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onlyswan · 1 year

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summary: in which jungkook is giving up on you but you have so much love left to give.

> idol!jungkook x f!reader / angst, fluff, suggestive / wc: 8.3k

> warnings: mention of infidelity (no one did u can breathe ily), mention of a classmate slipping their number in oc’s pocket and oc feeling unsafe, mention of puking, mentions & allusion to s/x, alcohol consumption, making out, boob!e fondle, gr*nding kinda? jungkook is hard™️ they’re so in love it’s sickening

> in which masterlist!

playlist! and if/or when - ruel / hate everything - jungkook cover (gsoul) / hits different - taylor swift / statue - lil’ eddie / i wouldn’t ask you - clairo (i had to get in the zone & this is so oc-coded i need u to listen i’m so srs)

next: in which you don’t want to give up jungkook (even when he gave you reasons to, even if they give you reasons to).

note: this was a journey. happened back in june 2019.!! i’m ripping off the bandaid <3 deep sigh writing this made me realize how my babies have come so far. hopefully will follow up with a fluffy fluff lowkey inspired by the underwear live soonest lols i’m excited for it 2 stay tuned 🫂 reblogs & feedback are much appreciated <3

—

you forgot the walls of the apartment building you’re living in are thin. a small portion of the white paint has been chipped off, it looks like a birth mark, you note — except it’s not, and you’re the one who caused the irregularity.

your favorite glass is scattered across the kitchen floor, reduced to shards and to sparkling pieces almost as miniscule as dust. you don’t know what came over you. you don’t know why you threw it at the wall instead of filling it with cold water to only drink three sips like you usually do.

just when you thought you’ve been faring well in holding yourself together today, a fresh wave of sorrow overwhelms you. your knees buckle as you begin weeping, the loudest you’ve been since this nightmare has started. it swallows the knocking sounds at your door, but it’s still not loud enough to quell jungkook’s quivering voice playing like a broken record on loop inside your head.

“we should end this… i think it’s for the best, before we get drained.”

the rain is coming down fiercely and you’re freezing inside his car, parked outside your apartment. after all, his balenciaga windbreaker can only do so much against the blasted airconditioner. your throat is painfully dry, and your hands and face are numb from the piercing cold. but those are the least of your concerns because you feel like your head had just been dunked in ice water. the sting in your eyes are burning warmer as the seconds fly by and the muffled sounds of the torrential raindrops drum frantically in your ears. they’re clouding the car windows, mirroring jungkook’s tear-stained cheeks.

“i’m leaving again in three weeks. and i’m leaving again next year… and i’ll be gone again soon after that for a long time. i-i don’t know when i’m coming home, ___.” he pauses. the heel of palms press against his eyes, as if that could possibly barricade the saltwater leaking from them. “i never know where my life is taking me and you have your own… there’s too much-too much going on. i think that i’m just wasting your time, that this isn’t- it’s not going anywhere.”

“open the door! hello?! ___!”

“what do you want?!” you seeth in annoyance, swinging the door open to reveal your pesky neighbor.

he scratches the top of his head awkwardly at the sight of the mess that you greeted him with, having not bothered to pretend that you weren’t wailing your heart out.

”hey, i know you’re going through something…” his lips remain parted as he struggles to find the correct word, his right eye twitching voluntarily. “soul-crushing? right now. but i heard glass breaking and i was concerned that you, uhm, might’ve hurt yourself.”

the apparent nervousness and sincerity in his actions pull you out from the isolating disassociation you’ve imprisoned yourself in. you feel humiliated, presenting yourself in your most pitiful form infront of a kid two years younger than you. you envy him for having it together after storming out of his parents’ house while you-

“i’m not hurt. it was just an accident.”

you’re shamelessly lying infront of his face because the truth makes you feel too ashamed of yourself.

he only nods, smiling in relief. “i don’t know how to help make you feel better, so i just brought honey like i used to do before.”

you sigh, the familiar jar of honey and its red checkered lid waving at you like an old friend. has it been a year?

“bro, i told you i can’t accept this anymore.”

“you and your boyfriend already broke up. what’s the big deal?”

you have never wanted to smack someone more, the genuine confusion painted on his face feels like an infuriatingly harsh slap to yours.

“he wasn’t threatened by your honey, you dipshit. we just found out my blood sugar was getting a bit high!”

“oh- i’m so-”

you angrily slam the door shut. the silence you’re left with is suffocating, and you find yourself breaking down again.

he jumps in surprise when you open the door again, yelling- “and we’re not broken up!” before ripping away the jar of honey from his sweaty palms. he’s left completely flabbergasted, an inexplicable heaviness weighing on his chest when he hears your sniffling from the other side of the hard-wood.

“does that mean i can deliver again next week? i have too much in my kitchen…”

he doesn’t receive a snarky answer, surprisingly, so he continues talking.

“and f-y-i, your left cheek is bleeding! you might want to check on that!”

—

“you didn’t even give me any signs…”

you inhale a deep, shaky breath in a fragile attempt of keeping your composure. you want to scream, rip apart this thick tension with your bare hands, and force him to admit that this is just some kind of sick joke. you finally see him in person after months and all he has for you is a gift bag filled to the brim with heartbreak. this is too casually cruel, not something you would’ve expected from your jungkook.

