too much, and you darted your eyes away, breaking the connection. You squeezed your thighs together, the movement grounding you in the present as you felt the faint, rhythmic pulse of the bass from the party vibrating through the walls. It was a distant reminder of where you were, of the world beyond whatever this was.

You took a shaky breath, your voice barely audible as you mumbled, “Let’s just do this… so we can get it over with.”

The words hung in the air, and you felt the weight of Kyle’s gaze on you even as you refused to meet his eyes. There was a beat of silence, thick and uncomfortable, before his hands shifted on your thighs, his grip steady but not as tight as before.

“Get it over with?” he repeated, his voice quieter now but tinged with something you couldn’t quite place—anger? Hurt? His head tilted slightly, and you could feel him studying you, his expression shifting as if he was trying to piece together what you meant.

When you didn’t respond, he exhaled sharply through his nose, his fingers curling slightly against your skin. “Fine,” he said, his tone clipped, though there was a faint waver to it, like he wasn’t as sure of himself as he wanted to be.

His hands slid higher, his touch slower, as if testing your resolve. His gaze lingered on your face for a moment longer, searching for something he didn’t seem to find, before he finally dipped his head toward you again.

Kyle kissed you, and the world seemed to tilt. His lips were firm and confident, moving against yours with a practiced rhythm that made your head spin. You tried your best to keep up, but Kyle didn’t waver, his lips guiding yours in a way that made your breath hitch.

When his tongue slipped past your lips, brushing against yours, a soft, startled whimper escaped you. Kyle responded instantly, his grip on your thighs tightening as his fingers pressed into your skin. The pressure sent a shockwave through you, your body reacting before your mind could catch up.

You moaned into his mouth, the sound muffled but unmistakable, and it was enough to break through the haze of heat clouding your mind. Embarrassment crashed over you like a wave, and you pulled back abruptly, breaking the kiss with a gasp.

Your chest heaved as you buried your face in your hands, the warmth of your palms doing little to hide the warmth spreading across your cheeks. “God,” you muttered, your voice muffled and trembling. “I can’t—Kyle, I can’t—”

Your words stumbled over each other, your body trembling as the weight of the moment pressed down on you. Kyle didn’t say anything right away, his breathing heavy as he stared at you, his hands still resting on your thighs but no longer squeezing.

“[Y/N],” he said softly, his voice rough around the edges. It wasn’t mocking or teasing this time—just your name, quiet and uncertain, as though he wasn’t sure what to say next.

You squirmed where you sat, the tension in your body making it impossible to stay still. Your hands slid from your face, trembling as you stared at your lap, avoiding his gaze. “Just… continue,” you mumbled, your voice barely audible.

Kyle’s hands flexed slightly against your thighs, and you could feel his hesitation like a tangible weight in the air.

His eyes searched your face, his lips parting as if to respond, but instead, he exhaled softly, his breath warm against your skin. Slowly, his hands moved, sliding down to hook under the hemline of your panties, his fingers brushing lightly against your skin in a way that sent a shiver up your spine.

Kyle paused, his hands stilling as he spoke, his voice low but steady. “Are you really sure about this?”

You nodded, your eyes fixed firmly on the floor, unable to meet his gaze. Your heart pounded in your chest, your breathing uneven as you mumbled, “Yeah… I’m sure.”

He didn’t move right away, his fingers curling slightly around the fabric as he waited, giving you one last chance to pull back. When you didn’t, he shifted closer, his hands steady as he began to ease the material down, his voice breaking the tense silence.

“Alright,” he murmured, his tone softer now, laced with something careful, almost protective. “Just… tell me if it’s too much, okay? I need you to say something if you want me to stop.”

You nodded faintly, still refusing to meet his eyes. Your chest felt tight, your heart racing as his hands moved again.

Kyle’s lips pressed against the soft skin of your thigh, his touch featherlight. The sensation sent a jolt through you, making you shiver as his kisses trailed lower, following the path of his hands as he slid your panties down your legs.

The cool air hit you, a sharp contrast to the heat pooling low in your stomach, and you couldn’t stop the tiny curse that slipped past your lips. “Fuck,” you mumbled, the word faint as you clenched your thighs together instinctively.

Kyle stilled for a moment, his hands hovering near your knees as his lips lingered against your skin. “Relax,” he said softly, his voice steady but low. “It’s just me, okay?”

His words only made it worse, the reality of the situation crashing over you like a wave. It’s just him. Kyle, your childhood best friend. Kyle, the boy who used to tug on your hair and steal your snacks. Kyle, who was now kneeling between your legs, his lips brushing against your thighs as though this was something he’d done a thousand times before.

“This is insane,” you muttered into the sleeves, your voice muffled but audible. “I can’t believe… God, Kyle, I can’t believe this is happening.”

Kyle paused, his hands resting lightly on your legs as he looked up at you. His expression softened slightly, the sharp edges of his frustration giving way to something more uncertain. “If you want to stop—”

“No,” you cut him off quickly, your voice firm despite the trembling in your body. You lowered your hands just enough to peek at him, your gaze meeting his for the briefest moment before you darted your eyes away again. “Just… don’t stop. I need this. Just keep going.”

Kyle exhaled softly, his hands moving again, his touch grounding as he leaned back in. His lips found your thigh once more, warmer now against your bare skin. Your panties slid further down, the fabric pooling at your ankles as you shifted uncomfortably. The faint sound of them hitting the floor made your stomach twist.

Kyle was deadly quiet, his hands still resting on your thighs. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, the tension between you palpable as the cool air of the room seemed to wrap around you.

A soft whine escaped your lips, your face burning as you whispered, “Don’t make fun of me, okay?”

Kyle’s head lifted slightly, his eyes meeting yours, and for a moment, his usual sharpness was nowhere to be found. He nodded weakly, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. “I won’t,” he murmured, his voice quieter than you’d ever heard it.

Without saying anything else, his hands slid lower, gripping your ankles. He gave them a small tug, pulling you closer to the edge of the bed. Your heart pounded wildly as you felt his stare. It was impossible to ignore, the way his eyes lingered, the heat of them settling on the most intimate part of you.

Kyle shifted slightly, his hands still steady on your thighs. Finally, he broke the silence, his voice hesitant but firmer than before. “I’m going to touch you now, okay?”

You nodded weakly. Slowly, you slid your hands from his shoulders, your fingers trembling as you brought them up to your face. Burying your face in your hands, you mumbled something inaudible, too quiet even for yourself to hear.

Kyle’s fingers moved, inching closer to your heat with a slowness that made your stomach twist in anticipation. You felt the faint brush of his knuckles against your inner thigh, the sensation so light it sent a shiver racing up your spine. The closeness was too much, and you squirmed instinctively, your thighs tensing under his touch. The motion was unintentional, but it only seemed to spur him on, his fingers adjusting as he drew nearer.

“You’re okay,” Kyle said softly, his tone steady, though there was a faint tremor beneath his words. His hands were warm, his touch grounding despite the tension coiling in your chest. “Just… let me know if you need me to stop.”

Kyle’s words hung in the air, a quiet reassurance that did little to steady your racing heart. You felt the warmth of his fingers inch closer. Then, finally, his fingers brushed against your slit. The touch was so light at first, almost tentative, but it was enough to make your breath hitch audibly. You felt Kyle pause, his fingers lingering as though testing the waters, before you heard him murmur under his breath, “Holy shit.”

Your face burned even hotter, the embarrassment and arousal mixing into a heady rush that made your skin prickle. You knew what he’d noticed—you were dripping, and the realization made your thighs clench. But the motion only made things worse, pressing you more firmly against his fingers, and you squirmed in response.

Kyle’s hand shifted slightly, his touch growing more insistent. His fingertip slid upward, tracing a slow, teasing line until it found your clit.

“You’re so—” Kyle started to say, but he cut himself off, exhaling sharply instead. His thumb brushed against the sensitive bundle of nerves. His fingers continued their slow exploration. Each touch was electric, sending waves of heat coursing through you as he traced over your clit again. It was too much to hide from, too overwhelming to keep your face buried away. Hesitantly, you pulled your hands from your face, lowering them to your lap as your chest rose and fell with each shaky breath.

When you finally looked at Kyle, his focus was entirely on you, his eyes half-lidded and intent as his fingers continued prodding you. The moment he noticed you weren’t hiding anymore, his gaze flicked up to meet yours. His lips parted slightly, as though he might say something, but instead, he leaned forward. His warm breath ghosted over your skin before his lips pressed against the soft curve of your inner thigh.

Your mind raced, flashing back to just minutes ago, when the air between you had been thick with anger and sharp words. You could still hear them, echoing in the back of your mind—the insults, the taunts, the bitterness that had burned so fiercely.

Now, the heat was different, just as overwhelming but softer, quieter. You stared down at Kyle, his lips brushed another kiss along your thigh, his hands steady on you as though he’d forgotten every cruel thing either of you had said.

His fingers didn’t stop their slow movements, brushing over your clit with a maddening precision that left you trembling. Your hands gripped the hem of your sweater as you frowned, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “You’re supposed to be teaching me,” you muttered, the words shaky and uneven as you avoided his gaze.

Kyle’s lips twitched—not quite a smirk, but a ghost of one, softer and tinged with amusement. “I am,” he said calmly, his voice steady but with a faint teasing lilt that made your stomach twist. He shifted his hand, his fingers pressing just a little more firmly against you, and the jolt of pleasure made a sharp gasp escape your lips before you could stop it.

“Then… stop messing around,” you said quickly, your face burning with embarrassment as you tried to push past the sound you’d just made.

Kyle tilted his head slightly, his expression shifting. His brows furrowed just enough to show concentration, his lips parting as though he were about to speak, but instead, his gaze softened. It wasn’t condescending or smug; it was intent, his focus entirely on you as though he was trying to read your every reaction.

“I’m not messing around,” he murmured, his voice quieter now.“I just need you to trust me. Can you do that?”

You swallowed hard, his words settling over you like a challenge and an assurance all at once. His eyes stayed locked on yours, unwavering, and for a moment, the intensity of it all made it hard to breathe.

“Yeah… okay,” you whispered finally, your voice trembling as you nodded faintly, your chest rising and falling with shallow, uneven breaths.

Kyle’s lips twitched into a small, tentative smile, a flicker of something softer breaking through the tension in his expression. His hands remained steady on your thighs as he shifted closer, his face moving toward your bare heat with an intent focus that made your pulse thunder in your ears.

He paused for a moment, his breath warm against you, before leaning in and giving you a tentative lick. The sensation was electric, making your entire body jolt. You quickly brought a hand to your mouth, covering it as a muffled moan escaped despite your best efforts.

Kyle didn’t stop. He licked again, the motion slower this time, as if testing your response. His thumb returned to your clit, moving in slow circles that perfectly complemented the flick of his tongue. The combination was overwhelming, pleasure surging through you in waves that left you trembling.

Your free hand clutched the sheets at your side, your knuckles white as you gripped them tightly. Your chest rose and fell in erratic rhythms, your breaths coming in gasps as you tried desperately to contain the sounds threatening to spill from your lips.

Kyle’s movements grew more confident with each pass, his tongue exploring you with a mix of precision and curiosity that made your legs tense. His thumb pressed just slightly harder against your clit, his touch steady as his mouth worked in tandem, and the sensations had your mind reeling. The tension coiling in your stomach was unbearable, the heat pooling low in your body making it harder and harder to hold yourself together.

Kyle glanced up briefly, his eyes flicking to your face as though to gauge your reaction. The sight of him there, his mouth on you, his expression focused and intent—a fresh wave of heat rushing through you that left you clinging to the sheets even tighter..

Then you felt it—his index finger, pressing gently at your entrance.

The sudden shift made your body tense, your thighs clamping instinctively as a sharp intake of breath escaped your lips. Kyle paused, his finger still hovering, as his eyes snapped back up to meet yours.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice a little rough, though there was an undeniable gentleness to his tone. He didn’t move, his hand steady, waiting for your response.

You swallowed hard, nodding faintly as you tried to will your body to relax. “Y-yeah,” you whispered, though your voice wavered.

Kyle hesitated for a moment longer, his gaze holding yours as if searching for any sign of doubt. Carefully, he began to press his finger forward. The sensation was strange, unfamiliar, and you couldn’t stop the way your hands tightened against the sheets, your breaths shallow and quick.

“You’re doing good,” he murmured, his voice steady and reassuring as his finger slid in further. “Just breathe, okay? It’s supposed to feel a little different at first.”

You nodded again, your chest rising and falling as you tried to match his calmness. The tension in your body slowly began to ease as you adjusted to the intrusion, the warmth of his hand against your thigh grounding you.

Kyle leaned forward again, his mouth returning to you as his finger began to move. The combination of sensations left you trembling, your grip on the sheets tightening as soft. Then his finger curled.

The motion sent a spark through you, and your back arched slightly off the bed. The tension coiled in your stomach intensified, a tight knot of heat that had you gasping. You tried to speak, to say something—anything—but the words wouldn’t form. The only sounds that came out were high, whiny moans that made your face burn with embarrassment. Your lips trembled as you managed to stutter, “K-Kyle, I—” but the rest of the sentence dissolved into a sharp cry as his finger curled again, hitting just the right spot.

Kyle’s lips twitched into a small, almost triumphant smirk against you, but he didn’t stop. Instead, he pressed forward, slipping another finger inside you. The stretch was noticeable but not uncomfortable, and the added pressure only heightened the intensity coursing through your body. His mouth worked in tandem, his tongue flicking over your clit before he latched onto it fully. The sound of him was obscene, the faint, wet noise of his lips and tongue practically slurping on you making your face flush even hotter.

Your legs quivered, your thighs tensing around his head as you tried to keep some semblance of control, but it was useless. Every movement of his fingers, every press of his tongue, sent you spiraling further, your voice breaking into breathy whimpers and desperate moans.

“Kyle, oh my God,” you gasped, your hands flying to grip his hair instinctively, your fingers tangling in his messy curls as your body betrayed your embarrassment and gave in to the overwhelming pleasure.

The sensations were too much, too intense. Heat pulsed through you in waves, each movement of his fingers and flick of his tongue unraveling you further. Your chest heaved as you struggled to catch your breath, the pleasure bordering on unbearable, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to stop him. You felt like crying, the overwhelming mix of embarrassment and pleasure making your throat tighten and your eyes sting. You tried to speak again, to say something coherent, but every attempt was interrupted by your own high, desperate moans. A tear slipped down your cheek, followed by another, the sensation so overwhelming it spilled out in every possible way. Your fingers tightening in his hair like it was the only thing grounding you.

Kyle didn’t stop. If he noticed your tears, he didn’t comment, his focus completely on you. His tongue circled your clit with maddening precision, and then you felt it—he added another finger.

Your grip on his hair tightened, your hands trembling as you tried to focus on the texture of his curls under your fingers. The way they felt, soft and slightly damp from the heat of the room, gave you something to anchor yourself to as your body quivered under his touch.

“Kyle,” you whimpered again, your voice breaking as your hips moved instinctively, pressing against his hand and mouth as though seeking even more. Then Kyle did something—his fingers curled deeper, hitting a spot inside you you didn’t even know existed. At the same time, his tongue pressed firmly against your clit.

A high-pitched, desperate whine tore from your lips, your moans louder and sharper than before as your thighs trembled around his head. Your grip in his hair tightened reflexively, your body betraying you completely as the sensation overwhelmed every thought, every hesitation.

Something shifted. A new sensation built low in your stomach, a pressure that was unfamiliar, intense, and slightly alarming. Panic flickered in your chest, and you stammered out, “I—I feel like I have to—ah—pee, Kyle.” Your hips squirmed against him, your body fighting the overwhelming sensation as you tried to pull away, but Kyle’s grip on your thighs tightened.

“You’re fine,” he murmured against you, his voice muffled but firm as his tongue flicked over your clit again. “Just let it happen. Don’t hold back.”

“I—ah—I can’t,” you gasped, but he didn’t stop, his fingers and tongue pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

You shook your head desperately, your body squirming as the sensation built to an unbearable peak. “No, s-seriously, Kyle,” you whined, your voice high and panicked, trembling with the weight of what you were feeling. Your chest heaved, your hands tugging at his hair as you tried to process the unfamiliar pressure threatening to overwhelm you.

Kyle’s movements stilled for the briefest moment, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. His gaze was steady, softening slightly as he whispered, “You’re okay. Just trust me, baby. I’ve got you.”

The unexpected tenderness in his voice, the way he called you baby, hit you like a spark. Before you could react, he leaned back in, his mouth and fingers working in perfect harmony, his tongue pressing firmly against your clit while his fingers curled deep inside you, finding that spot again and again.

A choked cry escaped your lips as your body convulsed, and then you felt it—a hot, sudden release that you couldn’t stop. Warm liquid splashed from you, wetting your thighs, his hand, and even his face. The sensation was unlike anything you’d ever felt leaving you gasping and trembling as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through you.

“Oh my God,” you stammered, your voice breaking as you gripped the sheets tightly, your knuckles white. The sheer intensity of the moment left your mind blank, your body quivering as you tried to process what had just happened.

Kyle didn’t pull away, his fingers slowing but not stopping as he worked you through it, his lips brushing against your thigh as he murmured, “That’s it. Good girl. Just let it all out.”

You could feel the wetness spreading, pooling beneath you as your legs trembled, the slick sound of his movements only adding to the heat in your cheeks. When the waves finally subsided, your chest heaved with shallow breaths, your entire body buzzing as you tried to ground yourself. Kyle sat back slightly, his fingers slipping free as he looked up at you, his face glistening, a mix of satisfaction and something almost reverent in his expression. “See?” he said softly, his voice low and steady. “Told you I’d take care of you.”

Shaking your head, you squirmed back, trying to create some distance between you and Kyle. His touch, his words, the mess—was too much. Kyle seemed to notice immediately, pulling his fingers away as you shifted, his touch lingering for just a second longer than it should have before leaving you completely.

The absence was immediate, jarring. You felt impossibly empty, the ache lingering even as your body began to settle. Your wetness was everywhere: on your thighs, on the sheets beneath you, sticky and warm, a reminder of how far this had gone.

You couldn’t look at him. Your throat tightened as you tried to speak, the words forming somewhere in your chest but getting stuck before they could reach your lips.

“I…” you stuttered, your voice barely above a whisper, but the rest of the sentence crumbled under the weight of your emotions. You shook your head again, biting your lip as you tried to focus on anything but the way his words—good girl, baby—reverberated in your mind, making your cheeks burn even hotter.