“do you really mean that? or is there something else you’re not saying…? look at me.” you plead, weakly tugging at the hem of his long-sleeved shirt. the horrors of long-distance relationship stories claw their way out of your skin, adding fuel to the fire of your deepest fear. “you didn’t cheat on me, right? that can’t be it. we- we always-”

after you ended your last relationship, you cried at the parking lot of your university and continued living your life the next morning as if nothing happened at all. you did it all for yourself, anyway. he was gradually tearing down your confidence and your dignity; and you didn’t want to become a person the future you would despise for not being wiser, stronger.

and here you are at present day: spending the cozy sunday night solving chemistry problems on your desk. you have a blue bandaid plastered on your face and a cheek full of fruit and honey. and you would say you’re fine, but jungkook wasn’t here to sweetly dote on you while treating your wound. he isn’t here to taste the honey from your lips with that coquettish smirk of his. he isn’t laying on your bed, fighting to stay awake because he wants to fall asleep with you as his pillow.

no matter how hard you try to shut out this thought, it keeps knocking on the door. he’s going to be doing these sweet nothings for a different person when he finally reaches a more stable place in his life. you want to kneel on the ground, beg the heavens to meddle with destiny and never let you hear about it.

because that means he will never set foot in your apartment again, and the personal belongings you left in his room will be thrown out to erase the traces you left behind.

so this is how it begins.

the ugliest parts of you are swimming to the surface, tying themselves around your ankles because jungkook took away the ground from beneath your feet after unearthing your soul and… nothing makes sense to you anymore. if you wake up every morning to tend to your garden, and you look outside the window to learn that the sun has stopped burning, what do you have left?

your lips inevitably curve into a frown, but you inhale a sharp breath, patting your eyes dry before they can smudge the black ink on your notepad. and then you dip a strawberry in honey for the third time.

—

“no, baby, no- that’s not it.”

the dread and insecurity weaved into the cracks of your voice fill him with nausea and panic. he captures your frigid hand with haste, firmly holding it to his pounding chest.

“i would never do that to you. just the thought alone fucking disgusts me… you’re the only one. you’ve ruined me for everybody else.”

“then why are you giving up on me? am i becoming a burden?”

jungkook feels painfully numb, mind floating as the buildings outside the window get left behind him as a mere, passing blur.

“yah, jungkook-ah. are you crying?”

a torturous moment of silence passes as he struggles to find his voice. his tongue is tied, and his lost eyes are betraying the nights he spent practicing how to explain himself to you. back then, the reasoning he curated made sense. but faced with the consequences of his actions, the love of his life’s brain running a thousand miles per hour, recording a tale of woe and heartache on his passenger seat — he has never felt this much loathing for himself and his weaknesses.

you release a shaky breath, patting his rosy cheeks dry with your sleeves. you smile at him kindly, and he watches you in sheer disbelief. he can’t fathom the perpetual luck he’s been blessed with that he met, who he believes to be, the purest soul to grace this corrupted world. they’re damp with your tears, so it’s practically useless, but the sweet gesture is a stray beam of sunlight in the midst of the dull gray clouds.

the comforting rubs on his shoulder extracts him from his torturous thoughts, and only then does he feel the wetness on his face.

“you’ve been holding it back for the past week. just cry it out.”

he nods wordlessly, hiding himself in the fleece blanket from his lap. yoongi can feel a lump forming in his throat as he witnesses his youngest brother breaking down, jungkook’s pain also being his pain. as a group who’s been living together for the past decade, no one will be able to empathize with them as well each other. especially during times like this.

“___ hasn’t called?”

jungkook shakes his head wistfully, wiping away the tears that slid down his nose. he is dying to send you a text message, worried sick, and still used to hearing about your day the same way he is used to sleeping on his stomach.

“hyung,” the sound of the word borders on a sob. “it’s over. this is killing me… it’s all my fault.”

“but isn’t that what you wanted?”

“exactly. so why am i crying?” his hands ball into closed fists. “i’m an asshole.”

“enough of that!” yoongi loudly whines out his scolding. ”we all know you had your reason.”

“but, hyung, i fucked up!” he tenses up, blurting out the acknowledgement that’s been haunting him day and night. “she told me the most romantic thing and i felt so… fuck, i’m so angry at myself. i ruined everything. and i’m scared that i’d end up making things worse if i try fixing it.”

“stop beating yourself up. we can’t solve things this way.” yoongi grabs a bottle of water from the cupholder between them, twisting the cap open before handing it to jungkook. “drink first.”

once he starts drinking, he realizes that his throat has been awfully dry and sore. it’s most probably best for him to rest his voice. he can already foresee the concert rehearsal being absolute hell tomorrow. if he can’t sing, he doesn’t know how else he’s supposed to keep himself sane.

“talk to me. what did she say?”

“you’re the first person i’ve fallen in love with, do you know that?”

and with that revelation, he loses the warmth of your touch, and he comes crashing down like a wingless aircraft.

“i also need time to think about it. that’s only fair, right? that i get to decide, too…?” you swallow thickly, lips parting as if the words are resisting to come out of your mouth.

he looks at you with an emotion you can’t name, a push and pull between longing and trepidation.

if this was a movie, he would brave the rain and somehow perfectly deliver a poetically romantic speech that would sway your heart. if this was a movie, you would take a warm bath together, make out in the bathtub, and make love on your bed. if this was a movie, the day would end with the two of you tangled up, peacefully asleep and rhythmic breathing in sync. but he knows you. apparently not as well as he thought, but to some extent, he knows you. if he pulls you closer in the heat of the moment, you would feel suffocated and defensive and you would push him away; and he would lose you for good. that much he knows. so he lets you leave and he stays in the car— heartbroken, crestfallen, and regretful, because he might’ve just recklessly thrown away the best gift the universe has ever given him.

“i was thinking about how she never would’ve made this much sacrifices and efforts for anyone else and i feel like… i- it’s all going to waste because our future is uncertain. i can’t be committed to her as much as she is committed to me. and, and i felt like the guilt was eating away at me, you know? i wasn’t thinking straight.” jungkook chews on his bottom lip, a last ditch effort to prevent himself from sobbing. “it just… consumed me? like i was drowning… and all i could smell and taste was the saltwater.”

“i see,” yoongi sighs, crossing his legs and intertwining his fingers infront of his stomach as he finds the right words to say. “that’s a normal response. our brain is a very complex friend… but you know, everything i’ve been through as myself and as a part of our team, hmmm, they taught me that there are times when a problem doesn’t necessarily need a solution per se. you just keep going until the fog clears up and then you move past it.”

fuck, jungkook needs a glass of whiskey. or two. or twelve. he listens intently despite seeming like he’s spacing out.

“this won’t last forever and time slips away from us without us even noticing. you should do what you want to do. if we’re going to deprive ourselves of good things, what will we have left after everything is over? money we can’t spend in one lifetime? there’s no happiness in that.”

yoongi frowns, wishing he could do more to alleviate the weight hanging on jungkook’s shoulders.

“you deserve love outside all the noise, too. focus on the present which you can still control and deal with the future when it arrives. if you do otherwise, you’ll just be tormenting yourself… and i know it’s easier said than done but! do you want to hear something i’ve had on my mind lately?”

with a flushed face and swollen eyes, he tilts his head to curiously spy on his hyung.

“what is it?”

“your motivation to work out after our shows is so you can stay awake and spend time with her. that’s why you fall asleep everywhere else. do you know how scary and endearing it is to watch that? is that what you call ‘not being committed enough’?”

yoongi fails to hide his gummy smile, body vibrating with silent laughter as pictures of jungkook falling asleep standing up flash before his eyes.

“seriously, you punk! you scare me! i just pass out and die straight after while you- really, you’re really unbelievable. i envy you. for being able to love with everything you have until they break your heart. i mean it!”

“but i’m the one who broke their heart this time.” jungkook somberly utters in defeat, bottom lip jutting out and chin quivering.

yoongi encouragingly pats his shoulder, shaking his body lightly. ”you can make it up to her. she’ll reach out before we leave. have some more patience.”

jungkook’s eyes turn into slits, suspiciously squinting at the man sitting beside him. “why do you sound so sure?”

“because she loves you. why else?”

—

you automatically pause from eating cup ramyeon when your phone lights up on top of the journals you’ve been reviewing for the past hour.

“ah, shit! shit!”

you abruptly cover your mouth with your hand, exhausted eyes watering because you accidentally bit your tongue after reading the name of the sender of your newest text notification. you take sips of cold water, peering at your phone as you do so. your hands itch to type out a response, but the screen dies and turns black, another of yoongi’s messages in the same pile of unanswered ones from your friends checking up on you tonight. you can’t talk to anyone right now; you need to get shit done.

after eating your dinner at the convenience store, you come home to a plastic of fried chicken hanging on the doorknob of your front door.

Eat lots and stay healthy! I’m feeding Jungkook well too. Don’t worry. — Yoongi

you peel off the blue handwritten note, sticking it on the cover of one of your books. you carefully carry the food using your free hand, and you can feel it radiating on your skin, the heat of a freshly-cooked meal. you were always worried of being a bother when you occasionally ask him how jungkook is doing on tour, but this made your heart significantly lighter. gaining a good friend after losing your lover, perhaps life can show a smidge of mercy when it wants to.

too bad you’ve always been one to be greedy.

—

“ah, seriously. why did you have to break up with ___?”

“we’ve been through this a million times!” jungkook exclaims in exasperation as he fiddles with the controller, bumping his knee with taehyung’s. “focus. you’re supposed to be helping me forget.”

“i don’t remember agreeing to that.” taehyung responds with a shrug, smirking when he picks up a booster and runs past his friend’s character. “you finally found someone who could put up with you and you let them go? i won’t let you forget.”

jungkook scoffs, eyes rolling upwards. “bro, i should be the least of your problems.”

“nuh-uh.” taehyung tuts with a grin, belly aching with laughter when jungkook’s car jumps over his to steal the lead. he didn’t even know that was possible. he plans on using the same trick against him later. “i’m making you my biggest problem so i don’t have to deal with mine.”

“they’re not married yet. you still have a chance, you know?”

“yah!” he gapes at jungkook in shock, entirely forgetting about the game. “take that back!”

“don’t act like you haven’t thought of it!”

“yeah, but i don’t say it out loud. it sounds too wrong! i still have my morals left!” he cries out, stomping his feet on the floor.

jungkook lightly punches his arm, eyebrows pinched in confusion. “i meant you have a chance if they break up. i have morals too! what do you think of me?!”

“oh…” taehyung blinks. “you know who else have probably thought of that too, though?”

“who?” jungkook boredly questions as he scrolls through the game collection, contemplating about which one to play next.

“all the other people waiting in line for ___.”

the realization renders him motionless, stirring up the possessiveness coursing through his veins. for the love of god, he doesn’t want to be petty but that struck a nerve. he wants to storm out of the house and look for you, beg on his knees for you to take him back.

“aish, hyung, you’re driving me crazy! why would you tell me that? are we torturing each other?!”

“are you crying? yah, jungkook-ah.” taehyung watches his hunched figure with a guilty wince, hesitant hands rubbing the expanse of his back. “i’m sorry- i’m sorry… do you want a hug?”

jungkook stays quiet, head hanging low to hide his face crumpling with anguish. the loose but affectionate hug that he gets pulled into prompts him to fall apart, catharsis blossoming in his ribcage and turning his bones into jelly.

he hears obnoxiously loud sniffles, and he abandons taehyung’s shoulder to look at his face. “are you crying, too?”

“stop ruining the moment.” taehyung groans, forcefully pushing down his head again.

namjoon comes out from his bedroom in search for another extension cord, still sipping on the half-empty iced americano he took from the fridge only ten minutes ago. the heartfelt scene on the couch causes him to halt on his tracks. how did they go from playing games to crying together? he silently observes the two members for a moment before deciding to approach them.

“what am i going to do with the two of you?” he grunts, ruffling his hair in frustration. “shall we go out for drinks to disinfect your wounded hearts?”

the mention of alcohol makes them perk up, jungkook’s tearful doe eyes sparkling at the prospect of temporarily erasing the pain that has uncontrollably spread throughout his system. he wants to drink until he forgets that he has hands, until he forgets what it feels like to touch you.

“thanks, monie-hyung. i’ll have my appetizer.”

and the iced americano gets snatched away from namjoon’s unsuspecting hand within the blink of an eye.