He gave you hickeys.You squirted all over his face.What the fuckjust happened?

Kyle was still on the floor in front of you, kneeling between your legs at the edge of the bed. His eyes searched your face, his expression a mixture of concern and hesitation, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet his stare.

“[Y/N]?” he said softly, his voice low and cautious, as though afraid to push too hard.

Ignoring him, you shifted unsteadily, your body trembling as you pushed yourself upright. You needed to move, to find something—anything—to anchor yourself.

Kyle stayed where he was, his hands resting on his thighs, his posture tense as he watched you. “Are you okay?” he asked again, his voice breaking the silence, but you didn’t answer.

Your eyes darted around the room, landing on the crumpled fabric of your panties near the edge of the bed. Without looking at him, you leaned forward, grabbing them with shaking hands and quickly tugging them on.

“Hey,” Kyle tried again, his tone soft but tinged with something sharper. “Talk to me. Don’t just—”

“I’m fine,” you cut him off as you reached for your skirt. It was bunched up on the floor near the nightstand, and you stumbled slightly as you grabbed it, your hands fumbling to pull it up over your hips. Your boots were next, shakingly lacing them up.

Kyle shifted on his knees, his hand lifting slightly as though he was about to reach for you, but he hesitated, his fingers curling back into his palm. “You don’t have to—”

“I said I’m fine,” you snapped, your tone harsher than you intended, though it did nothing to hide the tremor in your voice.

He stayed silent for a moment, his lips pressing into a thin line as he dropped his hand back to his side. His shoulders sagged slightly, the tension in his body visible even from the corner of your eye.

Once your skirt was in place, you turned away from him, still refusing to meet his gaze. The tears that had blurred your vision earlier returned, threatening to spill as you made your way toward the door, your steps unsteady and your chest tight.

“[Y/N]…” Kyle said again, his voice quieter now, but you shook your head, cutting him off before he could say anything else.

“Just—don’t,” you muttered, your hand reaching for the doorknob. All you wanted was to get out, to put distance between yourself and the chaos that had just unfolded.

The floor creaked as Kyle got to his feet, his footsteps hesitant. You didn’t fully turn to look, but out of the corner of your eye, you saw him lift a hand to his face, wiping his jaw and cheeks where they still glistened with your wetness.

“[Y/N], wait,” he said softly, as he took a cautious step toward you.

You couldn’t stay. You couldn’t even face him. With a sharp tug, you yanked the door open. The sound of the party hit you immediately—a roaring blend of music, chatter, and laughter that felt jarring compared to the suffocating quiet of the room you were leaving behind.

“[Y/N]!” Kyle’s voice was louder this time, urgency lacing his tone as you stepped out into the hallway.

You didn’t stop. Your boots thudded against the floor as you rushed forward, your mind racing with fragments of thought, none of them coherent. Your lips felt raw from his kisses, your thighs sticky from what he’d done to you, and your face—your face was a mess.

You wiped at your face with your sweater sleeve as you reached the stairs, but it didn’t matter. No amount of rubbing would erase what had just happened or how you looked right now.

“Wait!” Kyle called again, his footsteps heavy behind you as he followed.

You practically stumbled down the stairs, gripping the railing to steady yourself. By the time you reached the bottom, the noise of the party seemed to dim, conversations faltering as people turned to watch.

You felt their stares like daggers.

Stan was the first you noticed, standing near the drinks table with a cup in hand. His face twisted into a mix of confusion and concern as his eyes darted from you to Kyle, who was right behind you. Kenny stood beside him, raising his eyebrows, his lips quirking into a faint, awkward smile as if unsure how to react.

Cartman lounged against the arm of the couch, his grin spreading wide the moment he saw you. He elbowed Stan, clearly thrilled by the scene unfolding in front of him. His eyes practically sparkled with delight, the gears turning in his head as he stored this moment away for future ridicule.

Damien stood near the corner, his dark eyes fixed on you with a sharp intensity. His brows drew together, and his jaw clenched, his grip tightening around the drink in his hand. You could see the flicker of emotions crossing his face—confusion, suspicion, irritation—before his expression settled into a tense neutrality, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Wendy and Bebe exchanged wide-eyed glances, their heads tilted toward each other as they whispered furiously, while Tolkien, Craig, Clyde, and Tweek all turned to look, their conversations coming to an abrupt halt.

You wiped at your face again, scrubbing harder this time, but the tears and smudges wouldn’t disappear. Kyle’s hand caught your arm gently, his grip firm but not forceful as he tried to stop you. “[Y/N], wait. Just… stop for a second!”

“Don’t touch me!” you snapped, your voice breaking as you jerked your arm free. The tears welled up again, spilling over despite your attempts to keep them at bay. “Just leave me alone!”

His face fell for a moment, the frustration in his expression softening to something else—something closer to guilt or regret. “I’m trying to talk to you!” he shouted, his tone harsher now as his own emotions bubbled over.

“I don’t want to talk to you!” you screamed back, your voice hoarse as your sobs grew harder. Your fists clenched at your sides, and you turned toward the living room, your legs shaky but determined to put as much distance between you and Kyle as possible.

The whispers in the room grew louder, people murmuring to each other as they pieced together what was happening. You caught snippets of words—your name, Kyle’s name, quiet gasps and murmurs of “What’s going on?” and “Did you see her face?”

You felt utterly exposed, like a spotlight had been turned on you, magnifying every tear, every smudge, every flaw.

Kyle’s voice broke through the noise again, sharper this time. “[Y/N], will you just listen to me?”

You spun around, your tears blurring your vision as you screamed back, “For what, Kyle? What could you possibly say that would fix this?”

The room went quiet again. You glanced around, realizing how many people were staring—how many of your friends were watching you fall apart.

kyle makes me laugh | part two

#south park x reader #south park x y/n #x reader #kyle broflovski x reader #south park smut #i wanna be your boyfriend m!list #fem reader #reader insert

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iztarshi · 2 days ago

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Viktor observations (S1, Act 1)

I've given into the blorbo feelings and just started taking notes on all Viktor's scenes. Rambling ahead.

Viktor starting out reading Jayce’s blackboard is such a fun way to foreshadow him getting involved. “I believe someone should have said that earlier” is snarky, but “what happened here?” may well be a genuine question. He does want to know.

Viktor does not seem remotely nervous around Enforcers. He has no trouble breaking into the conversation between Jayce and Greyson, nor any issues with being here to arrest someone. He’s right in both cases, he’s not in any danger and neither is Jayce, but there’s no undercity instinct of fear or distaste.

“I’m assistant to the Dean of the Academy, who it may serve you to remember is also the Head of the Council.” Viktor throwing absolutely all of his borrowed authority into one sentence there. Jayce wanting to know who the hell he is isn’t entirely unreasonable, since as far as Jayce knows there’s a random snarky guy in academy uniform assisting with his arrest, but Viktor seems to take it as a challenge.

Viktor does seem to genuinely disapprove of Jayce at this point, which is fair since Jayce obviously thinks it’s really unfair that he’s in trouble for keeping explosives in his house.

I am fascinated that Viktor’s first impulse as he gets caught up in the idea of magic is to ask Heimerdinger if he could make Jayce’s theories work. It’s an interesting relationship because there’s warmth there and despite knowing Heimerdinger’s disapproval of magic, Viktor’s not worried about letting on that he’s interested (although he definitely downplays how interested) and there’s a feeling of familiarity, a sense that Viktor has brought his interests to Heimerdinger before. Heimerdinger doesn’t seem to take Viktor very seriously, but then he treats all his students like children.

Viktor’s also, sort of, under Heimerdinger’s protection. As we saw with him throwing Heimerdinger’s titles at Jayce, without a patron or a house name the fact that he works for Heimerdinger is what gives him any kind of status in Piltover.

Viktor’s approach to suicide prevention is really funny. He starts out being sarcastic, seems genuinely surprised when Jayce reacts badly to that, and then treats Jayce being about to jump off a building as an unfortunate obstacle to discussing his theories. I don’t think he’s intentionally being mean, but he came here prepared to have one conversation and it was not one about Jayce’s feelings. He softens up a lot at Jayce’s sincerity about how beautiful magic is and “no one believed in me” obviously strikes a chord with him.

“Poor, cripple, from the undercity” hits a lot harder in the wake of season 2. Viktor says it defiantly here, it’s what other people think of him, but it obviously has shaped a lot of how he sees himself. And notably I don’t think it’s how Jayce sees him at all - even when he didn’t like Viktor in previous scenes he was thinking he was an asshole, not any of that. I don’t think poor or from the undercity are even things Jayce could tell, and Jayce doesn’t react to Viktor needing a cane. (He’s very solicitous of Viktor in Act 2 but that seems to be a result of knowing Viktor for seven years and also Viktor’s failing health.)

“I want to help you complete your research” is also something where the specific phrasing hits now, because Viktor wanting to help is at the root of so much. I’m not sure there are any relationships Viktor forms where he’s not helping (think of “can I help?” to Singed about Rio) except maybe Heimerdinger and there he’s a literal assistant, but he is getting paid for it.There’s a mixture of ambition - as he says later, he doesn’t want to be an assistant all his life - and sincerity here. I don’t think Viktor was expecting to get anything out of helping Jayce, necessarily, but he still wanted to create magic for its own sake and for the sake of the people it could help.

“When you’re going to change the world, don’t ask for permission” is such a cool line and also probably a warning about how far Viktor is from being grounded about anything ever.

The main impression Viktor gives so far is that he’s really intense. Whether he’s intensely disapproving, intensely interested, or intensely encouraging.

While a great deal of tragedy has been happening to Vi’s family, our scientists have clearly been having a great time filling this blackboard.

I have questions about where Viktor is from… well, no, not where he’s from exactly, the answer is the undercity, but is he from an immigrant community? Not only does he have an accent no one else shares but his reaction to the phrase “crank it” comes off as if English (or whatever they’re speaking) might be his second language. None of our other Zaunites are remotely unfamiliar with slang.

The “crank it” exchange is so adorable, not for what they’re saying but for how they’re animated. Jayce giving Viktor a look of blatant admiration for figuring it out and Viktor’s startled little smile as he realises he and Jayce are enjoying one another’s company. They’re both lonely, Jayce gets along with people but I think he has trouble really connecting to people when so many dismiss the thing he’s built his life around as dangerous nonsense even before he nearly got banished for it. They want to be friends so badly.

The timing of Viktor pulling out the keys to Heimerdinger’s lab is amazing and hilarious.

The scientists are very cute, attempting a break in their academy uniforms and being bad at it. The vibe is definitely more misbehaving students than hardened criminals.

I wonder if Viktor’s blue flashlight is chemtech? It somehow looks more undercity than like anything we see in Piltover.

Viktor’s reaction to Mel is interesting. I mean, aside from “this isn’t my bedroom”, once she and Jayce start talking it’s Viktor who answers her question about why Jayce can prove it now when he couldn’t earlier with “we figured out how to stabilise it”. He’s very much not inclined to keep quiet or let Jayce handle things.

I don’t think Mel means “You’re the professor’s assistant” to be demeaning, I think she’s trying to figure out what on earth Viktor is doing here. Jayce is immediately protective though.

“Heimerdinger will recognise the potential,” Viktor says. Viktor’s going against Heimerdinger here - robbing him, in fact - but he assumes it’s something that will be all right afterwards. If he can just make Heimerdinger see then of course proof will win him over.

“Piltover, the land of progress, equality, innovation,” says Jayce, completely without irony. Which is probably part of why Viktor is looking less than happy about the way this is going.

The other part might be that Jayce and Mel have a rapport that decidedly leaves Viktor out. Mel wants to use science to put Piltover on the map, but she deals in people. Earlier she baits Jayce into revealing what he was trying to do in front of the council (and nearly gets him exiled), here Jayce tries the same thing more clumsily. First baiting her when she says Heimerdinger and the council are scared by asking if she is, and then with an appeal to emotion - and to the benefits of having Piltover be the place to develop this technology, which is decidedly the right tack to take with Mel. He probably didn’t need to convince her, and certainly can’t manipulate her, but the fact that he responds on her playing field makes him interesting to her.

Viktor does not like any of this and gives Jayce an absolutely disgusted look for being smitten with her.

The lines are already laid out. Mel wants to put Piltover on the map and make it more prosperous, Viktor wants to help the people who need it most, Jayce wants both and is not ready for the contradictions.

Viktor’s expression in response to “are you sure you know what you’re doing?” is so funny.

He is sure enough to tell Jayce to trust him instead of turning the machine off, though. Viktor’s really in charge of this whole venture.

They’re so smitten with the magic itself. Bright-eyed and fascinated.

Viktor using his cane to bar the door is one of those things that really highlights how much things have changed by act 2. Here he needs it sometimes, but as long as he’s in a single room he seems to be able to move around without it and plans around that.

Jayce ís copying the mage’s actions from memory when he activates the crystal. Knowing the mage was Viktor I wonder if some of the theatricality was to make the gestures easy to copy? Not that making hextech easier for Jayce to crack actually helps with the apocalypse but I’m not sure what the mage was trying to do, and if he’s leaving Jayce with runes he does seem to want Jayce to be able to use them.

I don’t really have anything to say about the floating. It’s amazing and they’re so happy. Just pure wonder.

“This is not what Piltover’s future looks like, my dear boys.” Heimerdinger really wants them to come down so he can scold them. They’re his dear, wayward pupils and he’s very fond of both of them, far too fond to really be angry.

#arcane thoughts #long post

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ask-thesparedau · 2 years ago

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I wonder, what happened to Tripitaka?

Waiting to be rescued <3 as per usual

#from a demon of my own making #which means you guys don’t know what to expect!#the joys of fan fiction #spared!macaque #jttw zhu bajie #jttw sha wujing #jttw tang sanzang #jttw pigsy #jttw sandy #jttw tripitaka #main story

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pallases · 1 year ago

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submitted my first app 😖

#😭 didn’t plan to start this early but they said to do it by tonight and now i am worried abt when other companies want their apps in. i #should have asked them #i don’t think they all want them in now tho bc one of them told me she doesn’t start responding until january which. probably means i can #wait a bit right?? i don’t know 😭#personal #the engineering chronicles #feeling pretty okay abt how today went actually one employer told me i have a very high gpa and that she thought she read it wrong and #another i was talking to abt how even though they’re not a primarily medical company they do do medical stuff and i named and spoke abt the #things they’ve worked on and he seemed impressed by that knowledge. so #really worried tho bc. there are hardly any medical places my school has approved to apply to for this and companies that dont do medical #stuff don’t want biomedical engineering interns even if everything but my electives is the same as an ee’s coursework. bc we’re not going t #stick around for them to hire post grad. like ppl from these companies are straight up telling me not to bother applying or that they don’t #accept apps from ppl in my major etc. which fucking sucks especially since in ADDITION to that the vast vast majority of the companies #that Do have medical stuff going on are mechanical or manufacturing based not electrical. like. what do you expect me to do here #there is one company (the one the guy seemed impressed w me abt) that does electrical and coding stuff and i am really really interested in #them. but as i said the medical stuff is not their main focus and they’re more an all around place. and they also won employer or the year #or whatever a couple years ago. which means Everyone is going to be applying to this company. ugh

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taegularities · 5 months ago

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meraki | jjk (m)

MERAKI (v., Greek). "to do something with soul, creativity, or love; to put something of yourself in your work." Summary: Jungkook finds you irritating; far too energetic and insistent. But his perception of you changes bit by bit, minute by minute, when he's persuaded into spending an entire night with you at places he doesn't know.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: e2l, grumpy!jk (+ photographer!jk) x sunshine!reader; fluff, smut ➳ warnings: bickering, bantering, jk is a bit rude at the beginning, flirting, tension, oc is bold and courageous, mention of someone being stoned, mention of insomnia, jk's lip rings <3, heights, not exactly e2l but more like "i find you pretty annoying" to lovers lmao, deep talks and sweet moments, one bed trope, guest appearance, jk takes pictures of pretty things, stars and sky talk <3, explicit sexual content: kissing/making out, implied pain kink? lol, fingering, manhandling, oral (f. & m. receiving), teasing, 69, spitting, one or two spanks, bit of choking, soft and hard sex, unprotected sex (oc has an iud), soft dom!jk but also glimpses of sub!jk, ofc biiiig dick!jk, doggy/riding/missionary, praises, more flirting, jk's godly body, masturbation, cum swallowing (he comes in her mouth); the lovely ending <3 ➳ word count: 26.6k <3 ➳ a/n: you guys built this fic!! 🥺 hopefully this is what we expected it to be. it's also yet another love letter to one of the gentlest men i know; happy birthday, jeon jungkook, you're the standard and i will never fall out of love with you 💕 i hope y'all enjoy it!! come and talk to me when you're done mwah <3

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST | WIPs

1:04AM, Her

There’s a word for how you do what you do.

A term you hold dearly in the crevices of your bright heart. Ever since you first learned its meaning two decades ago, you’ve made it your primary goal to breathe through life with it as your philosophy.

Passion, it is. A word certainly common in conversation and daily life — you’re not the only person to live by it. Doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to wallow in it.

Because there’s a fire behind your hard-working chest, lit up, pride residing next to it. It’s where you feel the most vivid light when you do what you love, blooming and blossoming. There are synonyms of it you know, and each of them are pretty as a growing garden.

You gatekeep them for now; haven’t yet found a person to share your knowledge with. Which is okay; in the meantime, you’ll keep looking. You do think everybody needs something like this in their lives.

Something that forces your body upright, sprinkling fairy dust and glimmer into your eyes. Something you can resort to in order to escape the trials of life.

For you, as odd it may seem to people, it’s your job.

You usually work late like today, surrounded by sounds and disquiet. But you enjoy it. You like stepping into the night afterwards, and you like the dark blanket above, the starlight sprinkled across the comforting blackness.

And you like it when it drizzles sometimes. The giggles of couples or groups of friends as they wade through the rain. The absolute quiet and relieving serenity.

You live for this. You enjoy people. You enjoy sensing life around you.

Tonight isn’t different. Even when you find yourself hastening by the end, wrapping up the event with a dozen chores to tackle; even when the host rushes to you, asking for help. Your shoes click-clack across the floor as you move left and right, up and down.

But by God, you never doubt these days’ worth.

1:04AM, Him

Sometimes, people don’t want to be photographed.

Jungkook learned that early on when he agreed to be a photographer at events. He’s encouraged and urged to ask people to pose; that’s his job. Waiting for them to force a smile before they can resume eating, debone their fish or work on their lobsters, beef, veggies.

They long to return to whatever they were doing, or to their conversations, mostly insignificant ones; Jungkook knows because he, involuntarily, hears too many of them.

It’s only when they’re dancing or drinking that they open up. That’s when they’re okay with listening to him, obedient, almost as if he’s authority, staring into the lens with flushed cheeks and wide grins.

Though it’s irritating when every other person walks up to him afterwards, inquiring when they’d be receiving the photos, or, even ruder, if at all.

Today, there are a few more comfortable people around. Not as harsh, not as grim as he feels. You’re here, too, somewhere; of course you are — you got him here in the first place. Somehow, your paths often cross. You were ready for a picture immediately, drawn in by the host, smiling.

He perceived your presence just for a second, though. Doesn’t need or want any more than that. You’re too loud, too energetic anyway; he’s rather among himself, not in any photo, indulging in the job.

He loves clicking through his camera roll; it’s the people that tire him out. Working his way through the pictures he took once home gives him joy, though. Makes his fatigue feel worth it.

But God, you’re not the only one, right? So many people here are the same amount of enthusiastic, party people to the core.

Which is why he’s happy when the night finally concludes, and he, far after midnight, stuffs his equipment back into his bag and slips into his at least somewhat chic blazer.

1:12AM, Her

You groan as your hand dives into your bag, fishing out the key that you already removed from your keychain an hour ago. Back when the man facing you approached you; he’s the last face you see when you step out of the somewhat stuffy hall.

Or so you think.

You don’t know that the night is far from over when you linger at the entrance, handing him a key that he encloses in his grip with a grateful nod and a goodbye-wave. The final interaction when you excuse yourself, breathing in the night.

It’s a hunch cooler than when you left home today; yet, the breeze feels pleasant caressing your skin. The end of August is still warm, still fairly far from fall; you regard summer nights as the best part of the season.

Sighing, you come to a halt in the middle of the pavement, studying the alley. You ponder until you remember a bus not too far from here; you need to turn left, right? Should be there. You have never been around here before, so you’re not entirely sure.

But you’ll just go with your first instinct for now. Keep walking until you detect any kind of a promising sign. You hold onto your roomy bag as you pass the rare people still around.

Some of them are faces you recognise from the party; some are strangers. One couple you spoke to just earlier even lifts a thumbs up for you, praising you for the exceptional organisation. They make you feel at ease until the road quietens.

And the place stays serene and silent until you hear the clearing of somebody’s throat. It’s not near; yet not far. Your eyes scan the area, not for long when they recognise a figure sitting on the opposite side of the narrow street.

It’s a man, clutching a heavy object with careful hands. A camera, you know it immediately. He’s hunting through the pictures he took, face slightly lit by the screen. Jutting lower lip, slowly blinking eyes.

Simple attire — dark jeans, a white shirt, and a blazer on top that hides the wide shoulders.

Constantly and undeniably handsome, albeit always grim due to the lack of a smile.

You squint to confirm it’s him you’re seeing; but when he smacks his lips in the dark of the night, nibbling at the shiny lip rings, you know you’re right. This is a habit you’ve never seen on anybody this persistently as on Jeon Jungkook.

And the one and only Jeon Jungkook must be feeling your eyes on him, because only a second later, he lifts his gaze. Instinctively, you wave a little, but Jungkook isn’t on board with your hospitality. He rolls his eyes; you don’t take it to heart, though. You’re used to this.

As he starts stuffing the camera back into his bag, you waddle over, crossing the street. Upon reaching him, you ask, “Got some good pictures tonight?”

“I’d guess so.”

His voice is as nonchalant as always, his shoulders relaxed, uncaring. To your vampire-novel-reading middle school self, he would’ve been the coolest and most mysterious riddle, waiting to be cracked. But you know how he feels about you, and that makes the situation just a little less intriguing.

Yet, you never stopped approaching him, because aside from conversations like these, you know he’s just human, too. He smiles at events whenever he gets the chance, content with the moments he captures; he likes what he does.

Photography has always been his thing; or that’s what you gathered, at least. You see the same sparkle in his eyes that you feel in yours when you work; the same joy when he fumbles with his camera, always checking, presumably changing the settings, testing it out.

You lean in a little, wondering, “Can I see?”

“Uhm…” He hesitates, lifting the strap of the camera bag higher up his shoulder. “Do you have to?”

“If I may. I brought you here, remember?”

Of course. It’s always you; you’re the one to organise this, and you’ve seen his pieces and albums before. He might not hang around you too much, always the first to tell you he has somewhere else to be, but you know he’s good. You trust him in this regard.

“You say that every time,” he argues, a tattooed hand settling on his bag, clearly reluctant.

So you click your tongue, waving your suggestion off. You try to sound as lively as ever, but your voice is more earnest as you say, “Okay, it’s fine. Don’t show me the pictures, but come on. Be a bit nice at least.

“Alright. What else? Do you need something?”

You sigh in defeat. “No. I was just going home.”

“You should go home. It’s pretty late.”

“Aren’t you going, too?”

“I am,” he responds, his voice going up at the end. “I just wanted a bit of peace before leaving.”

“Peace,” you repeat, as if trying out the word. “You can’t get it at home?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer this time. Instead, he only shifts his stare from you to the empty road ahead, exhaling a dramatically long breath before he gets into motion. You immediately react, by his side until he asks, “Are you following me?”

“Huh? Did you forget that I was literally heading this way?” He’s distracted, looking for the street signs, and you laugh at his own confusion. “Do you even know where you’re going?”

“I guess so.”

Okay, at least he’s honest, not giving himself airs. You want to see what his inner compass suggests, but then somewhat shun the thought of walking further into unknown terrain.

So you question, “You taking the bus?”

“Nope. Subway.”

“Ah. That should be this way, then,” you nod towards the direction you’re approaching, “I know the bus is, because that’s where I need to go.”

“…Are you sure?”

“Yep.”

That’s it. He doesn’t respond much; only lets out the millionth sigh, following you with something you might nearly call trust. He doesn’t attempt small talk or any other kind of interaction, so you let him sink into his thoughts.

But a beat of silence later, you still ask politely, “How did you like the party?”

“Uhhh, it was okay.” For the first time in minutes, he looks at you. “The people were weird, don’t you think? But I got some good shots in.”

“Hmm… okay. I didn’t notice anything weird about the people.” You shrug your shoulders. “Talking about shots… did you drink a little?”

He whines your name as the question is a tale as old as time, complaining, “Every single time? Why is this so important to you…” He waits, shakes his head. “No, I didn’t. Seems you did, though.”

“A little,” you say, bringing your forefinger and thumb together, indicating a tiny space. “But I’m all sober and well.” Another brief pause. “Are you okay, too?”

He licks his lower lip, dimples appearing that don’t ever need a smile to emerge. Then, he throws back, “Why shouldn’t I be?”

“Dunno. You always look so bored at parties. And you always go home alone.”

You don’t know if the following laugh is sarcastic or not, but you soon discover the very answer when he lifts a finger and counts, “First off, how would you know?” Another finger added to the mix. “Secondly, I’m not bored. I’m just focused. And I don’t know anybody there.”

His hand drops again, working on his bag’s strap again. Pushing it over his shoulder. He adds, “It’s a bit different for me than for you because they’re literally your clients and you know them at least a little.”

“I mean… you know me.”

“Yeah, but you’re…” He regards you from head to toe, not the softest of expressions, and you pout. You don’t ever take him seriously, but he can be hurtful sometimes. “I just don’t think we’d be good conversation partners.”

“Weird,” you challenge, “because you’re conversing with me right now, no problem. It’s also not my fault you always argue with me at every event.”

“I don’t. You approach me.”

“You do.” You lean your face closer to his, not making it very far when his palm pushes your cheek, and you, away from him. “Ugh. Okay. Seriously, though — why do you always leave alone?”

He exhales in defeat. Seems that Jeon Jungkook is too tired to take your idiocy tonight. You understand, but you’re just trying to figure out how to convince him that you’re normal, too. That he just dislikes you because you’re different from him, and nothing else.

“Hey…” he utters, out of energy.

“I mean it,” you still declare, “there are so many sweet and nice girls around. They ask about you sometimes, you know? I’ve also met many men on such pa—”

“That’s great,” he interrupts, a palm stopping you from spilling more info, “but… I don’t think I’m interested.”

“Oh.” The syllable is short, cut, harmless. That is, until it clicks in your brain, and your eyes widen, lips parting as you turn to him in shock, stating, “Oh, wait. Do you… play for the other team?”

Jungkook blinks at you. Then lowers his gaze, turning it a couple shades darker, staring at you from under his eyelids. He looks annoyed when he spits, “No, I’m not gay. And even if I was, it’d be none of your business.”

Shit.

Okay, you were sure about your assumption, but now that it turned out wrong, this sounds pretty shitty. And annoying. And awkward.

“Sorry,” you apologise, and he gives you a taunting head tilt. “Okay… different topic then? Tell me, what do you think of this dress?” You lift the hem a little, smiling; you were convinced the moment you first saw it. “Do you think I look pretty today?”

For a second, he joins; his initial gaze is still cynical, but his voice is appealing, a whisper when he leans in and asks, “Why? Do you want to be the one I go home with?”

Ah… why do the words, the way he speaks them, tickle you just right? You’re flabbergasted, seeing your reaction on the bare skin of your arms, but all he does is back away again and once again, shake his head.

You want to retort something snarky back, but you don’t get to it when he inquires a moment later again, “Are you sure we’re going the right way?”

Right… you need to go home. You forgot.

“Uh… yeah.” You look around, finally detecting a sign, picturing a bus and a number. “There’s the bus, so the subway should be…” You stop; hum; then see two women waiting at the bus stop. “Should we ask someone?”

“Sure.”

With a nod, you separate from him, walking towards the bus station bench they’re sitting on, hands folded, conversing quietly. They’re surprised when they see a figure advance, but relax when they catch your smile.

You ask the questions floating in your brain, trying to explain where you live, what you need. They attempt an answer, gesture around, and barely a minute later, you’re thanking them and leaving again.

Jungkook stands there in anticipation, waiting for you to deliver good news — yet confused when you return with slumped shoulders instead of an enthusiastic, “We were right! Come!”

Okay, there aren’t too many reasons for Jungkook to dislike you; you want to say this much. But when you see him understand that this is going nowhere, you do get his frustration.

Especially as you kiss your lips, staring at him like a lost bunny, and explain, “So… the subway isn’t here.” Big eyes meet yours. “I’m not sure where it is, and they,” your thumb points to the girls behind you, “couldn’t help because they’re tourists.”

“Ah. Great,” he says, delivering a falsely cheerful smile. Hands thrown into the air. “So we’re stranded and should definitely not be here. What about the bus? Where does it go?”

“Uhm…” You scratch your head. “Not where I need to go. It’s a different one. But!” Immediately, your voice rises, trying to approach this with hope. It’s not the end of the world, after all! “Don’t worry! We’ll get home either way.”

“Just a lot later than necessary.”

“But nothing’s lost yet. Don’t you trust me?”

And — much as you thought — Jungkook only ogles back in silence, blinking once again before he walks away with a curse on his lips.

1:25AM, Her

You catch up to him fast.

“It’s not that big of a deal, I promise!” you vow, but you reckon it only makes matters worse.

Because he breathes air through his nose, like a bull, arguing, “I’m tired, though. This is wasting so much of my time. You always do.”

You stop in your tracks. He doesn’t. You sulk, “That was mean.”

“And you’re idiotic.”

“Well… shit.”

This time you tilt your head, grinding your teeth; less out of anger, more out of embarrassment. You don’t respond much else, and he doesn’t throw another insult. Instead, he opens the bag again with the velcro’s ripping sound, heaving out his SLR.

You peek over his shoulder, confused about the timing to indulge in a passion, and ask, “What are you doing with that?”

“Looking through them,” he mutters, thumb working on the switching button, “maybe I took a picture when I came here. A sign where to find the subway.”

His reasoning elicits a sudden laugh out of you, probably unfounded to him, but very amusing to you. He throws a bewildered and somewhat warning look, and you immediately silence; still holding yourself back when he turns away again.

You wait, listen to the quiet of the night. He doesn’t seem to find any success, and the more time passes, the funnier you find his mind. Eventually, you step next to him and give up, telling him, “Hey. Don't be so tetchy. I'm not that bad.”

Jungkook side-eyes you, tapping the screen of the heavy Sony A9 Alpha. Inhaling the pleasant late summer air, he defends, “I'm never tetchy! But you got us lost.”

“So? You’re being dramatic. There's still Google Maps.”

That’s it. This look of his.

Jungkook must’ve gotten stuck in a decade you’ve long left, because he stares at you dumbfounded, camera still firmly in his hands. He tongues his cheek, blinks.

And then, you mock, “Guess I’m not the only idiot here, right?”

His next breath is deep, and he soon averts your eyes again. You dig, “What? If anything, then low battery might be your only excuse, you know?”

He doesn’t look at you, and you break into a grin again. Shake your head. Then fish out your phone at last, ready to type in the goal, or at least, to search the nearest subway and bus that fit your demands.

Hmmm, okay. If you need to go where you think you need to go, then the subway will really be in immediate distance to the bus. So you’ll be heading in the same direction anyway.

You open your mouth to ask for his address, prepared to type it in — but as you look at him again, you detect a deeply focused Jungkook, pursing his lips at his camera and regarding it with glitter in his eyes. You see it even from here, the sparkle.

Maybe he’s waiting for you to deliver a conclusion, because you catch him moving through older pictures in the meantime. From here, you only see glimpses. Of forests and roads, and then of waterfalls. Even some of him and his friends.

He doesn’t notice it, but his eyebrows are much more relaxed now, expression not quite as steely anymore; and his lips even twitch for a tiny second, tempted to smile. As if he forgot where he’s currently standing.

You let your arms sink, both hands holding your phone, and just gaze for a while. Then move your eyes to the side. To the sky. Remember places you’ve seen and loved in this town. Still hear his harsh tone echoing in your ears.

In hindsight, you really don’t think you've ever personally hurt or offended him. He might’ve been annoyed by something else. Perhaps he was dealing with something that he never dared to speak about; or perhaps, his perception of optimism is warped, because he clearly doesn’t wade through life with it.

You’d like to see his real self, though. The real self, because your gut feeling whispers to you that this isn’t him. Maybe there’s a kind and kindred soul hidden somewhere; maybe his smile proves far more intriguing to you than these mysterious moods of his. Once it appears, that is.

But…

He’ll probably say no. Your idea isn’t dumb, you’re certain, but he very likely will not go with it. But you want to try. Want to show him that you’re not as bad, that he can trust you; want to know what burdens him; or why he talks to you like this.

You might be the only one to wish for more time with somebody who wants to avoid you like the plague.

Yet…

You don’t want this to end just yet.

So you drop a suggestion that surprise even you—

“…You know what? Let’s try something fun tonight.”

“Excuse me?”

He voices it with his attention only half on you, not quite taking you seriously; so you swallow to dampen your throat and speak firmer, suggesting, “You need to trust me on this, though.”

This time, he does look at you. Works on stuffing his camera back into his bag, opening his mouth to retort something, but you stop him with a shushing finger that he doesn’t look too happy about.

“Hold on, okay?” you exclaim. “Listen. Are you busy tomorrow?”

“Uh… not until the afternoon.”

“So you can sleep in.”

“I guess.”

You clap once, loudly and dramatically, watching the man in front of you flinch. You can’t say if he’s irritated, shocked or terrified of you. But he looks hilarious like this, blinking, scowling as his fingers clutch his bag tighter.

“What is it?” he asks as if you’ve lost your mind.

“Look. Let’s not leave yet. Fuck Google Maps,” you suggest, and his eyes grow wider by the second, baffled, as if you’re caging him. “Let me show you pretty places until the sun comes up, and if you still hate me by then, I will never talk to you again. Isn’t this tempting?”

In your head, it is. Not for yourself, but for him. In your mind, he thinks of you as a constant nuisance that stands in his way, hopping around like an overhyped puppy.

Or not. Maybe he has a dog at home; maybe he regards you as worse than cute puppies.

Whatever.

You look at him expectantly, like your persisting stare could help him land a decision. Instead, however, he grimaces, his voice higher when he asks, “What even are you sa—”

No, you won’t give up yet; even if the recurring interruptions make him tear his hair out. You click your tongue and then argue, “Come on! Give it a try.”

Hesitation. Or rather, a question wondering if you’re crazy. Clear rejection. Are you losing?

“We’d be together, so nothing to fear,” you try further, “and how much time is there till sunrise?” You glance at your watch. “It’s barely half past one. The sun comes up in less than five hours. And like, I know it sounds like a lot, but if you give me some time, I’ll give you reasons to smile.”

He keeps looking at you in this questioning, are-you-fully-mad-manner, but you’re absolutely serious and you need him to know. You bat your eyelashes a little, offering your best laugh, and add, “Like this? If you really want to hate me after that, then okay. If not, then… maybe we could go get coffee someday.”

You’ve spoken enough. He raises a hand, quieting you down, and then finally says it.

“You must be crazy.”

“I am,” you confirm.

“You think I’d do this, huh?”

“…Maaaybe?”

“No.”

Jungkook’s answer is stone cold and direct, and it shuts you up with a near-wince. There’s a faint line between his thick eyebrows, lips pressed together; he looks dangerous and very, very mean.

So you don’t say much for another minute, following when he walks away. You side-eye him, notice him type his destination into his phone. Surrendering, you trudge the path he chooses, soon detecting signs leading to the subway.

He can’t say anything to your presence by his side. Even if his answer remains a steadfast, boring no, you’ll have to go in this direction anyway.

More than halfway through, you venture into a conversation again, “Have you ever tried anything like this before?”

“What? The nonsense you suggested?” he asks, and you nod, catching up with his long legs, slightly slower with your heels. “No. I don’t think I need to.”

“You’re so… don’t you ever try anything new?”

“I mean, is this your definition of something new?” He gestures at your surroundings haphazardly. “Going through town in the middle of the night instead of getting some decent sleep?”

You shrug your shoulders, defending, “It’s not like I do it every day. And nothing one can do every day anyway. That's why I want you to try it.” Your voice is soft, friendly. “But you don’t have to.”

He doesn’t answer; only comes to a halt when a bus stop nears, peeking up to the sign with the number before he asks, “That yours?” You hum in confirmation. “Okay. Will you get home well? It’s late.”

“Yeah, of course,” you pout, kicking off a tiny stone with your shoe, “done it a few times.”