—

“this is not a barbecue restaurant.” you stare blankly at the orange neon lights spelling out the name of the night club your friends secretly conspired to bring you to.

“___, loosen up! the fastest way to move on is to find someone else. this is the best place for that.” aera turns around from the passenger seat of the taxi, her red lips painting a thrilled smile. “just forget about jungkook. we all knew this shit was going to happen. i’m surprised you even lasted that long!”

“i don’t know what you’re trying to imply but i don’t appreciate your tone.” you warn her with a sharp, threatening look. “and the ‘someone else’ that i found at a bar before turned out to be biggest fucking jerk i’ve ever met. i’m not doing this again.”

“things might be different this ti-” mi-ran aids in persuading you, but it only adds fuel to the fire.

“oh my god! fuck off!” you yell in irritation, aggressively getting off the car and slamming the door shut on their faces.

you never look back, ignoring the shouts of your name and half-assed apologies. you don’t have the slightest idea about where you’re going — your feet have a mind of their own and they chose to go the opposite way of home. this isn’t how you envisioned your night. you just wanted to listen to the sound of the meat grill and complain about life giving you a taste of true love just to cut your tongue with it until you bled. was that too much to ask?

you’re about ninety percent certain that you just lost two of whom you treated to be your closest friends. you think of ah-young, and you briefly consider crashing at your best friend’s band practice, but you’re too exhausted to travel to the other end of the city.

with eleven seconds left in the timer, you cross the street with swift and long strides alongside a crowd consisting mostly of employees wearing the same navy blue uniform. at last, you’re among the bright and lively restaurants, the inviting smell of good food making your stomach sting with hunger.

it’s only taehyung who recognizes you when you unknowingly pass by, almost choking on his glass of somaek, the combination of soju and beer. with his career on the line, he is confident that he can recognize that balenciaga windbreaker anywhere and anytime. meanwhile, instead of talking about you, the youngest is drunkenly reminiscing about the alleged ghost encounters he had in their old dorms. their leader is tragically left to tend to the grill alone. he deeply regrets not dragging any of the older members with them.

“everyone, i think i just saw __-”

a grimace of cluelessness is plastered on taehyung’s face when jungkook claps once, enthusiastically pointing at him as if he just announced something inspiring and life-changing.

“you’re right, you’re right! that’s it! what i’m kind of trying to say here is…” he pauses, facial muscles relaxing into a gloomy expression. he sniffles and rubs his nose, making it a brighter shade of red. “when we move houses again, i won’t have stories like these to bring with me. the new ghosts will be my memories with ___.”

none of the other two dares to speak after that, the oddly satisfying sound of meat being grilled and the chattering from other tables occupy the uneasy and heavy silence. instead, they begin filling their own shot glasses with pure soju. namjoon is the first one to spill it down his throat, slamming it on the table before dishing out his phone from his pocket. by this time, all of them are already drunk, double vision blurry and speech a little slurred. they gave up on counting the green bottles and cans of beer a long while ago.

“shit, that was a good metaphor. i need to write that down.”

“namjoon-hyung, he’s crying again!”

jungkook’s head slumps on the table with a thud, hot tears escaping down to his temple as he laments. “i miss her so much. why did i have to break up with her the second we got home? why…? am i so impulsive? what do i do if… if she agrees that we- h-how am i supposed to live with myself after that…? i’m never going to love again.”

they shuffle apprehensively on their seats, but still, they tell jungkook what he needs to hear since he won’t remember tonight’s events, anyway.

that’s not going happen. she just needs some more time. i’m sure she’s missing you too. everything will be okay.

but it’s been almost two weeks of radio silence. their flight is in nine days, drawing nearer and nearer as if it’s purposely taunting jungkook. everyone is thinking the same thing, and everyone is afraid to say it out loud.

—

it’s 7am when his work alarm goes off. with a disgruntled noise, a hungover jungkook drowsily drags himself out of bed, eyes still closed as he swings the bedroom door open.

“oing?” he creates a noise of confusion when his arm bumps against an object. he blinks at the brown paper bag hanging on his doorknob, removing one of the handles to peek at its contents.

he buffers for a moment, staring blankly at his belongings safely tucked inside. there’s his black mini bluetooth speaker, tinted lipbalm, wired earphones, bucket hat, facial cleanser, moisturizer, and shampoo. these are everything he left on top of your study desk and in your bathroom. neatly folded on the side is his windbreaker, which he recalls as clear as daylight, how you reveled in its comfort the last time that you were together. the fabric softener you use has replaced his perfume, the cherry scent forming a rain cloud of nostalgia and longing above his head.

if this is a nightmare, he is begging for somebody, anybody, to break into the room and to bring him someplace where hope is not desolate.

his wounded heart, as his namjoon-hyung described, is experiencing an excruciating pain he never even imagined was possible. he now understands, why the broken heart syndrome is a real thing.

he can’t read you. is this your way of ‘reaching out’? have you kicked him out of your house, out of your life? for good?

the dread of losing you forever is gnawing at his insides. nausea almost succeeds in knocking him off his feet. his brain hisses with static. he panics at the disgustingly familiar sensation brewing in his digestive system, sprinting to the bathroom to spill out his guts.

they say that you don’t realize what you have until you lose it. that early morning, jungkook realizes that he’s only a human being after all.

—

“when did i put that there?”

you’re sorting out your dirty laundry after showering when you notice a tissue paper tucked in the front pocket of your denim jeans. you huff out a sigh, ripping it apart into tiny pieces over the trash bin with raging vexation. you will never understand how men thinks that these kind of stupid tricks are supposed to compel you into seeing them anywhere near attractive and desirable in your eyes. if anything, they make you feel unsafe and if your paths cross again, you will run the other way. great. another person in the lecture room to avoid. just fucking great.

at this point, you want to mockingly laugh at your own misery. just when you thought your day couldn’t possibly get worse, it fucking does.

you tuck yourself in bed by midnight, texting a friend about your joint presentation next week, and then rereading your conversation with namjoon from this morning for the nth time. you’ve been hoping it will shine light on the right path to take, because you’re still lost and hurt.

Namjoon:

he’s been devastated since

can’t this be sorted out?

stuff’s just been overwhelming and honestly i’m as anxious as him

i'm not trying to force you into getting back together with him ofc but please talk for closure atleast..

you’re also my friend. i think you need it too..

you scroll a bit further down afterwards, and your heart drops to your stomach when you see the three dots under the contact name ‘my jungkook’. you click on it as it beckons you to, only to allow time to flow like a river with no sea to kiss, idly watching the bubble appear and disappear, appear and disappear. almost everyday, you catch a glimpse of him at the very least, typing a message and never sending it.

the same goes for tonight, it seems.

his silence is torturing you. in the car, in your inbox, in your call history. a person knocks on the door and a part of you foolishly predicts that it’s jungkook not using his copy of the key out of respect.

you succumb to the yearning, heading to your shared media and files that you’ve been actively resisting for the past three weeks… for this exact reason.

you randomly click a video sent by jungkook three months ago.

“i know you’re in class but i’m too excited to show what i got you today!” he beams at the front camera, bunny teeth cutely showing. he picks up the first item from the hotel bed with his free hand. “you already own this book but this one got a different cover, see? it’s hardback? they say it’s a limited edition.”

he eyes it fleetingly, obvious that there is something else he is dying to mention.

“i won’t show it too close. you can look at it when i go home. there’s a little surprise inside.”

he scrunches his nose before teasingly sticking his tongue out.

“and then here we haaave-”

following that, he shows you an adorable fluffy white bunny with red eyes. it occupies more than half the screen, and without a doubt, it is soft and huggable.

“cooky’s new sibling! we found it at a gift shop and hobi-hyung said it looks like me.”

he presses his cheek to the bunny’s. “i accept. we do look alike, but my eyes are so much bigger.”

in the upcoming seconds, the video is muted except for his breathing. he plops down on the bed while ruffling his dark hair, staring at the camera wordlessly, evocative of when you catch him dreamily watching you study while you’re on a videocall.

“i miss you.” he smiles sadly, deep dimples appearing on his cheeks. “don’t forget to text me when you’re on your way home.”

he drops on his back, the firm mattress breaking his fall.

“mmmwah!“ he kisses the camera, and your screen freezes on the final frame.

the silence in the aftermath is defeaning. you tear your glasses off your face, burying your face in the pillows. you arrive at your final decision then and there. you don’t care. you don’t care. you don’t care anymore. you cannot bear to spend more of your days like this. his things that used to live here might be gone, but you look for him everywhere. you look for his car in the parking lot. you look for his hair when you see flowers. you wait for his name to be called in the coffee shop. on your way home, you linger at the playground where you used to usually meet.

because if your relationship with jungkook is truly doomed to fail, you want to watch its foundation collapse on the ground, burnt down to gray and black ashes that disintegrate when you try to grasp them in your hands… with good grace, it’s the only way for you to believe that there’s no more home to come home to.

with a trembling hand, you press the call button and for the very first time, you beg someone to stay.

—

jungkook’s breathing ceases, heartbeat violently racing in his chest. the ‘chimes’ ringtone tickle his ears, his phone vibrating incessantly in his hands. the two features he specifically customized in your contact settings so he will immediately recognize that it’s you who’s calling.

it’s been four days since you dropped off his things. and here he was, laying on his bed and struggling to find the right words to say because he refuses to believe that this is how it ends. the paper bag is still hanging on the doorknob. he hasn’t touched it since the first time. he doesn’t have the courage to do so.

fuck giving you space. he wants drown himself in you and never come up for air. he’s more than willing to suffer your anger or your coldness. he’s prepared to prove himself worthy of a second chance every second of every day. he wants to occupy half of your desk and half of your closet again. he selfishly wishes to be the first and the last person you fall in love with.

but until the very end, you’re the braver one.

“love?” your voice is quiet, barely audible, but it’s there, and he hears the affectionate term of endearment distinctly. “i’m sorry. i tried, i really did, but i couldn’t do it…”

“baby,” he falters breathlessly, half of him in disbelief, convinced that he has officially lost his goddamn mind and delusion is bleeding into reality.

“i tried living without you like you wanted- but i can’t-” you hiccup in between small sobs on the other line. “i love you, jungkook. i can’t live carrying around all this love with me. it’s too heavy…”

exploding and breaking apart, jungkook’s heart is a meteor that has entered the planet’s atmosphere, and he doesn’t know where to begin digging for the fragments so he can piece himself together again.

“we are too young and we don’t know what the fuck we’re doing and i love you too much. you don’t have to protect me… i’ll take my fair share of the responsibility, so just-” he hangs on your every word, and then you pause, your following words eliciting a powerful punch to his gut. “just let me love you and let me learn my lesson the hard way… let’s do that, okay?”

the walls of him room ebbs and flows in like the sea. he rests his forearm over his eyes, his skin gradually dampening with tears. he once promised himself that he would never put you in this position. he should be the one begging for forgiveness, repenting and crawling on his knees. but rather than wasting his time with surfing through another tsunami of self-blame, he reminds himself: i want to be a better man.

“okay, baby. let’s do that, hmm? let’s do that. it’s what i want too.” he coos softly with a hoarse voice. “are you at your apartment?”

you hum in confirmation, sniffling. “come home.”

—

a half-naked jungkook abruptly opens the door to yoongi’s room, wearing gray sweatpants with his left arm awkwardly inserted in one of the black t-shirt’s armhole.

“hyung! can i borrow your car? mine’s getting a check-up.”

yoongi tears his eyes away from the computer, hanging the black headphones on the nape of his neck. he merely shrugs before throwing the car key, and jungkook catches it in one hand with ease.

he sighs in relief, politely bowing his upper body to express his gratitude. “thank you, hyung.”