He stalls. You don’t know why, but you’re sure he does. You notice it in his slow movements, the brief pause, the way he looks to the subway he needs to approach and then back to you. You smile when his eyes linger on you for a moment too long, and then he tilts his head, sighs.

“Alright. Then… good night.”

And that’s it.

You tell him to sleep well in return, earning a tiny nod, and then he’s leaving you stranded, walking away. Your eyes stay on him until he’s out of sight, down the escalator to the subway and far, far away from the fun idea you conjured.

You mimic his sigh. Take the two or three steps to the bench under the bus stop; and then you wait.

At this time, public transport operates irregularly, so you’re not surprised when you’re still there minutes later. For a while, you remain alone — that is, until a stranger tumbles to you, swaying before he takes a seat on the other edge of the bench.

You don’t look at him; don’t want his attention on you. But to your discomfort, he garbles just a second later, “This the bus to…”

He gets a hiccup, pointing to the bus sign, and then mumbles the name of the station he needs to reach. You don’t understand, however, so you prod, “What?”

Slower now yet similarly slurred, he repeats his question, but this time, you understand and nod your head yes. He overshares, “It’s just that I’m drunk, so I need to be sure. Sorry for interrupting.”

Suddenly, you feel kind of sorry for him. Your shoulders relax; you observe him letting his arms dangle between his legs, sniffling, incredibly exhausted, it seems. What did the fella experience tonight?

You respond, “It’s okay. It’s really late. Get home well.”

“Thanks. You’re very nice.”

The same finger previously signalling to the sign now points at you; but he doesn’t touch you. In fact, his digits are still a good distance away, already falling when you feel a hand on your elbow out of the blue; you nearly react on intuition, getting into position to break somebody’s nose.

But when your eyes meet the other man’s, you recognise him as the same figure standing tall that abandoned you a couple minutes ago. His hand is still grasping the camera bag strap, and he looks calm, confident when he speaks—

“All good? Sorry, I left for too long, right? Let’s go.”

Your voice changes, a chuckle hidden in it when you blurt, “What?”

“You wanted to take a walk.”

And just like that, the snicker dies again. Is he being serious? It seems so; it’s the whole package, even. The nod towards an entirely different direction and the sudden fingers around your wrist, pulling you away.

“Uhm…” you start, feet moving automatically. You turn to the guy drowning in inebriation, leaving a last, “Good luck!” as you wave, smile. Then, to Jungkook, “I thought you went away. Did you want to do this after all?”

You’re cocking an eyebrow, but much at the back of Jungkook’s head, so he doesn’t see. But it seems he hears the tease in your voice, because half-annoyed, half-argumentative, he explains, “No. Just wanted to be a gentleman. I was going to leave the moment you got on the bus.”

Ah. So he was waiting, hiding somewhere? But you don’t mention it; it’d probably just rile him up more.

Yet, you challenge, “You’re lying. You were concerned and you thought my idea was fun after all.”

“Whatever you say,” he says, waving the white flag, probably just to shut you up, “don’t know if I can do this until sunrise, but I can walk with you for a bit. Get you closer to home. And I swear!”

Now he turns, shooting a stare at you over his shoulders, lightning bolts in the middle of his pupils, “If you’re lying and there’s literally nothing special on our way, I’m actually never talking to you again.”

Nothing easier than that.

“Deal!”

“Cool,” he so nonchalantly remarks, finally letting go of your arm, “which way are you heading then?”

“North-east.”

“Good. Works for me.”

The sun is nowhere near up yet; of course not. It’s 1:37AM. Around four and a half hours.

You’re hopeful. In your head, you imagine an uplifted demeanour in no time; try to guess what his smile might look like. A genuine one. Maybe sweet? Maybe cocky? You’ll find out. You will.

So you straighten your stance, clear your throat, sigh a content breath, and step into the night with the courage the stars lend you.

2:13AM, Her

The first almost forty minutes of your night pass leisurely.

Jungkook’s initial sighs cease soon as you advance into the town, walking down a busy main street. You guess the bustling area, the sounds of the traffic and the lights of the flashing cars relieve him somehow. Give him an excuse to not talk to you.

But as the occupied road ends and you reach and pass a crowded square, you’re back in calm and serene alleys. Some people are still wandering around, passing closed shops, much like you.

You attempt conversation every now and then, and Jungkook, having eventually realised that he needs to cooperate with you — he agreed to your idea after all — isn’t as mad anymore.

At some point, he breathes in the late summer breeze, and your head swerves into his direction immediately — maybe the magic of the night has finally reached his core, too. Perhaps he’s appreciating the journey you set out to embark on.

You, for one, cherish the quiet; you know at least this much. The alley must be part of the older corner of the town because the lampposts seem Victorian. They’re fancy, bent at the top, the light a comforting golden.

You do admire the beauty in the dead of night, you do — but the weirdly bruising feeling on your skin becomes uncomfortably apparent the more you walk. Your heels and the Achilles tendons ache, the ball of your feet sensitive to each step.

For a while, you hide the stupid pain successfully, not wanting the night to end; and you do love the heels. Feel just the way those old romcom’s protagonists probably felt, strutting through town with a man whose life they’d change.

But as an involuntary groan slips out of you, Jungkook’s view changes from the old buildings to your struggling self. His eyes settle on your contorted expression before they move further down to your sudden limp.

He asks, “You good?”

“Yeah, yeah! Just been walking for a while, is all.”

“Hmm,” he hums, regarding your heels with a suspicious look. “Do they hurt?”

“Nah. I’m used to them.”

“…Oookay.”

He drags the word, as if in disbelief; and you can’t lie your way through the minutes when the ache worsens, the suddenly paved path too much of a chore. You nearly trip when your heel gets caught between the stones.

Jungkook immediately reacts when you hiss; you’re nowhere near actually falling, but his arms still reflexively jolt, the camera bag swaying and hitting your hand when he catches your shoulders.

“Okay, seriously,” he spits, eyes wide, “that’s enough. You can’t walk in these.”

“I can!”

“Not!” He takes a look around, inspecting the place; it’s quiet here, not too many cars driving by at all. So he points to the edge of the pedestrian zone, instructing, “Sit down there. Let’s see.”

See what?

You blink, but oblige. His pointing finger is dominant, and his eyes urging; you flatten your dress, taking a seat at the edge. The road isn’t high, so it’s a little uncomfortable; but you’re pleasantly surprised when he appears in front of you, crouching.

Very, very baffled when he requests, “Can you take them off?”

“Sure,” you say, unbuckling the straps around your ankles before removing the shoes. You sigh; you must admit, it does feel great. “I’m honestly okay, though.”

Jungkook doesn’t respond, ignores your statement; instead, asks, “May I?”

You don’t understand what he means until his hands come to a float right over your toes; he wants to check for bruises, doesn’t he? You nod curtly; something about this warms your chest. You don’t think you’ve ever seen this side of him before.

Not that you ever had the chance to.

He doesn’t really hate you, does he?

Carefully, his fingers reach for your ankle. The touch is warm and pleasant; doesn’t hurt until he moves his thumbs to your heel. Your feet are overworked; you notice. But rather than the annoying pain, you can’t help but focus on your view.

The big, round nose, hiding the plump, parted lips. His eyes look hooded from here, strands of his hair covering them. Intrusive thoughts plead for your fingers to card through the dark mane; it looks soft, pretty.

And the gentleness he handles your skin with fills you with fondness; you like being cared for.

Even when he shakes his head; pulling you out of your daydream. You take a breath, and then inquire, “You don’t have a problem with touching feet?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “It’s just feet. Besides,” he stops for a second, detecting something at the back of your foot, shaking his head, “Mom used to work as a nurse. Tough job. I massaged hers sometimes.”

Ah… a loving son, a family person. You smile.

“And I thought you have a foot kink,” you tease.

“Shut up.”

“Found anything?”

“Yeah actually. Do you know how wounded your skin is here? Were you wearing new shoes?”

You gulp with a thin-lipped smile, wondering if he’ll kill you now if you tell him. You look to some random spot on your right before you admit, “Yes.”

“God, you…” He clicks his tongue. Puts your foot on the ground cautiously, reaching for his bag. He rummages through it until he pulls out a bandage, holding it in front of you. “You’re lucky.”

You chuckle, relieved and flattered. “I guess I am.”

He puffs out a laugh, but stops it right away, calling your name under his breath before he says, “God, you’re crazy. Be careful. And admit it when you’re hurt. Why didn’t you?”

Well… you didn’t want the night to end—

“I…”

You hesitate.

He works on your other foot just the same, a tender thumb running over your ankle, probably used to the soothing touch. It distracts you. And when he stops and you don’t answer, he puts his arm on his angled leg, staring up at you in anticipation.

“Yes?” he prods.

“I didn’t say anything because I didn’t think you’d care.” Nonchalantly yet pouting, you nibble at your lower lip. “And if I’d told you they’re hurting, you might’ve suggested ending the night.”

He cocks an eyebrow as if agreeing to the most self-explanatory statement ever, nodding as he confirms, “Damn right I would’ve. We should end the night right now if you can’t walk. Not in these, at least.”

Your chest is hot, your stomach twisting a little. Jungkook really does bother; if not due to a connection he shares with you, then simply because he cares for people. Never, you have never experienced him like this before.

With a tilt of your head and a batting of your eyelashes, you suggest, “And if I was barefoot?”

Which he reacts to with a roll of his eyes. “The night isn’t that warm. Don’t do this to yourself. The ground’s dirty, too.”

You take a look at the dark grey pavement upon his argument, much as if the night could allow you to detect any of the dirt he speaks of. Once more, you hum, pretending to contemplate what to do; and when you pick up your heels, suggesting to follow your idea either way, the back of his hand gives your knee the lightest of hits.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Watch.”

He does. Watches you place your spacious, black bag on your lap, opening the zip. Observes as your hand dips in, pulling out one pair of sneakers and replacing them with your treacherous heels. He keeps ogling when you put them on, mouth widening bit by bit.

He doesn’t speak until you’re done, socks picked out of the shoes, pulled over your feet, laces tied. You keep smiling, content with the moment, only dropping the grin when you see his puzzled expression.

“What?” you question.

“You had them with you and… Why didn’t you say so sooner?”

Your answer comes without hesitation; whatever timidity he elicited a moment ago slowly fades again. You clear your throat, back to who you are, and dauntlessly admit, “It was sweet. How you took care of me, I mean. I didn’t think you ever would.”

“But you could’ve at least worn them sooner and avoided the hurt?!”

“Well, it didn’t hurt then…”

“You’re…”

Jungkook uprights himself, towering above you. You put a flat palm onto the pavement, wanting to heave yourself up, but soon see a hand in front of your face. He’s offering it; and you’re quick to take it.

Warm and soft; gentle.

As he pulls you up, you land closer to his body than calculated; his face isn’t too far from yours… much nearer than it has ever been. He leans back; looks to the side; blinks. Clears his throat. Lets go off your hand way too late.

The breath you held escapes in a sudden blow. You swallow.

And when you’ve processed the strange moment, you feel the change in your stance. You’re standing taller now; your feet feel heavenly in your Nikes. Dusting off the front of your dress and your ass, you wait for him to say something.

But he keeps standing there on the road, in the middle of a parking space, hands on his hips. He’s judging you; you understand. Your mindset isn’t for everybody. You might seem crazy, alright.

Yet, he doesn’t scold you again. The up and down of his irked voice doesn’t appear this time when he speaks again; instead, his chin nods towards your legs, and he questions, “So you just carry around shoes with you?”

“I need to,” you say, matter-of-factly, “I can’t ride the motorcycle in heels. And!” Jungkook’s mouth opens, but you’re quick to explain. “Before you ask. No, I didn’t hide my bike anywhere. It needs some fixing, so my co-worker took it because he knows someone who’ll do it. And because he owes me a favour.”

“Right… how unfortunate.” He pauses; runs his tatted digits through the hair you longed to touch minutes ago. They look so silky, it makes you sick. His eyes settle on you, intrigued before he adds, “So, you have a bike, huh?”

“Yeah… why?”

“No reason. I do, too.”

“Mmmh,” you voice, nodding to the road ahead to suggest moving. He follows, trudging next to you again. “You didn’t use it today?”

“No…” He pats the camera bag. “Didn’t want to harm my equipment.”

You hum approvingly, fingers entangling in front of your body. You inch closer to his arm, nudging his shoulder with yours before you flash a sugary smile and say, “Thank you. For caring even a little, you know? Even if you’re always like that, it’s nice to see you like this for once.”

“I’m usually like this,” is what he, however, merely answers, accompanied by air quotes.

But you know you’ve gotten through to him at least a little. Melted bits of the frozen parts of his heart that feel so vexed by you on other nights. In truth, you think, there’s nothing but a delicate organ pumping behind his ribcage.

He’s not a robot; Jeon Jungkook is undeniably humane. If anything, then more than most people you have ever met.

And it shows when he looks away, barely able to hide his smile. You see it even from here — that the gesture does something to his eyes. Nearly squints them shut, makes them smaller, more joyful.

You inhale, proud of yourself. Watch as he toys with his lip rings before he asks eventually, “What do you mean owing you a favour, by the way?”

He sounds almost offended. You think he’ll ask about that favour, reprimand you for giving away your bike tonight of all nights. Tell you off for dragging him here, doing something big enough to entrust an entire motorcycle to somebody.

But instead, he continues with a question you never foresaw, “Are you in a quarrel with them? Am I not your arch-enemy?”

You burst into laughter immediately, covering your mouth as the other palm touches his arm. There’s a bulging bicep under his blazer, but you’ll focus on that later.

Right now, you’re fairly occupied by the satisfied eyes; he doesn’t really expect an answer. He wanted to make you laugh… Why does that set something loose in your brain?

“Oh… are you jealous? What if I told you it’s somebody else who occupies my mind at night and not you?” you wonder, wiggling your eyebrows.

“Don’t do this to me. I’ll find your co-worker and fight them for your enemyship. Word of honour.”

“It’s enmity. And stop flirting with me,” you tell him, moving towards him again, shoulder hitting shoulder. “Or is it something else with arch-enemies?”

This time, he doesn’t veil his grin. It’s bright, pretty, reminiscent of the light shed on you underneath the lampposts. And his pupils; whenever you see them clearly enough, you recognise the sky in them. Borrowed stars inside.

You shake your head a second later, winding down from your fit of laughter, and tell him, “You’re not my arch-enemy. Arch-enemies don’t exist, and you know you aren’t one. You just…” You stall, your voice quieter now. “You just regard me as one.”

He throws you an indecipherable look. Hints of joking, shreds of seriousness, you think. His gaze drifts back to the path again, regarding a passing group of three friends briefly. His hands slide into the pockets of his jacket, and he sniffles once before he utters—

“No, I don't.”

Ah. Ah.

Why do your eyebrows relax the way they do? And your shoulders; already in ease, yet they seem to fall in relief. You peer at him wordlessly; he doesn’t demand an answer, fully aware you’re looking at him.

And you don’t ask what you’ve been to him ever since he saw you at the first party probably a year ago; what irked him, what delighted him. If he thought about you at all.

Instead, you look at the neon words in the next street, asking, “Are you hungry?”

2:19AM, Him

You’re irritating to the core.

You always have been. But he’d be lying if he didn’t admit you amused him a little. No matter how much you’ve been wasting his time, you allowed a smile in this ill-lit night. Nobody else at the party did — so in some sense, you’ve already won, and somehow, he’s even grateful.

Grateful that you’re optimistic about the world at least. Glad that you suggested fetching food. Endeared by the way you thanked him for his care. Surprised that you ride a motorcycle! Relieved that you have good humour.

Even though his own humour and smile dissipate after you enter one of the few open stores still providing late night snacks. The girl behind the counter looks tired, but straightens a little when the two of you flash a polite smile.

She greets with a sweet, “Hi!” but Jungkook sees the lethargy in her drooping eyes immediately. Poor girl.

But you’re as enthusiastic as ever; maybe a little more now, maybe observing the same as him. You put your hands on the counter like a child — the image is somewhat cute. But what comes out of your mouth is not.

“Uhm… Could I have a portion of cheese tteokbokki, please? And then… A half and half corndog for my husband.”

Your… what now?

Excuse me?

Jungkook throws an immediate and scorching look your way, utterly surprised. When you meet his eyes, his thick eyebrows are closer than anybody’s ever seen. He huffs your suggestion away, and then corrects, “I’m not her husband. And I’ll take the chicken wrap.”

You chuckle, leaning into him, shielding your mouth with a hand as you warn, “They’re not usually very good at this store. Trust me.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

Right. He does. After the disaster of finding the damn bus and the deception caused by your shoes, he won’t trust you very easily anymore. His opinion clearly differs from yours, so he’ll bank on his gut feeling.

Satisfied when you shrug, as if to indicate, “If you say so,” he walks over to the window seats with you in tow, looking out to the peaceful streets. Once seated, he turns towards you, peering until you notice and ask far too purely, “What?”

“Not even your boyfriend, no… Jumped straight to making me your husband, huh?”

The lift of your shoulders brushes his concerns aside; your eyes are incredibly innocent and even somehow playful when you say, “I thought it’d be fun.”

“Was it really?”

“Well, your reaction was funny, at least.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes in disbelief. You’re courageous, he must admit. Social anxiety must fear you — is that how you live life? Unabashed, spirited, not a sheer care for anything that won’t actually hurt you.

He doesn’t know if you’re insane or if he’s jealous.

But he still reiterates, “You’re crazy. And it was embarrassing.”

“I mean,” you say, moving on your chair, folding your fingers on top of the counter but still looking at him, “it was embarrassing because you made it. It’s honestly whatever.” You blow a raspberry, and then take a swing again, “Why is it awkward anyway? We’ll never be here together again.”

He whispers a hushed, “Thankfully,” and you tap the counter with a click of your tongue. He gets it; you live differently. That’s fine. As long as you don’t pull him into your mischief, it’s fine.

Right?

He’s right, isn’t he? He knows that in his personal opinion he is; yet, he can’t help but feel that sting, suddenly deeming himself as boring. You’re never bored, are you?

Anyway…

“Even if you do something like this again,” he tells you, “at least tell me.”

“I mean, that would kinda prevent your genuine reactions from happening, but… if it makes you happy.” You grin at him, and he scoffs; wants to say something before the girl calls for you. “Food is ready.”

A couple seconds later, the two of you have settled back into place; at the sight of the snack, Jungkook salivates. He didn’t realise how hungry he actually was. The buzz and fuzz of a party makes one forget such an essential thing fast.