“what are you doing?!” yoongi half-smiles with fondness, jokingly waving him off. “just go- go. leave!”

—

jungkook nervously stands before your front door, head woozy with anticipation and fear. what if things have changed? what if your relationship never goes back to the way it was?

“oh. you’re back together?”

he whips his head back to find your neighbor arriving home from his part-time job. huh, he just realized that he has never really learned what his name is. the only information he has on him is that his sister owns a bee farm.

“how did you even know?” he asks with knitted eyebrows. “you haven’t been giving out honey again, have you?”

“she only accepted it once.” the stranger puts his arms up in surrender with a roll of his eyes. “and don’t make her cry again, will you? she blasts sad songs late at night.”

and with an unpleasantly forceful shut of the door, jungkook is left alone in the hallway. his jaw clenches as he glares at the next apartment, but he rubs his face to release his frustration before he goes to meet you.

“we need to move in together.” he grumbles to himself as he enters your unit, relocking the door behind him. he removes his sneakers, neatly setting them down beside your pairs of shoes by the doormat.

he pads on the wooden floor with his white toe socks, looking around the dark and quiet living room. a faint orange light is seeping under the gap between the floor and the bedroom door, which he recognizes to be your favorite mode on your multi-colored nightstand lamp. he cautiously cracks the door open, and he is instantly greeted by your curled up figure, peacefully sleeping.

it’s muscle memory when he hangs his backpack on the backrest of your study chair before anything else. he also brought the paper bag you sent, putting it down on the floor.

he squats down infront of you, lightly prying away the phone you’re hugging to your chest and placing the device on the bedside table. the light is shining over your skin, and there are a thousand of photos and videos organized into the most treasured folder in his gallery, but not a single one of them will ever do you justice.

god, he missed you so much. it hasn’t been two years, but the life he had before he met you feels like an extremely distant memory.

he sighs, talking in hopes that he appears in your dreams. “how do you do this? you make it impossible not to love you.”

he unconsciously frowns at the sight of your puffy eyes. never again. never again. never again. he chants inside his head. he plants a kiss on each of your eyelids, taking his time to bask in the feeling of your weight under his lips.

he climbs on the opposite side of the bed, tucking you underneath the blanket before securely holding you from behind with his thigh hanging over yours. the warmth of your body and the scent of your shampoo cures the headache that’s been bothering him the whole day. he drifts off to sleep soon after.

—

the feather-light brushes through the silky locks of his hair pulls him out of his slumber half an hour later. he can make out your silhouette through his half-open eyes, the little-mermaid-like scene feels too vivid for a dream.

“why didn’t you wake me up?” you whine, sulking with a pout.

“i’m sorry.” he answers quietly, sitting up to engulf you in a tight embrace as endless apologies tumble from his tongue. “i’m sorry. i’m sorry that i gave up. i’m sorry that i hurt you. i’m so sorry… are you angry at me?”

“i’m upset.” you admit after a few beats, not seeing the point in sugarcoating it. “it hurts when i remember you saying that. and i understand you but… but i don’t like that you decided alone for us. if you do that again… then it will be over between us.”

he has an arm wrapped around your waist, his other hand firmly holding the back of your head. it’s a little hard to breathe, but it’s so reassuring to feel that he doesn’t want to let you out of his embrace. because you hated it — hated how it felt like letting you go was so easy.

“i regret everything. i’m sorry.” he whispers, concealing his tears by nuzzling his face on your neck. “and you’re not a burden. that’s not true.”

he knows that you mean your every word, so he lifts up his head to gaze directly into your eyes, showing that he is as sincere and true to his.

“from now on, all i’ll think about is what i can do to make you happy and safe without compromising our relationship… i’ll do better. i’ll love you better. i promise that i’ll be stronger for us. i won’t make the same mistake twice.”

you wish jungkook could be kinder to himself, treat himself with the same gentleness that comes so naturally with you. why is it that humans find loving themselves so laborious? why does being have to come with such a curse?

taking glimpses at the past, you should’ve been reminding him of these affirmations everyday.

“you don’t have to be strong all the time. i’m not asking for that.” you shake your head, voicing out yourself in a tone so soothing and illuminating. “i don’t want to go anywhere far away from you so think of yourself, too. i told you before, it’s okay to hold on to me. i’m also strong.”

jungkook feels so safe at home. he doesn’t remember what he was so worried of anymore.

“and you know what? if you really see it that way, then i’m telling you now. i want to waste my time on you. you can’t stop me.” your threatening eyes widen in conviction, provoking a sheepish smile to tug at the corners of his lips. “i always get what i want.”

“and you want me?” he innocently points at himself.

“love you.”

“i love you.” he replies, nosing at your neck before leaving a chaste kiss on your skin. “so much.”

“then put yourself in my shoes.” you hum, combing his hair with your fingers, lightly tugging to initiate eye-contact. “i want to take care of you just like how you want to take care of me. i think we have something rare and beautiful…” you pause, self-conscious about coming across as too needy now that you’re face-to-face, but an epiphany shatters your apprehension with a bow and an arrow.

this is what he needed to hear from you that day.

“so stay with me.”

jungkook’s vision becomes unfocused. he’s speechless; the only sound in the room is the humming of the airconditioner, but it’s almost as if you can hear the gears of his brain working their hardest. the pain that glossed his enchanting doe eyes has been replaced with a devotion you’ve never seen expressed so passionately in them before.

“all the time i own is yours.” he declares, cupping your face, the pad of his thumb daintily stroking your cheek. “all of it. we can do anything you want to do. let me make it up to you.”

“anything?” your face lights up with joy and mischief, and the butterflies in jungkook’s stomach come alive. he wants to make it his life’s mission to make you smile everyday; and that, he will do. “then i want you to kiss me.”

the sultriness of your enticing voice makes him go haywire. it’s been too damn long. he has forgotten what it feels like to kiss you. he slowly inches closer, his lips brushing against your lips before he pulls you in deeper, a fervent display of his yearning and apologies. he swallows the needy moan that escapes you as he slowly lays you down on the mattress, stripping off his shirt and mindlessly tossing it somewhere when you impatiently tug at it with another whimper. you cage his face in your hands, bringing back his lips on yours as if he’s the air that you breathe.

he wants to grieve for all the wasted time because everyday, he craved for this. to be honest, he forgets his name when he’s kissing you. outside, the crowds scream his name for being the best at what he does best, and he happily lives for the euphoria of it all. but in this room, there is only you and him. you communicate using the unspoken language of love with your lips. you bare the soft animal in yourselves with your teeth sinking in the other’s skin. you allow your rawest desires and truths to unravel with a slip of the tongue. he exists beyond his name, becomes an indecipherable enigma even to himself. what is the use of an explanation if there is no meaning anyway? all he knows is that he loves you despite all the reasons, against all the reasons.

he sneaks under your shirt, fingertips teasingly exploring your skin as if he’s drawing a map. he feels you quiver when he finally reaches your chest, gently kneading the soft flesh in his palm. this makes you mewl in pleasure, arching your back as your hand unconsciously curls around his wrist, the cotton fabric separating the two of you. the action electrifies jungkook, makes him lose himself a little more, which he didn’t think was still possible.

“touch me, please- jungkook. need you-” you choke out a desperate whimper, nearly sobbing as you guide his hand between your thighs. you can’t bear to spend another second untouched; the last time you made love feels like an eternity ago. he slips past the waistband of your underwear, the only article of clothing you’re wearing below. but to your disappointment, he gently caresses your hip bone instead of dipping his long fingers into your wetness.

“shh, hold on, baby-” he forces himself to break away from the kiss, swollen and red lips glistening with spit. “baby, look at me. you didn’t drink, right? i don’t want to take advantage.”

you gape at him with your chest heaving up and down, dumbfounded. “how could you even think of that right now?”

his eyes widen in panic, worried that he might’ve offended you. “no, no, no-” his palms skim your thighs, guiding them to wrap around his slim waist. you gasp when he presses up on you and his hard length rubs on your folds, sending jolts of electricity up your spine. a gush of arousal dampens the thin material covering your center.

“i want you so fucking bad that it hurts.” he gingerly wipes away the tears that you didn’t even notice streamed down to your temples. you can’t remember the last time you cried before today, they must’ve gotten tired of asking for your permission. “but you were crying when you called, baby. i had to make sure.”

“oh, my boyfriend is such a gentleman.” you muse dreamily. pepper his face with delicate kisses, lips curving upward with an adoring smile. “look at him enjoying my kisses.”

you playfully squeeze his cheeks together, making his pillowy lips pucker.

“you really wanted to break up with me in this case, huh? you wanted to live without me and my kisses? no way.”

his eyelids flutter open, and he shakes his head as he dips down to kiss you. “it was hell without you…” his teeth captures your bottom lip, nipping at the supple flesh. “going to build a life with you. i’ll build furniture, and they’re going to be ours.”

“good. you better.” your high-pitched giggles bounce off the walls as his lips trail down to your neck, licking a bold stripe over your ticklish spots. “i don’t have the patience for it, but i’ll be your trusty assistant.”

it’s ridiculous, how even the sound of your laughter turns him on even more.

—

jungkook learned that you finished your exams yesterday, having spent majority of the past two weeks pulling all-nighters to prepare for them. you seem to be confident about the results, the way you talked about it without concern. he never once doubted that you’re resolute and persevering, but acing your exams in the middle of a breakup is beyond what he can digest. it must’ve been a grueling experience, he can only imagine.

he presses a sweet kiss to your forehead, and then your lips, before dragging the blanket higher over your naked figure, a thicker one he brought out from the cabinet. poor thing, you fell asleep on his lap while he was drying your hair, incoherently murmuring about how tired you are.

he walks to your study space, fixing the loosening towel wrapped around his waist. one by one, he pulls out the items from the paper bag, returning them to their old places on your desk. he toothily grins at the windbreaker, ecstatic due to his plan on wearing it at work today. he wants to give it back to you smelling like him again.

an index card lands on the ground when he unfolds it, making him peer down in curiosity.

“what’s this?” he mumbles, bending down to pick it up.

jumbled thoughts. a letter shoved at the back of the mailbox. a hesitant confession. a bittersweet reminder that says: a wound does not magically disappear overnight. it requires the proper treatment to heal correctly, and even then, it might still leave a scar.

These are only a few of many. Why is this the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do? I’m usually the more logical one. Was it really so bad that we weren’t going anywhere?

and messily crossed out at the end,

I miss you.

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask / dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

—

#jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook drabble #jungkook scenario #jungkook imagine #jungkook one shot #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #jungkook au #bts fluff #bts reaction #jungkook angst #jungkook smut

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koqabear · 10 months

Text

「 Camera Shy 」

♫: Automatic, Red Velvet // Movie Star, CIX // Color Me, JUNNY // Kitty Cat, KISS OF LIFE

“You’ve always tried to live an honest and responsible life; never spending money on anything ridiculous, scoffing at the things other people would be so willing to drop their paycheck on. But when life gets hard, you’re bound to give into your guilty pleasures, right?”

camboy!Beomgyu x fem!reader

Genre: f2l, smut, pw/minimal plot

Word count: 14.4K (there’s like three different smut scenes here)

Warnings: gyu has a thing for glasses idk don’t question me, (mc wears glasses, not necessarily prescription), gyu is lowkey manipulative if u squint, slight possessiveness on his part? nothing toxic (i think), alcohol consumption, gyu has a tattoo..

smut warnings: gyu is a bit of a perv! mean dom!Beomgyu, sub!mc, masturbation (f&m), filmed sex, (consensual), dirty talk, degrading, use of toys (f&m rec.), exhibitionism, voyeurism technically, bit of a voice/hand kink? slight humiliation kink, mentions of safe words & subspace, mentions of squirting lmao, manhandling, spanking, pet names (princess, baby, etc.), fingering, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, marking, dry humping, handcuffing, biting, unprotected sex, dumbification, dacryphilia, creampie (lmk if i should add anything!)