Or maybe, he was just immersed in his work.

The chicken smells good, at least. Or are these your tteokbokki? He can’t quite discern the scent right now; his mind is fogged by his appetite. Silently, he unwraps his food, swallowing before he digs into the wrap.

So far, so good… seems edible. He keeps chewing; swallows some more. But as the taste starts to sink in and he realises the sogginess of the wrap, the lack of proper sauces and the dryness as well as the blandness of the chicken…

He pauses. Where… are the flavours?

Slowing down, he glances at his meal. Inspects it as if he’s holding an entirely new recipe in his hands. A look of realisation creeps upon his face, unaware of your gaze, and he soon hears an amused snicker from the side.

You don’t say much when your eyes align. Only, “And?”

He knows he’s already lost when his expression changes, cringing; when he can’t answer right away, only gaping at you in confusion. Still thinking about where this recipe went wrong.

He answers, “It’s fine…”

But you catch his obvious lie; he sees it in the way you smile so devilishly. Cocking an eyebrow, enjoying another bite of your snack without ever averting your eyes. Then, you put the tiny wooden fork back into the dish, propping your cheek on your fist.

You wait; he doesn’t know what for. For him to eat again? Maybe; because you soon ask, “Do you want something else?”

“Nah.” His answer is instant this time. “I can do this. I’m an omnivore.”

“Ah, yeah. An omnivore friend right here.” You laugh, curious when he takes another bite. And then, “Jungkook, it’s okay to admit…”

But he won’t listen. Only makes a disapproving sound, stuffing his mouth with another horrendous bite. Shit; he can’t confess that you were right. That you were actually right this time.

Suddenly, he’s craving a cup of ramyeon.

But he should keep eating. Wash it down with his drink, empty the soda. And he’s almost halfway through when he notices a movement from your direction, like you’re playing with your food.

Only, he realises that you are not; rather separating the tteokbokki in two halves before shoving the porcelain dish towards him. He shakes his head, but you persist, “Take it, man.”

It does look good…

But… are you going to use the satisfaction his defeat may give you? Probably. But fuck… Fuck it.

Reluctantly, he lets the wrap fall onto the small plate, gulping down the remainder of what he just bit off, and then, accepts your generosity with a nod. And… whether it’s because of the disappointment the wrap brought or the late hunger…

Jungkook thinks he’s levitating above clouds, floating towards the sun.

It’s good. Very damn good.

And when you ask again this time, “Should we get another?” his nod comes promptly, chest risen in satisfaction as he states, “That’d be great.”

“Alright. Be right back.”

“Nah,” he says, lifting an arm as if to protect you. Mid-action, you halt, sliding back up onto your seat. “Stay here. I’ll get it… All good.”

So he does; enjoys the look of surprise when his other hand even carries dessert, four pieces of matcha mochi ice cream. He says, “This is for you.”

You gasp. He can’t deny that it’s sweet — the elation, the big eyes, the palms coming together in delight. How you look between the food and him, suddenly wiggling your feet.

“You seem to like it,” he notes, and you nod feverishly, telling him that, “Yes! Been craving it since we came in. Thank you!”

“Oh. You should’ve told me earlier! We could’ve gotten it. No worries.”

“It’s okay. I wanted to see if my dessert stomach still allowed anything. Didn’t disappoint me today.”

Jungkook gets to his own tteokbokki, halving it in the middle the way you did, pushing it towards you. It’s weird to think about it like this, but — considering how long the two of you have known each other, you might almost look like… friends.

And you don’t feel quite like an enemy either. You’re even… kind of nice. Friendly; harmless.

“I’m glad,” Jungkook responds, only looking towards the entrance when another group of three friends, two girls, a guy, enter. Then back to you, “Sorry. You were right. This,” he points to the poor, sad wrap, “was shit.”

“See? My first instinct almost never lies. And I know this store from other places… the wraps are never good.”

“Sure, but… your first instinct isn’t always right, though, is it? You did get us lost, so it was wrong at least once.”

“Hm… was it, though?”

Jungkook regards you in confusion as you put another piece on your tongue, working on the chewy thing as he asks, “What do you mean? We had no clue where we w—”

“Yeah, I mean. I agree. But… I don’t think it was that wrong. Because—”

You lick your lips clean off the tteokbokki sauce, smacking them. You look child-like, but pretty when you indulge in your element, uncaring about everything, just living. Maybe it’s not that bad that you’re bold.

And maybe, just maybe, he can power through this night easily after all; especially if you keep saying things that soothe his chest, things like—

“Because my first instinct brought me to you.”

2:49AM, Him

The temperatures are falling as the night proceeds, and the second portion of the mochi ice cream adds to the pleasant chill.

Jungkook wonders how you’re doing; your dress is skimpier than his jeans, and your arms bare. But your stance and your speech are still inconspicuous, skin free of goosebumps, your walk elegant, leisurely.

Judging from your occasional hums and your ceaseless optimism, you’re enjoying this journey. It almost makes him feel bad; guilty about how adamantly he refused all this just an hour ago.

It hasn’t been too bad. Sure, you’re bold and intrepid, and yeah, in some ways he is, too — but his courage stems from other motivations. From adrenaline-loaded activities or joyful, temporary pains. Like his tattoos; his motorcycle; the summer he bungee-jumped for the first time.

You’re a different kind of daring; you challenge your limits in crowds and consider life a respectful joke. You don’t ever hurt anyone, he doesn’t think — you just go and see how far you can push yourself.

Perhaps in some sense, the two of you complement each other while simultaneously seeming to be cut from the same wood. Perhaps you’re different, but then again, not so much.

You’re quiet; you weren’t until you left the snack bar. As for now, however, you seem distracted, swallowing heaps of your dessert as you scan the surroundings you’ve led the two into. You’re somewhat unfazed by it, yet peering as though you’ve been here before.

Which, in retrospect, makes sense. You’ve been wanting to show him places you enjoy after all.

When the silence extends, Jungkook, along with the chirping of the nightlife, breaks it with a, “You know what?”

Your head swerves to his side, the wooden fork in your mouth. The pure gaze you give him throws him off guard for a moment — it’s somewhat sweet. But as he regains himself, he says, “I didn’t think we’d get to a housing scheme here. The main street is super close, but the vibe is so different.”

“I know. It’s a little scary at night when you’re alone. Gives very Desperate Housewives, doesn’t it? Secrets veiled behind shut curtains.” You draw closer, imitating a spooky gesture. “But I liked coming here when I was younger.”

Bingo. He thought so.

“Ah… why?”

“My friend lived here,” you explain with a tilt towards a random direction; he doubts the friend lived in just the house you gestured to, “she’s long moved out of course, but we’d play on these streets back then. Most of the neighbours knew me, too!”

Jungkook tsks, hauling his own bite out of the cup, and you add, “No, seriously! We could just knock at anybody’s door here, and they’d let me in.”

“Not if they moved out, too. A lot of time has passed.”

You bob your head. “Time has passed indeed. It does so pretty fast.”

“Doesn’t it?”

You seem to get into overdrive, gearing up; he didn’t think this topic would rev you up like this, but it appears you have a somewhat firm and fond opinion about the passing of time. Jungkook recognises the sentiment before you speak — the light of the lampposts reflects in your eyes like glitter.

Only, he doesn’t foresee what you say next, your tone teasing through the joy you display—

“Yeah! Like. Do you remember when I told you to not get the wrap and you still di—”

“Shut up.”

The roll of his eyes isn’t anything new; but the faint feeling that accompanies it, something akin to amusement, certainly is.

“Okay, but. Seriously,” you start again, sly smirk falling, voice neutralising the mock, “it felt different here. Because like, you know, where I live, it gets crowded. I’m not too far from the city centre, so… this place always felt really peaceful to me. Jieun and I played together a lot.”

Jungkook frowns.

“Jieun?”

“Hm? Oh. The friend I spoke about? She’s pretty cool.”

“Ah… Right, right.”

“Mhmm,” you hum, the end of your small fork tapping the bottom of the nearly finished cup, “you know another way to know that time passes really fast?” You pause for effect, then add, “It’s been ages since we saw each other for the first time.”

“Right. At a party, too, right? When was that anyway?”

“Hmm… Like.” You ponder, blinking, looking up to the sky. “Like two years ago?”

Jungkook’s eyes widen; if you’d asked him, he would’ve estimated a year tops. If he digs in his memory thoroughly enough, he could probably even remember what you wore that day; what you looked like.

It doesn’t feel like two years. You’re right — time truly does pass like the wind.

“Wow,” he exclaims, “it’s been this long since you started pestering me?”

“Shut up,” it’s your turn to blurt, your body swaying towards him until you push him to the side of the vacant road. “I didn’t even come near you most of the time.”

“I know, I know. You were fun to look at, though. Seemed to enjoy yourself every single time.”

Shit, why did he say that? Shouldn’t he hold onto the image he fostered; the one that’s permanently irked by you, throwing snarky remarks throughout the night?

And…

Didn’t this just break the banter, the frenemyship — frenmity? — the two of you have going on? Was it too nice? It’ll probably surprise you. Then again, is he a damn child? Why would he worry about such things? Question his own kindness?

Why would he hold onto his ego and deny you his humane side when you’ve been nothing but lovely to him all night?

The young adult rivalry is over, Jeon Jungkook. Look at her and fucking admit that you’re the arrogant one.

But funnily enough, you don’t seem to notice anyway.

“Hmmm, I do love my job,” you answer, “I have a lot of fun organising stuff. Doing something good for other people, right? See them enjoy it. I mean, of course there are days when things don’t go as planned, but.”

You lift a shoulder, indulging in the final remnants of your chewy mochi and the melted matcha ice cream inside.

“I know. It happens to me, too.”

“Really? How?”

Jungkook waves towards the sky, lists, “Heavy rain, lots of traffic, too spontaneous, issues with the camera… etcetera. Anything can happen.”

“Yeah — I get it. But yeah, I do love doing this. I meet a lot of nice people, too. And I guess that makes me feel very… blessed? It puts things into perspective.”

“How so?”

“Like, it makes you see that most people aren’t bad.”

Huh. Odd. Not that he’d ever deem the entire globe vile, putting a standardised label that he can impossibly prove. But as far as he has seen… too many people aren’t good either.

“Really?” he asks. “That’s a lucky thing to experience.”

You look genuinely surprised, turning towards him when you ask, “You don’t?”

“Uhm — rarely. I do enjoy photography. Always have.” His mind zooms into a glinting memory from the past, and his shoulders and voice rise when he recalls, “Y’know… My dad got me one of those yellow disposable Kodak cameras when I was a kid. I loved it so much.”

You nod; if he didn’t know better, he’d almost say you look… delighted. Actually interested.

“And events and weddings,” he continues, “they’re beautiful to capture. It’s probably the lights and the pretty people. And just… the memories?”

This time, he looks away, straight to the road; if he hadn’t, he’d know that your gaze is definitely fond now. No doubt about it. You listen in closely.

It’s the first time he’s talking to you like this, or to anyone — or for this long, for that matter. Most of your conversations were fleeting, fiery, a petulant back and forth that — he now realises — could’ve been something else, something better, too.

“But then it just sucks when so many of them can’t appreciate it properly,” he explains, raising his hands to emphasise, tone galled. “I mean, I look at my camera and I see a tool to create art. It’s… nothing I take for granted. Just think about it.”

The ball of fire in his chest grows; he feels it warm up, gassed-up. “A thing that can hold onto moments in absolute high definition, so that you can still remember them years later? The 18th century couldn’t have imagined. They needed to commit everything to memory just like that.”

“Wow, Jungkook… You really do love this, too.”

His arms fall to the side. He inhales the fresh flurry of air. Rethinks his passion for his job and says, “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do.”

“…But?”

He knows what’s missing.

“I love the art, but I hate the clients. The event hosts. Not you, but the one even above you.”

Jungkook reckons this was a confession that long sat on his tongue unmentioned. Of course he thought about it; is always reminded when he attends these functions, standing at the back, at the front, left and right, unnoticed and taken for granted.

But now that it’s out and that he’s finally verbalised it to somebody… it definitely liberates something in his head.

You see his issue with these gatherings; he knows you do because he’s figured out this much. You’re filled with enough empathy, sympathy, every grand word ending on the same syllable to acknowledge his disappointment.

But you’re filled with humour and absurdity, too, evident in the answer you provide to diffuse the tension.

“So, that’s why you’re always in a foul mood.”

“Shu—”

“Shut up, yeah, yeah.” You giggle, but then halt for a moment, toying with the rim of your paper cup, “But you know, I think art is worth something even if just one person appreciates it. If it helps in any way… I’m always impressed. And I always appreciate it when I call you and you come despite finding me so annoying.”

One corner of your lips lifts, the smile humble and light; sends a pang of guilt through him. Have you always been so nice?

“Also, I do see the pictures almost every single time,” you add, “and you’re so good at this. At the job itself and the editing afterwards. Honestly.”

“…You think?”

Damn.

Jungkook would probably not bask in this hobby, continue his job if he wasn’t proficient in what he does. He’s known about his prowess ever since he was young.

But praises do offer a sense of magical warmth, don’t they? He doesn’t think any creative mind ever sickens of such unexpected support. And the way you say it… makes him want to never lay down his camera.

“Of course, yes,” you confirm, “not to shoot up your ego, but… you once sent a set of pictures where I found one of me. Don’t know if you even noticed? I was wearing that lilac dress and curls, I still remember — and—”

Stuck on the mention of your clothing, he immediately attaches a detail to the memory, “Sleeveless dress. Long silver earrings, right?”

“Oh… right…”

Right.

He won’t mention that he looked at that picture for just a second longer than at the others that night. Noticed for the first time how pretty you were. Not too deep of a thought, a twelve second stare, but… you wore this vibrant smile on that picture, and in some way, he did hope you’d see it, too.

It seems you did. He feels satisfied, proud even.

“Right,” you repeat, your defences somehow down, “uhm. I printed the picture. Still have it somewhere.”

Jungkook has already often wondered what people do with the pictures; put them in albums? Frame them and pin them over their couch? Right now, he also wonders — do you look at it a lot?

And this again begs the question — when you do, does your decision to book a vendor like him fill you with pride? Like your choice was right?

“That’s so nice,” he says.

“All that to say,” you inhale, “that I think you’re really fucking skilled.”

Woah. You weren’t quite certain if your consolation would bring him any solace, but you’ve done far more than that. You’ve shown him that you see what he does — and isn’t this what every artist craves? To be seen?

The tension buzzes between him and you like electricity; he doesn’t know if it’s just him lighting up or if you’re feeling a kindred link, too. But it’s somewhat intense in this moment of walking under the stars, surrounded by quietude and absolute pose.

So much so that he’s soon submerged by an odd urge to make the intensity wane, “Hey, does this feel to you like… a cliché chick flick kinda dialogue?”

You know…

The moment when two find an empty street in the middle of the night, realising that a conversation with each other isn’t the end of the world after all?

That type of thing?

But he doesn’t say any of it.

“Yeah? Maybe. But it’s also true,” you argue, “I’m an honest person and I don’t think I’d say anything I didn’t mean.”

“Ah, yeah?” Jungkook voices, taking the emptied out ice cream cup and throwing it into the bin on the side of the road, along with his own.

“Mhm, one hundred percent,” he hears you say, followed by a light, quiet smacking noise.

He doesn’t see what you’re doing until he arrives back where you stand; watches you lick the sticky rest off the pad of your thumb, smiling when you stare up at him again. It’s a mundane gesture; he’s done it ever since he was a kid.

But somehow, he can’t stop looking.

Might be the way your lips curve when you do it, or how your eyes smile when your mouth does. The authenticity you portray is rare; perhaps he just confused it with madness until now.

Seconds pass, and with that, your smile does, too. As it fades and drops, replaced by a curious expression and big eyes, you soon mutter, “What?”

There’s no response to that, really. He doesn’t know either.

He doesn’t understand how you turned out to be so right. How it’s such an ultimate truth that a serene night brings out a dreamy alter ego, hitherto undetected. Jungkook has never felt like much of a romantic, but right now, he thinks he’s on a different plane of reality.

This doesn’t feel like Earth; and the town doesn’t feel like the one he struts through during the day.

So maybe it’s not that wayward or groundless for him to lean in. To bend a bit more. Further and further until you laugh nervously; he knows you’re preparing to crack another joke, but you remain silent as he approaches.

Gauges your reaction. Will you run? You aren’t.

Instead, you gulp; let your pupils fall to his piercings, just when his own gaze moves to your lips. His right hand, tattooed, led by its own will, reaches for your cheek until he’s cupping it; and suddenly, his mouth parts — what’s happening? — and then—

And then, a vehicle roars from afar.

Both of you hear the motorcycle before you even see the blinding white light; he grips your arm, probably too harshly, dodging the street with you and jumping onto the pedestrian walk.

One must be crazy to still drive through the city at this hour. Right?

You pant, mixed with insane chuckles of relief, “Shit. We almost died.”

“We didn’t,” he refutes, “we had plenty of time.”

“Oh no,” you stretch the last word, eyes squinting. An accusing forefinger points at him before you deduce, “We almost died because you like me. Of all things!”

“I do not. You just looked kinda cute.”

Jungkook might’ve attempted an indifferent answer, but instead, he steered into an excuse that you do not accept at all. Your smirk is telling and satisfied, and if he wasn’t trying to prove a point, your Cheshire Cat grin would’ve made him laugh, too.

“But you did almost kiss me,” you persist.

Ugh, you’re bold. Laughing like it means nothing; no embarrassment, no shy restraint in you. Which is probably not too bad; somehow even charming. Explains the rosy dust on his cheeks at least. He feels it in the heat, can’t believe he almost kissed you just now.

Why does he feel like a hormonal adolescent? It’s not like he’s never kissed anybody.

You’re still enclosed by pure delight, nudging his arm repeatedly, annoyingly. And when he doesn’t answer, choosing reticence instead, you nearly shriek, as if he confirmed all you just said.

His instinctive hand slaps up to your mouth, covering it, shushing you. You’re still smiling, working on removing his palm, but before your nonsense can proceed, a sudden light flickers in the corner of Jungkook’s eye.

Immediately, he seeks out the source, soon finding a room in the house left to him lighting up. You woke somebody, it seems. A silhouette becomes clearer, its edges more refined with every second, and just before the owner of the place can shove the curtains aside, you grip Jungkook’s hand.

Within a moment, he finds himself tugged away by you, running, nearly stumbling over his own feet. You blurt, “Better get away before they kill us.”

As you leave the tranquil settlement behind, Jungkook still hears a voice from an open window, cursing the younger generation as they do; and then, out of the damn blue, a fucking dog barks.

When you turn over your shoulder, mouth dropping open, Jungkook knows you’re thinking the same as him — this happens outside of cinematic universes, too?

It takes a minute until you’ve reached another road again; one of the kind he’s more familiar with. The city type. The two of you come to a halt near some pole, and you let his hand go, leaning against it.

For a moment, you work on catching your breath, Jungkook’s hands settling on his thighs. And then, when your eyes meet, you burst into a fit of laughter, followed by a playful wiggle of his eyebrows to which you respond, “Don’t act innocent. This is your fault.”

“What? You were lau—”

“Because of you! Oh, I know you want me so bad.”

You’re jesting, of course. Swaying your head, poking his chest, a brat straight out of some TV show. But what you can do, he’s been perfecting for years.

So he answers in kind, “And if I did?”

Only for you to utter something that not even his brain can compute.

“If you did? Then… I think I’d let you.”

“Ah… Yeah? Why?”

“Because— I think you’re just half as bad.”

His snicker is half amused, half flattered. He purses his lips, nodding, and then declares, “You’re just a quarter as bad. But guess I’ve gotten so tired that I’ve started doing weird shit.”

You click your tongue, puffing out a breath, instantly reacting when he only flicks your chin and then walks away. Your startled expression prevails, a distance between him and you established, but just as he puts his hands in his jeans, he hears you finally follow.

“Hey,” you voice from behind, tapping his arm, “are you really tired?”

“I was kidding, but. Honestly? A little.”

“…Hmm. You know, my friend lives in an apartment nearby. Jieun? Didn’t move too far from her old home. We could stop there.”

Jungkook’s left eyebrow leaps up, surprised by the suggestion; the idea doesn’t sound too bad. But…

“Wasn’t the deal to go around for a whole night, though?”

“Ohhh. Are you starting to like it?”

You’re observant, he’ll give you that.

“I’m just saying,” he adds, “and also, would she just let a stranger in?”

“Oh, she’s very civilised and hospitable. She wouldn’t mind, and she’s known me for ages. She trusts me.” Maybe you detect the hesitation in his eyes and the twitch of the corner of his lips, because you immediately carry on, “We can just stay for an hour and then go.”

“Would she be awake, even?”

“She’s a night owl. I know that.”

“Uhm…”

He ponders. In some way, he’s kind of liking the breeze, the quiet side of this town. But… would Jieun find that weird? Then again, can he say no? You’re ogling at him with these hopeful eyes; maybe you need the rest, after all.

“Okay,” he says; he even thinks you jump a bit in joy, nodding.

“Okay! You’ll like her. We can leave with newfound energy afterwards. Okay, cool.”

That’s all you need to lead the way. You look around a little, making sure you’re approaching the right direction, and when you find your confidence again, you march ahead.

Your walk is energetic, not too idle anymore, your beam as dashing and fervid as ever. Jungkook knows his way around editing programs; he’s added wings to pictures before or removed unwelcome passersby on an otherwise great photo.

He even understands how to surround a body or silhouette with a glow; but he’s never seen it around an actual person outside of all these graphics editors before.

Your body is so clearly encircled by it.

Bedazzling.

Screw the 18th century. Even in these modern times of advancement, Jungkook doesn’t think he needs a camera to commit you to memory.

3:25AM, Her

You avert your eyes from the phone and turn towards Jungkook, reaching him where he’s planted firmly in front of the apartment complex. He’s been waiting, back settled against the wall, and as you near, his eyebrows rise in question.

Your friend didn’t respond until now — but just as you foretold, she’s still awake at this ungodly hour.

“Okay. She’s home, but,” you explain, already ringing the bell to her apartment, “she said she’d be leaving soon. Sounds like she’s in a rush. Typos and all.”

Jungkook waits until the buzzing sound of the opening door ceases and you’ve stepped inside, leading him up the stairs, and then wonders again with big eyes, “And she’ll just let us stay? Alone at her apartment?”

You wave his concerns off with a hand’s gesture, “She trusts me, dude. I’ve done this a couple times.”

“What for?”

Hm… you dive back into the old days. Some new, some old. What were they again? They’re mostly blurred, but some of them are carved in your core memory.

“Oh, just…” you reminisce. “If I wanted to meet guys and wouldn’t want to bring them home back when I was still with my parents? Or when I’d need a night to sober up. They would’ve killed me if I’d come home drunk. And Jieun moved out early.”

“How old is… Jieun anyway?”

Old. Not really, but you like to vex her to the point of a pout. She’s patient, but she’s also an incredibly close friend — you allow yourself to be a brat with her and she allows herself to roll her eyes.

“Early 90s kid?” you guess. “A little older than us.”

‘93, as far as you remember.

“Ah. Damn,” he voices; you don’t know why.

“Okay.” You climb the last steps to the second floor, halting in front of a white door with a copper number six on top of it. Knock thrice. “Here goes.”

She might’ve been getting ready close to the door, working on her shoes or questing for her keys. Because she opens mere three seconds later, with a radiant smile on her face able to melt hearts, and a comfortable attire that’s, however, not comfortable enough to wear at home.

A thin sweatshirt and a bun, loose strands framing her pretty face, and shorts that are definitely meant to be worn outside. She won’t be here for long. And you’re focused on this very fact and her hurry so much that you nearly don’t register how shy Jungkook gets.

His voice is somewhat smaller than before when he looks at her; your eyes shift to him, and he’s blinking before he finally breaks and mutters, “Oh. Hi.”

“Hey!” she retorts; she looks so sweet saying it. You understand his perplexity. “Date?”

“Nah. Just a friend,” you answer, which, yet again — very confusing — makes him hum in question. If he started regarding himself as your date all of a sudden, you swear…

You smile.

“Just a friend,” you repeat.

“Fabulous. So you’re not walking around alone, at least,” Jieun concludes, letting you in. In the living room, a hand on her kitchen island, she points through an open door, “Okay, so, the guest room bed is made. Use blankets on it, if you want to rest.”

Her finger shifts to signal to the entrance you came through, imitates a pulling motion, “Don’t worry about locking the door whenever you leave. Also got some leftover food in the fridge, but there’s also cup ramyeon and some frozen pizza in the freezer. Sorry… I need to go shop—”

But you interrupt, shaking your head, “Oh, no worries, really. We just ate, so we’ll just stay here for a little, work off the food coma and leave. Won’t damage anything.”

“I know you won’t, baby.”

She moves to fetch her purse from the couch, and Jungkook uses the moment to whisper in your ear, “Where is she going anyway?”

You don’t know; you shrug your shoulders, pursing your lower lip, but echo his question a moment later, louder than him, “Where are you going anyway?”

Previously cramming in her purse, checking it for content, she looks at you again, telling you, “Ah… Jongsuk is having a bad night and wants me to come over.” Regarding Jungkook, she adds, “My boyfriend. He’s an insomniac and got stoned tonight, too, and just—”

Jieun blows a raspberry, raising a hand for a whatever gesture, and Jungkook mumbles, “Oof. Sounds…”

“Yeah… I know. In any case. Make yourself comfortable, okay?”

“Yes. Thank you so much.”

“Thanks, Jieun,” you repeat.

She nods once more, waving her tiny hand and flashes one last smile before she’s out the door and has left you in full silence. You shuffle your feet for just a second before you look at him again; he still looks somewhat in a daze.

So you ask, “What’s wrong?”

“Hm? Nothing.”

Nothing, right… that’s what they all say after seeing Lee Jieun for the first time. You try not to think too hard about the teeny tiny sting in your enormous, delicate heart. Only let him know, “Don’t worry too much. What could happen? She does trust me.”

You take a couple steps towards the bedroom she offered you, and you hear him follow. Look at the neatly made bed, a thought occurring; but you don’t entertain it yet. Only add, “Besides, she owes me.”

He chuckles. “That’s how you live your life, huh?”

“It’s alright. We’ll just be here for an hour. She’s known me all her life, so nothing to doubt here. And also, think about it,” the tip of your forefinger taps against your temple, “even if something did happen or went missing, she’d know where to find me and whom to report.”

He waits, ogles at you. Then presses his lips together, nods as if you made all the sense in the world, and lifts a shoulder — agreeing, “If you say so. Then uhm — let’s lay down for a bit?”

“Sure! I’ll just sleep in her room, so you can have your privacy here.”

“Mhm. Okay.”

You stand at the door frame for a moment, feet unmoving.

He’s already turned away. And you regret not walking away when you watch him unabashedly take off the blazer and provide a glimpse to his snatched waist as inked fingers scratch his back briefly, shirt moving up. But then it’s covering his skin again.

Flawless back; pretty golden. A little further up, and you’re sure you would’ve seen strong shoulder blades, too. He’s worn fancy dress shirts at luxurious events before — you know many would kill for his built, because you’ve seen his bicep flex before.

You forget where you are for a second, but when he opts to turn, eyes on you for just a heartbeat, you stir. Blurt out an awkward apology, and then leave. Wish him a good night, barely waiting for one back before you close the door.

You laugh quietly at yourself.

Her room is just next door; you already mentally prepare for a nap. Meanwhile, Jungkook plumps onto the bed, groaning when the comfort hits, and works on getting used to the ceiling, if only briskly.

He only notices how much his head is spinning when he closes his eyes, ready to doze off. Should he set an alarm? He doesn’t want to still be here by the time Jieun returns. Maybe he should tell you, too.

But his body won’t move.

Yet, in the time he’s failed to make up his mind, he suddenly hears a knock at the door again. Must be you — must be telepathy.

He tells you to enter, and you do with a shy demeanour; only thirty seconds must have passed, right? A minute, tops. He looks at you in wonder, and you explain, “She uh— locked her room. No clue where the keys are. Guess that’s why she specifically pointed out the guest room.”

You nibble your lip, getting no answer back. He looks just as much out of ideas as you, and you still refuse to bring back the thought from before; yet, you ask, “What do we do now?”

“Well…” He looks around, though there is not much to take in. “I can sleep on the couch?”

“…The couch is too small.”

“Okay. Then I’ll just sleep on the floor.” He’s already working on getting up, no hesitation, scratching through his now messy hair, feet moving on the fluffy carpet. “I’ll take one of those pillows, though. Carpet should be good eno— what are you doing?”

You’ve charged towards the bed, climbed past him until you’re sitting behind him, facing his back and his craning neck. You say, “I’m not giving you that pillow.”

“Why?”

“You can’t sleep on the floor.”

“…Why not?”

You throw an unbelieving look, as if it’s obvious. Your flat hand gestures towards the carpet vaguely, and you argue, “It’s uncomfortable.”

“Listen, I should. This or the couch, nothing else left.” It’s crazy to you how he doesn’t even consider the bed instead of giving it up for you. “It’s just an hour. Don’t worry about it.” He stretches a hand towards you, curling his fingers in a grabby motion. “Come on. Gimme that.”

You’re astonished — beyond pleased about the fact that he cares like this. That he’s so… mindful and humble. You give up; he won’t falter and you know.

“Okay… then take this blanket, too.”

He grabs the second one that Jieun provided, head bowing a little as he says, “Thank you.”

The proceeding minutes you spend preparing for bed, slightly discomforted by your dress, pass in half-awkward, half-comfortable silence. He lays down on his unusual spot, and you cuddle into the blanket on your light, soft side.

As the rustling of blankets and sheets subsides, it gives way to the sound of the ticking clock; you focus on it, count the clicks like sheep.

But sleep doesn’t quite fall upon you yet, and you guess Jungkook feels similar when he calls your name and asks, “What does she owe you?”

Your head moves towards his voice, even though he can’t see you. “Huh?”

“Jieun. What does she owe you? And your coworker.”

“Oh. Uh. Honestly, just kindness.”

You can already see it — doe eyes rolling at another one of your cryptic answers. You know people don’t fathom your thoughts very well, and some feel annoyed by your dreamy outlook of the world. You don’t mind, but you wonder what he’s thinking.

But all he responds with is, “What?”

“Well, just. They’ve known me for ages. I’ve been there for Jieun for so long, and Jongin has always been so incredibly nice to me. Picked me up when I was dead drunk once and brought me home. Got me medicine and everything. And I’ve lent him some comfort over the years, too.”

It hasn’t been too long, so you remember. You’ve been good friends with him ever since you started your job; a steady part of your team. He and you have got each other’s back.

“These two are friends,” you say, “and I think kindness is the most we can give our loved ones.”

Jungkook hesitates. Have you bored him to sleep? Or is he pondering your words, thinking of you as weird? Maybe not—

Because he actually converses, asking, “You think? Doesn’t that mean we’re just kind to them then, so they can be kind to you in return?”

“I mean… yes and no. Owing might be the wrong word. I’m not nice to others to get something back. I’m like this because I want to be and because the world can be shitty and it’s important to be nice, and in return, I want people to be nice to me, too. It’s not an eye to eye kind of thing, it’s just about. Spreading affection in relationships. It’s what they’re here for.”

“…Hm. Is this why you’re never rude to me? Even when I deserve it,” he asks, registering a hum. “You know… you think really… uniquely.”

This is a nice way to phrase it at least. People like you; you’re good with them. But sometimes, they can be mean, too. Not that you mind. It’s natural — people occur in all types and shapes.

“But is it unique, though? Isn’t it a given?” you question.

“Yeah, probably, I just— never thought of it this deeply.”

“Mmmh. So is me thinking uniquely a compliment? I can’t say.”

He laughs, and you join immediately, exclaiming an, “I’m serious!” in the middle of it all. Jungkook’s snicker is authentic, so you enjoy hearing it; but you like his answer even better.

“Maybe. I just… I feel like a lot of people try to be different these days. Or play a role to be perceived a certain way? But I think you’re genuine — you actually mean the things you say without any hidden intention to make people forcefully like you, right?”

An intention? Oddly phrased. You think, though… that what he said was nice.

Still, you confirm, “I don’t try to be anyone for people to like me.”

“I didn’t say otherwise! This is actually just what I meant. Besides, people like you anyway because you’re you.” As if he’s reading your mind. “That’s what I was saying.”

You hum, blinking at the ceiling and the little modern light hanging there, the beam off. The darkness pleasant. You conjure another question and ask, “So you think me being me is a good thing?”

You always considered it was. You like being you. But Jungkook didn’t like whatever makes up your personality — has this changed? Apparently.

“Of course,” he surprisingly answers, “it’s always a good thing. And just because I disagree with some of your characteristics, it doesn’t mean everybody will.” Oh. Well. But wait— “Or maybe, I’m just a moaner.”

Well.

“That you are,” you verify.

“Damn.”

“But, but— you’re kind, too, you know? Not everyone says the things you just said.”

“Maybe.”

“So…” you stall, rethinking his prior words. “Do you still disagree with all those characteristics of mine?”

Another joyous sound tumbles out of him, much in the form of a breather than a laugh; hushed, but you still hear it clearly. Perhaps you’re being a little awkward; but in all honesty, you hope he’s just finding it amusing, somewhat cute.

“I mean — you’re too blunt. But brave, like, I could never. The thing you did at the shop? Never. But this isn’t bad. And you aren’t bad.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

His voice is a whisper. Reminds you of a feeling akin to temptation; your mind automatically imagines the susurrating sound near your ear, exhaling the very syllable he just did. Frankly, you’re absolutely tortured by the knowledge of him being this close.

That you could probably touch his face if you rolled over to the edge of the bed, letting your arm dangle, seeking his skin. That he’s in the same room, talking to you this gently, saying things that a girl doesn’t hear too often these days anymore.

There it is. The intrusive thought from before… prevailing.

And you’re tortured by it. But mostly, by the image of him standing in front of you between the houses just a little time ago, staring at you, pupils flitting back and forth between your eyes and your lips. How he neared you. How he almost kissed you.

You might’ve joked about it then, but deep down, and especially now, you’re intrigued by the idea. Of the fantasy of a what if — what if he’d actually kissed you?

Taking a deep breath, you look to the side, staring at the door and call, “Hey, Jungkook.”

“Hm?”

“Is it uncomfortable down there?”

“Uh… a little.”

You shuffle at your spot, turning to the side. “Just thinking. What good does it do if we don’t rest well? What are we here for?”

“…What are you talking about?”

Pause. Quietude. You close your eyes, then open them again.

You’re never shy; so you don’t deem it an advantage for yourself to turn timid now either. You tell him, “Come up. I know you want to. I know I want you to.”

He doesn’t say anything; you bite your tongue. Maybe it was a mistake. But then his voice chimes again, wondering, “Are you sure?”

Your answer is immediate.

“Of course. Yes, I’m sure.”

“Okay… okay.”

As he starts to move, you gulp. You make place on the bed, moving to your previous side, pushing the blanket aside in case he wants to slip under it, too. The motions of his silhouette seem uncertain as he makes his way up to you, as if he’s uncomfortable with it.

“I… Was I wrong…? Do you not want to?” you make sure.

“What?” you hear him say; see his head shake. “Ah, that’s not it. Just want to make sure you’re really okay with it. I’m not the type of guy to…”

“I know. It’s fine. I don’t think you are.”

“Okay.” The mattress bulges where he lays down before it evens out again. He emits a couple groaning sounds, probably glad to give his back something proper. You turn to him just when he says, “Honestly… that’s a little better, yeah.”

“Thought so. Are you tired?”

“Definitely.”

“But you’re not sleeping.”

“Because you’re talking.”

Wrong. There was enough silence for him to nod off before. He was the one who started the conversation at all; you were ready to turn and toss and rest eventually.

When you don’t respond, his head turns on his pillow, too; in the darkness that you got used to, you see his eyes twinkle. Both of you know that you’re looking at each other. And he’s kind of close — closer than you thought.

And… if you’re not wrong, he just inched nearer only a nanomoment ago. He repeats in a whisper, once more accusing, “You’re talking, that’s why.”

“That’s really why, huh?”

“Mhm.”

“The only reason there really is?”

“What else could there be?”

You smile, brazen, letting out the courage you’ve gathered, “Well, I know what else it is for me.”

“Yeah?”

Daring a step further, you graze his shirt featherlightly; you don’t know whether he notices. Not until he moves his hand, fingers ghosting near yours.

Waiting until you reveal with sheer, sudden heart palpitations, “I… I want you to kiss me. You do, too, don’t you?”

He inhales, but doesn’t exhale. What does it mean? You don’t know.

You don’t know what it is until you hear the smile in his words, gentle yet tantalising when he says, “…I do.”

“Good. Good. Then kiss me.”

And the rest proceeds without hesitation and without another plea.

His body moves as if on its own accord; he seems possessed, or controlled by a puppeteer. Warm lips lock with yours before you can draw another breath.

They feel soft, full, like tiny pillows, a contrast to the metal of his piercings. And they move gently, so carefully, like he’s still scared of crossing a line despite your permission. But when you lean into him, hoping for more proximity, he blossoms a little. Initiates more.

Oh, he, too, has been waiting for this, hasn't he?

A hand, nearly as warm as his kiss, slithers up to your face, holding you closer to him. The bangs that so often cover his forehead are tickling yours now, his head tilting to give his cute nose more space.

And with that, he deepens the kiss, too. Dares a step further, separating your lips with his, trying things out. He gauges your reaction as the tip of his tongue sneaks its way into the mix, and the moment you do the same, he dives in properly.

Kisses you just a little harder, tasting you, sighing into the movements as if all the weight of the world has dropped off his shoulders. As if he’s relieved, calmed down, resting for the first time tonight.

Yet, at the same time, he’s firing himself up — moving over your body slowly, holding onto your mouth to his best abilities, as if you’d disperse if he let go for too long. As if you’d change your mind.

He cages you in to keep you underneath, not touching your face anymore but shoving his fingers into your already tousled hair. If you were still in your right mind, you’d recognise how insane this situation is. Your younger self would’ve never predicted such a moment to ever become part of your life.

But it is… it is so clearly being played into your hard drive; somehow, you already know it’ll remain stuck in your memory: the way he’s kissing you, so thirsty, so insatiable. How he’s sighing, relaxed, yet sporting an audible heartbeat against your chest.

He uses moments of switching sides to breathe but continues right away; the keenness drives you crazy. You touch his shoulders and then wrap your arms around him firmly, making him hasten closer until he’s nearly falling onto you.

What in the heavenly make out sessions is this…

It’s nasty, yet sweet. Followed by quick breaths; it takes merely a minute until you feel his lower body grinding into you, his jeans tight around his crotch all of a sudden. And the second you realise he’s hardening beneath them, your body reacts.

Reacts so effectively.

Your lower tummy tickles, dampness pooling below as he pushes into you again, harder this time. You moan, enticed by your goosebumps and the heavy bulge. Solid enough for you to crave him within a moment’s notice.

And it only worsens threefold when he whispers, “Fuck… Somebody really knows how to kiss, huh?”

“You’re talking. What was this—” He so rudely interrupts with another peck, and you laugh into it. “Yeah, this…”

Your last word dissipates like candle smoke; you don’t even know why you bother to speak. Your voice is barely perceptible when his teeth remove the short sleeve of your dress, kissing your shoulder and then down to your cleavage.

It’s easy to remove your dress; it’s light, summer-y — but he doesn’t bare you just yet. Plays around at the mounds of your tits until he pushes the neck of the dress down a bit, asking, “May I take it off?”

Oh, if you could count the times you’ve imagined his veiny hands removing this damn dress just in the last fifteen minutes…

“Of course,” you permit, “do I look like I’d reject you?”

“Mmmh.” The hum is proud, satisfied, vocalised amidst another kiss to your clavicles. “Just making sure.”

Soft, warm hands trail up your leg, leaving a path of another set of goosebumps. You want him to stay right there on your thigh, knead the flesh, press into it, showcase the lust he feels in the beguiling pain.

But instead, he pushes up your dress, fingers ghosting over your ass — and when he doesn’t find your panties but only bare skin, he stops kissing you. Looks at you. Makes out the string of your thong a second later — in the dark, you discern the way his lips round in captivation.

He’s loving this.

He tugs at the string and lets it snap back into place; you gasp even though it doesn’t hurt, but it drives you mad when he states, “Wow. Very intriguing.”

Leaving it at this for just now, he kisses you again, tongues mingling once more before he releases a sharp, nearly aggressive hiss and mumbles, “Holy fuck. I can’t stop.”

“I didn’t tell you to stop,” you guarantee.

“Good. Good, good, good.”

The dress surrounds your waist now, stopping below your breasts, and Jungkook journeys down to drag his lips around the spots he hasn’t touched yet. As if he’s trying to familiarise himself with all of you, working towards the goal of memorising you entirely.

His teeth scrape at your pelvis just lightly, seemingly contemplating whether he wants to destroy these panties or not — but then decides against it. You wouldn’t mind; you’re not showing anybody anything of you tonight but him.

And you’re already such a mess; breathing so irregularly, letting out his name and quiet sighs. He should know he could do basically anything. That you’re ready for him.

But instead, he only curses again, sucking at your skin harshly, nails digging into your hips. And then, from below, you hear him say, “Want you to suck my dick so bad.” He moves up, fingertips on your cheek, rubbing himself against your underwear, and questions, “Will you suck my dick, baby?”

Oh, he didn’t just…

Oh, the way the pet name screws with your head is irreversible. You feel sick at the mention, breathing out hard, about to get up at the speed of light to swallow him fully; to the hilt.

But you won’t give him the satisfaction yet; you’ve gotten used to the darkness, and seeing the hazy insanity in his eyes spurs you on to play with him a bit more. So you lift your body, giving him hope, but then say, “I have a better idea.”

“Ah? Where are you going?”

“Wait.”

He quietens. Falls to the side and onto his back as he watches whatever you’re trying to do unfold. You look back at him for just a blink of an eye, but you immediately perceive the hand cupping his clothed dick, moving a bit, up and down.

“Okay. Should work on this first,” you say, straddling him backwards.

You hike up your dress more, baring your back to him, and you instantly hear the breath he releases. Feel the palm touching your spine, grazing it; you imagine huge eyes ogling at you like he’s reached nirvana. You so hope he’s looking at you like this.

“My God…” he only mutters, however, proving your point when he opts to get up. But you turn as much as you can, a flat hand pushing him down again, to which he complains, “What?”

“I told you to wait, silly. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You sure? You’re being pretty mean right now.”

“I’m not being mean. You’re just not patient,” you laugh. “Give me a second and I’ll wreck your world, ‘kay?”

“Ah?”

“Mhm.”

“That I wanna se— oh. Oh.”

Exactly.

Once you’re done pulling off the dress, you shift back, enough for your pussy to align with his gorgeous face. Jungkook instinctively grabs your ass to pull you lower, and you chuckle at the restless gesture.

But you need to focus; and as best and tidily as you can, you unbutton his jeans, zipping them open until you detect his shorts. He raises his hips to help you, and you bite your lower lip, crazed by the sight that awaits you once the jeans are halfway down.

The bulge is big indeed. The imprint is insane; the light from outside allows glimpses, and you salivate, bowing your head to kiss him above his underwear, feeling him stir. And he imitates, blowing against your wetness, his finger — middle one? — curling around the string digging between your ass cheeks.

When he frees your pussy, you feel it. It hits the air in the room coldly, a contrast to his hot breath. A second more and you might drip into his tantalising mouth, just how you’re drooling over the cock you finally set free.

It springs out, veiny under your touch. Hard. Thick and long. Everything good, a fucking ideal package. You scold him, “You’ve been hiding this from me?”

“Huh? I wasn’t hiding.”

“Now I realise just how mean you are, man,” you say, shaking your head, spitting onto the slit before wiping it off again with the tip of your tongue. He swears again. “Could’ve had this make me hoarse so long ago.”

“Fuck,” he replicates, “stop talking, or I’ll fuck this mouth of yours. You want to be hoarse so bad, then try me.”

“Is this a threat? You really think I won’t let you? Stay right there, little—” You look again. “Big man. You can do whatever you want, but wait a second, alright?”

“Nah. You’re not the only one teasing. You brat,” Jungkook whispers sharply, delivering a smack to your ass; you gasp. “I just…”

You don’t know what he just — you only know that he’s attaching his mouth to your cunt right away, thong pushed aside, diving in with a tongue so eager. You squint your eyes shut, lips parting, calling his name as he holds you there roughly.

He soon wraps his arms around your hips, like a belt, lips intense as he kisses you even wetter. The sounds he eludes are dirty, sinful; and the feeling of his piercings doesn’t add to your sanity.

You decide to not let this distract you; he’s competitive, you realised, but you are, too. So you lean in, lips wrapping around the tip. Your right hand enfolds his cock, pumping him, tracing every firm vein that protrudes. He’s so pretty all around.

“Shit,” you whisper, hoping he doesn’t hear; only continue to work your tongue around the head, setting the nerves alight as he’s doing for you.

You kiss down the shaft, licking and humming to create a sort of vibration. And then, you take him in as much as you can. Despite being large, barely fitting, soon hitting your throat, you try. Hollow your cheeks, bop your head, gifting him your attention.

But it’s hard. So hard because—

God, he’s lapping you up so good.

So hungry. Out to kill you as he releases the prior belt, bringing two fingers to your pussy and thrusting them into you slowly. Mouth and digits; both at once. Thumb against the clenching hole between your ass.

He’s distracted every now and then, much like you, but he still maintains a steady pace. Cruel… so cruel. Those damn fingers propelling into you, harder sometimes before they slow down again. Curling to hit you just right, massaging the rough, walnutty spot.

Oh, Jungkook knows… knows exactly what to do.

They don’t make men like him anymore.

Your ass clenches when his skills exceed your expectations and he rubs your insides particularly well, mouth just right above your clit as the tongue circles around it. It’s nearly overwhelming; you could cry with this mouthful of dick impaling your throat.

He feels so good on you. So good in you. You want all of you filled, not just your mouth. So you soon let go with a plop, a string of saliva so lewdly connecting your mouth and his member, and you wipe your mouth.

Tell him, “This should be enough.”

And he agrees immediately, smacking his lips, as if licking up the remnants of his food, “Fuck yes. Enough.”

You want to get into the next position, put in some work, but what you don’t expect is that Jungkook is already planning a step ahead. Tapping your ass with his big manly palm, pushing you off of him until you’re crawling on all fours.

Submitted to him. And you don’t mind a bit — just for now, just for him, you’ll give into this because you’ve been craving it. It’s okay; you vow to yourself that in a while, you’ll wreck his shit just as much.

On your elbows and knees, you hear him shifting, the mattress dipping, his knees nearing you and closing your legs in. The palm covering the right side of your ass causes it to jiggle, and when you push your butt towards his pelvis, he praises, “The way you know what to do without me needing to tell you. How convenient.”

“Well,” you breathe out, “it’s not my first rodeo. But do make it the best… okay?”

“No pressure at all, huh? I’ll try my best.”

You want to react, bring a laugh straight out of your throat, but Jungkook is faster. The reaction comes alright, but not as you wanted it to. But rather in a high-pitched moan, arms quivering when he fists his cock, guiding it to your leaking cunt, and rubs the tip between your pussy folds.

You reckon he’s testing out how eager you already are; you contemplate on telling him. On pleading, on saying something that might drive him to action. You don’t mention a single word, though; only let your ass speak once more, steering towards him until he gets the message.

He must have.

Because he clicks his tongue as if to admonish you for your shortage of patience, though only briefly before he surrenders to the itch you cause. Scratching without hesitation now, he finally helps you lose your damn panties and then dips himself into you slowly.

Of course; with a length like his, there’s no way you’d be able to survive a quick push. Jungkook knows to be cautious, penetrating you sweetly; an oxymoron in a moment like this. Your fingers digging into the sheets reveal as much; there’s not much going on yet, but you’re already holding onto the soundness of your mind so desperately.

“Shit, what the fuck,” you murmur, your turn to let out profanities; you’re sure this isn’t your last. “You scared of something, Jeon? I’m… I have an IUD.”

“Scared? No. You’re not an idiot, right?” he whispers. “You would’ve told me if you couldn’t do it like this. Much rather…” He breathes heavily between his words. “I’m taking you in, y’know? Enjoying — fuck — how wet and warm you are… Gonna wreck you raw, though, no p-problem.”

No, your foul words were certainly not the last for tonight; his dick is just halfway through when he stops and another tumbles out of you. He drags the thickness back, then inside again.

Your walls are occupied to their last inch, and you know you could take all of him if you just gave yourself some time — but somehow, his care turns you on even more.

Goddamn, he’s good. All of him — his dick, his voice, his mouth, his touch. He’s so— nnghh…

You have never witnessed his fingers do much more than take the pictures you love. Whenever he operates the button with his forefinger, flexing the inked crown above his knuckle, you already know the man has a talent unmatched.

But right now… right now you have an entirely different perception of these same digits.

Like, when he leans in a bit, still deep inside you, undoing your bra in a smooth motion. Or when he caresses your back, along your spine, contradicting the touch with a harsher, harder jab now.

And shit, when he pulls your ass cheeks apart, digging in further, fucking through your seeping hole until he’s covered in slick, too. It must look so good to him; incredibly memorable.

Your whimpers are quiet and gentle, matching the way he fucks you, only rising in volume when he decides to push another inch in. You behave; you whine softly; that is until all of a sudden, he pulls back most of his cock and shoots back in, colliding with your ass with a slapping sound.

Yelping, you hold the sheets until your fingers hurt, and he bolts forwards, a hand slamming your mouth shut and muffling your mewls. Way too close to your ear, he says, “Sh sh sh… my God. Jieun has neighbours, babe — don’t spoil her reputation.”

He proceeds to kiss the skin under your ear, taking your arms captive until they’re pinned to your back. Fingers intertwine messily, holding your limbs in place, and as he frees your mouth again, you laugh — it’s all you can do to not feel too weirded out by the mention of Jieun’s name right now.

You tell him, “Use my panties then.”

“Your panties, huh? Do you want me to?” You nod, but he’s not obliging enough to give into your wishes. Teasing you to no end. “Nah. I’ll just…”

Jungkook doesn’t finish the sentence; what he does is much more alluring, nearly forcing tears of lust to your waterline. He grabs the back of your neck, urging you to look at him, and just as you register his face close to yours, he kisses you again.

Your body immediately blossoms. You breathe as much as the kiss allows, yielding to his tongue. Let him push you down and into the mattress, imprisoning you under him. And he kisses you… kisses you… kisses you more…

Basks in your dimmed moans as he hits from behind again, hard. Sheathes himself inside you thoroughly and with impact; he’s enjoying the fact that you want to yell, but need to restrain yourself at this time of the night.

Because he’s right. You don’t want Lee Jieun to earn looks in the morning because of you.

As if provoking you, he blatantly asks, “You good?”

“Yes— yes!”

“Mhm…”

He’s out of breath; can barely emit another word. But he doesn’t waste any moment at all; kisses your neck, bites your earlobe. Pushes his hands under your body to get ahold of your tits. Fucks you into space, lifting one of your hands to your face, entangling his fingers with yours.

You shift up and down the mattress, just a little; the position, with him on you, doesn’t allow too many extreme movements, and you’re more than fine with it. There’s something about him going unhinged on you like this.

But… it does awaken the need to retaliate, too.

So you use the opportunity when he decides to pause, running out of energy, gasping for breath. He leaves you empty and yearning, pulling back and sitting up, and judging from the touch on your tummy, you assume he wants to flip you on your spot.

Instead, however, you turn on your own accord, both palms that he held captive minutes ago shoving at him. He produces a strange sound as he falls backwards, landing on the mattress and onto the pillow with big eyes that almost don’t fit his Greek God-esque physique.

Goodness, the damp dark hair. The abs. The pecs. The nipples…

You might dribble onto his sweaty, shiny skin. And you don’t veil your innermost thoughts this time, straddling him as you say, “My turn. Need to ride you so bad.”

He visibly relaxes; leads his fingers to your hips, thumb drawing patterns on them. His tongue darts out to play with the lip rings, and he eyes you up and down. He’s taking you in for the first time properly, just as you are him.

Just as your eyes drifted over his muscular body, he now makes stops along the journey — your pussy on the length of his cock. The tits and the perked nipples. The ruined hair, sticking to your collarbones.

You wonder how he likes what he sees.

Probably enough if he can respond with something like, “I won’t stop you.”

Good to know.

So you take a comfortable seat on top of him, still keeping him down, lining up your sex with his. When you welcome him in again this time, you do so fully. No slow torture, no waiting. You claim your throne until your ass hits his hardened balls.

He says, not quite expecting an answer, so you don’t give one, “You’ll kill me today, right?”

And then you start. Put in all the effort you can gather. He feels heavenly inside you, the perfectly curved length moving just the way it needs to. His groans and calls of your names sound promising, telling; you suppose you’re doing a good enough job if his eyes roll back like this.

The hands on your hips push into your flesh more, and when you remove one and bring it to your mouth, sucking his forefinger with your eyes set on him, he loses his shit. Starts pumping up from below, meeting your up-and-down ministrations.

“Shi— what— do you think,” he attempts, stagnant breathing, “you’re doing…”

But he’s grunting in ardour, so you don’t stop; don’t let him take over fully just yet. No — you roll your hips, bend your back, catch a patch of his hair and then angle your body to crash your lips onto his.

The kiss weakens his defences. For a moment, you do feel his nails bruising your skin, but another second later, his touch is as soft as a feather. He’s so ultimately at your mercy that he lets you trace his abs and kiss his pecs.

Lets you get into a crouch, your palms settling below his chest for support. And then… then you navigate north and south, repeatedly, fucking him into you with vigour. He throws his head back, but then looks at you again, blinking fast before his eyes squint shut once more.

“The fuck are you—” he tries, but you start circling his cock again, moving in eight-curves, seeking support in his biceps.

“What?” you voice. “Not good?”

“You fucking— kidding me?” His lower lip trembles when he parts his mouth. You see it even with the lights dimmed. “This is such… a good fucking pussy. I was an idiot to push you aside.”

You’re too dazed to really pout, but you do hear the undertone; ask to clarify, “You’re just saying that f-for… getting my pussy, huh?”

“What— no. Fuck no. Look at me.” His hand reaches out, fingers poking into your cheeks, and he pulls you down to him, makes you meet his eyes. You slow down. “I wouldn’t just do this for any pussy— I… not with you. I don’t just. I don’t just go home with anybody. ‘Kay?”

His words bloom in your chest like a bouquet of flowers. In such a vulgar moment, you shouldn’t be feeling like this, but you can’t help but acknowledge the warmth spreading throughout your body. Burning up your already aflame muscles.

You want to know more; so you query sneakily, “What does this mean?”

“What it means?” he echoes, words blurry, as if drunk. “That you’re beautiful. And… honestly, kind of cool. So annoying but so fucking funny and— hot—”

“I am? Look at this,” you say, still moving but tired; touching his face, his cheeks, his sweet nose, “look at you…”

“No.” He grits his teeth. You don’t know what comes over him, but he’s inhaling way too deeply, lightly aggressive again as he retorts, “Look at fucking you.”

And with that, he gets what he desired earlier; flips you over, climbing over you. With your shield lowered, you didn’t expect this, and now you’re right where you began. And for some reason, the sharp jaw, the furrowed eyebrows, the starved look hits you even harder than before.

The many inches he sports fell out as he took over, but as he plunges into you again with embarrassing ease, something feels different. How he looks at you. How he touches you, pushing your hair back, kissing your lips with such softness.

And how he holds you when you finally see the stars you waited for, his face in your neck, his thumb on your cheek, his palm on your jaw. Kissing your shoulder, delighted as you seek an anchor in his back, tightening around him impossibly as he fucks you through your high and your broken moans.

“Jungkook—” you repeat over and over, and in return, he mutters constant, “I know, I know.”

Again and again and again until his sounds become more uncurbed. Only syllables, rumbling, his chest vibrating against yours until he lifts himself up and retracts his cock.

His pupils shake as he jerks himself off, and you know what he’s seeking, quickly getting to your knees, helping out. You replace his hand with yours, sticking out your tongue before you engulf his dick rapidly.

In surprise, he lets out, “Oh, fff—”

Shit, how he sounds. And how wicked he feels in your mouth, tasting like you, tasting like him. Wet and slippery, his balls hard when you cup them. And then— a mere moment later, he’s shooting ropes of white down your throat.

You’ll never get used to the feeling. You didn’t with your exes, didn’t with any other guy you’ve been with. It’s sudden, your gag reflex kicking, but you don’t want to stop until he has.

Sticky and hot, you let him; look up to him. His jaw glimmers due to the sheen of sweat, and he holds your hand to keep himself upright. Nearly growls when he’s done, and then calms down bit by bit. Pulls out of you. Plumps back onto his ass.

Catches his breath; and once the two of you have relieved your burning lungs, you with your legs under your butt, you look at each other again. A sudden laugh. He lets his head drop onto his shoulder, and then shakes it before getting back on his knees, nearing your joyous form.

The last kiss of the night is endlessly more chaste. No tongue, no making out. Just a couple pecks, a hand around the nape of your neck, noses grazing. Once, twice. And then, he’s smiling again.

You tell him, “Can’t believe this actually happened.”

“Crazy… right?”

“Crazy, yeah. We…” You gulp. “We can leave it right here, though. Guess we were both riled up.”

He nods, humming, looking to the side. “We could. But we don’t have to. It felt too good to forget, you know?”

You gleam and glow; if you could, you’d curl your fingers into fists, screeching like an excited high schooler in her room, acknowledged by a crush. But you only press your lips together, corners twitching up, cheeks hot.

Then, you say, “You know what… I might just agree.”

“Good.” Another one of his stares to the side, through the door of the room. “You think we should very quickly and very harmlessly use Jieun’s shower? She probably wouldn’t mind.”

“I don’t think she would. But she’d certainly know what happened.”

“Least of our concerns,” he argues, getting up stark naked. He pats your thigh and then tugs at your arm, adding, “We’ll be tidy. And then we can rest a bit and leave. Am too fired up anyway.”

You know things might change again once you’ve slipped into your clothes and walked out into the night air. Perhaps the passion was reserved for this very room, actually a result of unbridled lust and tension.

But you think it’s okay. It’s okay as you giggle in the shower, flirting and bantering.

Because even if you part from Jeon Jungkook and all this as just a saccharine memory, you’re ready to seize just a little more of this stolen moment before reality sets back in.

5:12AM, Him

Whether it’s the numbers glowing on his digital watch or the fact that the two of you didn’t rest as much as you’d anticipated after all, he doesn’t know.

The residual heat of the past hour has warmed his body and relaxed his muscles; your touches still haunt him, crawling over his skin and sitting on his knees, tempting them to buckle. And your voice, your sounds… like a ghost in his mind.

And you urging him to climb the nearby hill with you, surprisingly steep, doesn’t help. He doesn’t know why you’d choose such a place at such an hour. The occasional forest around you is dark, chirping, and the road is empty.

Perhaps you feel secure in the presence of another; in this sense, it’s even flattering that you trust him this much.

But he’ll admit that his still wobbly condition and this stop of the night are slowly bringing him to his limits. The blazer, at least, is already hanging over his arm, giving him more space to breathe.

You’re piloting the way, careful, navigating with the help of the light beaming from the occasional street lamps. Jungkook sighs in a half-complaint when the road doesn’t end, nobody around far and wide.

You’re similarly out of breath when you turn to look over your shoulder, barely for a moment before you continue to escort him further up. Then, you encourage, “Come on! We just rested. How are you already tired?”

“Woman. We’ve been walking for a pretty long time.”

“Uhmmm,” you exclaim, swaying when you pull your hair over your left shoulder, “tell me something. What’s your sleep schedule usually like?”

Well, shit.

Jungkook can already tell what you’re referring to, but the counterargument already sits ready in his brain, just in case. Yet, he hesitates. Studies his surroundings to make sure he knows the way back, stalling on purpose, and when you ask, “And?”

He answers, “Uh. Late. I slept at 7AM just last week.”

“What?!” Your voice is high-pitched, in disbelief, and whatever point you wanted to make is stuck in your throat upon the revelation he divulged. “Holy shit, Jungkook.”

“Yeah, but like,” he immediately works on justifying, making use of the comeback he’d already thought out, “I don’t walk around town, you know? I spend these nights eating or singing or—”

“Woah. You sing?”

“Yes, but. I will not sing to you now.”

He catches up with you in one long step, regarding your countenance. Even in the dim light and the pitch dark, he recognises the roll of your eyes, as if to say, “I wasn’t even going to ask.”

But instead of vocalising that very overt thought, your answer comes as smoothly as silk, “It’s fine. You sang to me plenty tonight.”

Jungkook nearly chokes on his spit, disguising his surprise as in the hike reasoned exhaustion. His mind needs a moment to fix itself, but when the balance is restored again, he wisecracks, “You’re one to talk. May I remind you of what you sounded like earlier?”

“You can. But I do remember myself, thank you.”

Damn it. You’re a step ahead all the time. He can’t even outsmart you the way he wants to.

“Way to diss me. You’re hardcore,” he complains, “and here I thought you were kind and sweet and all of that.”

Jungkook nearly retracts his statement, because you throw such a perplexed and disbelieving stare back that he shrinks, reprimanded, “Can’t I be both? A woman can certainly be both, man.”

“Of course,” he agrees, hands up as if he’s being arrested, “of course. You’re both, for sure.”

He anticipates more scolding and scowls, but it seems you’re satisfied with the response he gives. You grant him a pleased, lopsided smirk that resembles his own, and then sigh into the night air, long and deep before your breath morphs into—

A mixture of a gasp and a shriek.

“Wh—” Jungkook blurts, barely registering the movement scurrying from the left side of the forest into the trees right of him. “The fuck.”

And just as fast as your gasp appeared, it diminishes, too, turning into a throaty laugh. Jungkook listens in to the echo of the rustles, still seeing the bushes move; whether because of the animal that just flit past or the breeze, he can’t say.

His eyebrows shoot up when he looks at you, coming down from the quiet chuckle, and he only realises that your elated joy stems from the way he’s standing right now.

He must’ve instinctively dashed forward, an arm in front of your body, shielding it with his. It was just a squirrel, and in all honesty, it is the two of you who are trespassing, disturbing the forest life with your presence at such a time.

Yet, his reaction must’ve been immediate enough to protect you from whatever loomed in the dark, and you seem to like it for some reason. Because as he clears his throat and lets his arm sink, all you comment is a fascinated, content, “Wow.”

“Uh… all good.”

“Yes. All good indeed.”

Your voice is tinged with a combination of gratification and tease, as if you’re one utterance away from adding a little, “My knight in shining armour.”

Instead, you bite your tongue and look around; Jungkook sees what you perceive a mere moment later. The surroundings clear, the forest less dense; on the left side, a vast opening appears, a wide path ending in a… cliff?

And behind that, the town.

If there was a soundtrack to his life, he’d probably hear violins playing right now. Reminiscent of the wind, perhaps accompanied by piano keys that sound like the softly glimmering stars above.

The picture is breathtaking. Not that he hasn’t been at such a spot before — he grew up in a big, mountainous city.

But since he didn’t expect for the hill’s peak to allow such art, he’s a little more overwhelmed than he expected to be.

From behind, he hears you say, “In any case. Let’s rest here?”

“Uh-huh.”

It’s hard to avert his eyes. All night long, he’s only felt like this once; this marks the second time.

Gratefully, he walks up to where you’re making yourself comfortable, flattening your dress and settling your bag on your lap. You pull a thin, short cardigan out of it, slipping into it. It’s certainly cooler up here.

And then, you pat the spot next to you, and he lets himself fall with a sigh; it’s been a long night, and despite the restful-not-restful hour you spent at Jieun’s, it feels as though he’s truly easing up just now.

Jungkook puffs out a breath and takes another look. Properly this time, blinking as if this could help his eyes focus better. Gorgeous. He can see the river from here, flowing through the town in curves, like a snake.

He can’t see the entire city, but most of it; it goes up and down. Skyscrapers and then cosy houses like the ones before again. Mountains far away and the lights of the amusement park somewhere in the east. They’re the brightest of them all.

“Wait,” he says; you oblige, waiting, watching as he heaves the camera out of his bag.

He only registers you from his side vision, but he thinks you’re wearing a smile; confirmed when you breathe to speak again, and his eyes drift to you, immediately decoding the pride in your sparkling pupils.

Why do you look proud? Then again, he guesses he would, too, if he showed you something that he loved and you enjoyed it, too.

Thinking about it, he kind of wants to do it someday.

He pulls at his lower lip, releasing it soon, blinking again as if to release the thought. Instead, he listens as you ask, “You’ve never been here before?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Hidden spot then.”

“It’s beautiful. Look there,” he points to a spot that you carefully follow, even squinting an eye shut; it makes him smile. “That’s the ferris wheel in the amusement park. Can you see? Wait.”

The camera comes to use when he points the lens at the direction he signalled towards, nimble hands working on zooming in. The picture unfocuses before the lights of the amusement park flicker again.

It’s late, he thinks; then again, the summer is coming to an end, the last nights used to keep such attractions open late. September will bring forth grey clouds again, leaving behind the prior season’s heat. Raining down on him, forcing the leather jacket out of his closet.

He likes it that way.

No offence to the summer whatsoever; but he likes the fresh gust dishevelling his soft hair. Likes it when the rain patters against the window glass so softly. He sleeps better that way, too.

Barely sitting for a moment, Jungkook already gets to his feet, nearing the edge until he’s kneeling on the ground. The distance has only faded by a couple feet, not much of a difference. But the feeling of the city nearing still persists somehow, tickling his mind just right.

He doesn’t know how long he squats there against the backdrop of the luminescent sea, but when he comes back to you, you’re still sporting that excited smile, eyebrows high. Your eyes fall to the camera, humming when he says, “Look. There.”

He magnifies the picture, every spot of it good enough to pin against the living room wall. Carefully, he hands you the camera; surprising, because he regards this pricey piece of plastic as sacred. You probably don’t know how big of a deal it is that he lets you handle it.

If you did, you’d never let him live it down.

You scoot closer, your temple now nearly touching his. You stare with an interest he hasn’t witnessed too often before. People do not care much about pictures of scenery; in the age of media, how could they anyway? When every stock picture is already memorised and used to the point of insignificance?

But you — your mouth parts as you switch around, taking in details.

“Good?” he asks.

“Beautiful,” you sincerely mutter, returning the camera to him. You hold it like a kitten; perhaps you do know what the gesture meant. “This is exactly why I wanted us to come here.”

The moment is so serene, like balm, and he nods along with your words, calmly conversing. So it takes a heartbeat to truly untangle your words in his mind and tie them with the meaning your intention conveys.

He assumed you were just showing him random spots of the town, to allow him a glimpse into your mind and to crack your true nature. All this time, he thought you wanted to lead him to bright spaces to lighten up his perception of you.

But what you’re doing instead is turn the spotlight towards him and what he loves.

“You… did it for me?” he asks.

You, casually, as if the thoughtful act doesn’t flood him with serotonin, reply, “Yeah. To capture a couple pretty pictures. You really do love it, so.”

“I do… wow, thanks.” He pauses. Looks down to the buttons on his camera, to his hands; then back to you. “You thought of it all, right? The nice places and the short rest at Jieun’s. Now this.”

“Hmm, tried as much as possible so spontaneously.”

“Thank you. Really.”

You return his gratitude with a polite nod, leaning away until you touch the backrest of the bench. Jungkook indulges in some more that nature offers, toying with the settings, zooming in just to observe sights from a closer point.

He doesn’t notice when you sigh or when you zone off; or when your thoughts shift back to the minutes and hours of the night. He doesn’t notice; and in return, you don’t know that he’s still thinking about the intention that brought him here; that you were attentive enough to truly show that some people appreciate art.

There aren’t only fleeting nights and then forgotten memories. Because this… this right here is a core memory.

Because of you.

Are you thinking the same? Are you proud that his enmity has faded, replaced by a tender smile? Satisfied that your efforts were worth it after all — a goal reached that you set for yourself earlier tonight.

Let me show you pretty places until the sun comes up, and if you still hate me by then, I will never talk to you again.

But…

He’d love to talk to you again.

However, your mind hasn’t quite drifted in this direction; in truth, he honestly can’t analyse or interpret you at all, because the question you pose next is far from what he’d been thinking about.

“Talking about pretty… uhm. Did you think Jieun was pretty?”

Jungkook blinks. One eyebrow cocks up; the camera drops back onto his lap. He flashes you a squinted look, a confused laugh erupting before he asks back, “What?”

“Ah, don’t lie. She’s very pretty.”

“Sure? She is.”

He’s nearly forgotten what she looked like. But beauty is still perceived and remembered — he guesses he found her good-looking.

“And she’s everyone’s type,” you prod, “what do you think, though? If she didn’t have a boyfriend, could you imagine liking her?”

Jungkook thinks about it. Not because he wants to, but because you seem to have found an odd interest in whatever attracts him; maybe your questions are leading up to something. So he’ll play along.

“Hmm… Maybe,” he answers.

“So she is your type.”

Or maybe, you’re trying to get something out of him that you want to hear specifically. You seem so shy about it all of a sudden; not necessarily an adjective he’d assign to you.

And coming from you of all people, he somehow does not find the topic interesting. It’s weird; he doesn’t want to talk about it; he doesn’t care about Jieun, either.

So he shrugs his shoulders indifferently, lifting his camera up again. He points it at you, eternalising your surprised expression just when you open your mouth to leave out a shocked, “Hey!”

“That’s what you get for asking such strange stuff.”

“It’s not strange! I’m just small-talking.”

“You do not small-talk.”

“It could be a deeper conversation if you just admitted it.”

He chuckles, turning his body towards you, half his leg on the bench, “Admit what?”

“The type thing!”

“Sure. I don’t just have one type, though, you know?”

The dispute brought your bodies a little closer, your face far enough for him to still identify his surroundings, but near enough for him to see your eyes twinkling. The light is dancing in them. And it’s much easier to focus on it when you silence like this.

Just for a second.

Because you breathe in again ten seconds later, lightly slapping the thigh resting on the bench. The touch is cursory, tiny, nothing to overthink about — but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want it to linger.

In some way, it still does.

You ask, “Okay? What are your types then?”

“Different girls.” This time, only one shoulder shoots up. His eyes match his pensive hum. “Whoever suits me. Pretty girls but also nice girls. Especially nice girls.”

“Alright, be honest,” you begin, mimicking his position until your leg lifts onto the bench, knee nearly touching his. You’re warming up now. Finally spitting the true question soon, “Do you think I’m pretty?”

Cute.

But he’s not giving in this easily.

He smirks; he feels the dimple on one side of his lopsided smile the moment you look at it. You’re distracted enough — so he uses the mental absence to attack you with yet another picture.

For a couple blinks, you’re startled — but as he reacts to his own nonsense with a content chortle, proud of his prank, you sigh. His shoulders rise with his sneering joy, head low as he inspects the picture just taken on his camera.

He zooms into your face, mouth open and eyes wide. You do look so pretty, he thinks — better even since you washed most of your make up off. Yet, he can’t contain himself when he shows you the screen, telling you, “You look alright.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes and your gaze to the view; your giggles start quietly, and then mix with his. Before—

They soon become part of a bad harmony as more voices join your very own night. Somebody is nearing. Jungkook hears the laughter already, but the road is curved and dark; so he can’t see them yet.

You might not have expected this, because you push closer to Jungkook on reflex; just at the same time as him. He didn’t know he had it in him to always stay so alert around you. Ready to throw himself at intruders.

Crazy.

But once the voices grow in volume, the two of you are soon met with a couple walking past. They’re in love, because amidst their titter, there’s another lewd sound. Or maybe, not too bad; playful kisses?

Yes.

The guy — he’s smooching his girl’s cheek, releasing with a, “Mwah” each time. Your initial surprise soon fades and turns into delight; Jungkook sees it in the way your smile returns. And in the furrowed yet amused eyebrows…

When the couple spots the two of you, they gasp; the girl’s hand immediately bolts to her chest, as if she just encountered a wild boar. But she catches herself soon, apologising, “Oh. Sorry. We’re sorry.”

You respond with an, “It’s okay!” Jungkook shakes his head politely to shrink their worries. They’ve walked away as soon as they came, but he still hears the woman’s scolding, effect lessened by the still occurring belly laugh, “I told you to calm yourself—”

As the world quietens again, Jungkook huffs, tilting his head as he deduces, “So late and yet… Not much of a hidden spot after all.”

“It feels like an ancient hill to me. I don’t often meet others here.” You breathe in the wind, then tongue your cheek. “They probably didn’t even notice where they were going. People in love never do.”

“I guess so.”

He guesses so.

It’s been a while since he fell in love.

Your head bobs once more before you lose yourself in the skyline, sucking in more of the crisp air that’ll grace you in the upcoming months. Fall is upon the town. He inbreathes the peace, too.

His hands operate on their own; one last time, he lifts it towards you, peeks through the lens again, adjusting the focus until the object clicks again. You’re not looking at him; he caught your side profile, this time not out of mock or tease.

He means it. And you seem to know.

Because when you look at him this time, you’re not mad or irritated.

Only look at him softly, a smile that truly matches the heights you took him on.

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