Notes: lemme tell you. i wrote abt the tattoo before i stumbled upon that pic, when i tell you i was just ??? barely proof-read heehee. the thought of this au hit me like a that-so-raven vision, and I literally spent the whole day making sure I could finish this. enjoy bc i love camboy aus sm. (oh and pls, do me a favor and reblog— i have an ominous feeling about what’ll happen to this fic once i post it.)

Beomgyu has always found the idea of his work a bit ridiculous.

Day by day, he’s a normal college student— he spends his early mornings in classes, taking all the morning slots everyone was always reluctant to enroll in before he went off to work; he was known as that cute server amongst the women that visited the restaurant he worked at, able to upsell and gain tips with ease as he quickly became a favorite amongst his coworkers.

He liked the attention— of course he did, he needed to in order to thrive in the field of his actual job, his hours at the restaurant nothing but a side hustle compared to the hundreds he could make of a single stream.

Those hundreds could always breach into the thousands— but those were on especially good days, like his annual Valentine’s Day stream he always held for his lonely, single viewers.

Beomgyu was quite the sweet talker— he got the practice from his day-to-day shifts, watching girls his age and older fawn at his words and flutter their eyes playfully. It was clear they enjoyed the attention just as much as he did, a cute smile on his face as he faked a shy laugh whenever they would compliment him.

Your hair looks really nice today. You smell amazing. Do you work out? You have a really nice voice.

He got that last compliment a lot.

“Do I?” he would purr, a sultry smile crawling on his face each time, like a practiced action as he would tilt his head teasingly— the reaction would be positive each time, without fail, and he would always end up with a collection of napkins with scrawled phone numbers every time he would clock out— his coworkers would poke fun at him every time they watched him dump them all out apathetically.

You weren’t into that one person? Dude, the lady at table seven was so fucking hot.

Beomgyu never really paid mind to their teasing— he could care less for the men and women that tried to butter him up during his shifts, forced to act as though their shameless flirting didn’t make his stomach twist unpleasantly— instead, he would be forced to smile, laughing sheepishly before he would slip away with one last comment.

“I’m flattered, really— but, I have someone I’m interested in.”

That someone was you— the pretty girl that sat across from him during his ten am lecture, finding himself spacing out every time and staring off into your direction; though you never seemed to notice, much too caught up in taking notes as he watched the way your brows would furrow, biting at your lip and adjusting your glasses as you remained focused— whether those glasses were for reading, blue light, prescription, or even decoration, he didn’t care— all he cared about was how unnecessarily attractive you looked in them.

He thought about you more than he liked to admit— it was frustrating at first, his thoughts starting as nothing more than puppy love to something worse— it was only after you piqued his interest that he began streaming more.

This was both a good and bad thing; good because, well, he began to climb the ranks of popularity and earn more, but bad because he would find himself thinking of you. Each. And every. Time.

“Wish I could fuck you,” he would sigh out, his comments going too fast for him to keep up with as his eyes fluttered shut; leaning back against his headboard, he shifts, making sure everything but his lips remain out of frame before he’s back to closing his eyes, “would you let me make you feel good? God, I’d do anything just to feel you, taste you…”

As far as his audience knows, he’s speaking to them— the comments grow wild and tips flood in, all asking him to stop being a tease as they watch the way he palms himself through his sweatpants; grabbing at his length, stroking it slowly as he lets his imagination run wild.

He’s not wearing boxers; Beomgyu knows it drives his viewers mad, able to see as a wet spot begins to form on the light material, his tip leaking furiously as his other hand tugs the hem of his sweater over his chest— his vision is hazy as he reads the requests, laughing softly as he allows his fingers to trace along his chest absentmindedly— tracing over the muscle of his abdomen, circling his nipples slowly as he reads a comment under his breath.

Stop teasing and hurry up already !! >///<

The comment has him rolling his eyes— yet his usual tippers begin to request the same thing, and his hand is slowly tugging at the tied strings of his pants as he smiles, mocking and mean as he bites his lip.

“Hurry up? You want to command me while you’re over here throwing money at me like a whore? All just to watch me fuck myself, dreaming that it could be you?”

The comments start speeding up; it’s all a blur to him, but the sound of money coming in is enough to tell him that his usual audience is active again.

“Pathetic,” he sighs, his voice deep and grumbly as he reads over the requests that come in with the money: yes, i wish it were me there… please, can we see your cock?

“Desperate little sluts,” Beomgyu hums, tugging his waistband down and allowing his cock to spring up; it smacks against his stomach, and though the people in his comments attempt to regain his attention with dirty words and useless requests, he knows it’s all because of you— guiltily, he finds his thoughts straying the moment his hand wraps around his cock.

His streams have a certain formula to them; the more money, the better the show. Which is exactly why he ends up kneeling in front of the camera, fucking his cock into a clear flashlight as he listens to the sounds of tips coming in left and right— but his eyes remained shut, spilling enough filth to have his audience satisfied as he allows to let his imagination run wild.

In every stream, he cums to the thought of you; he has to bite his lip to not moan out your name like a pathetic bitch in heat, flooding his fleshlight with cum and continuing to fuck into it until his next orgasm.

In every stream, he finds himself thinking the same thought at least once— do you watch his streams?

»»»

The concept of camboys is ridiculous to you.

Why in the world would you spend all your money and emotions on a single person, when you can just go on Twitter and find the next best account that has yet to be suspended? Well, it’s not as though you find the idea of sex work appalling, but you don’t think you’d ever feel good about yourself spending a hard-earned paycheck because you were horny.

You’re not stupid; you know sex workers make bank, and you know that there are people in the world that love emptying out their bank accounts to such workers; whether it’s due to a kink or to feed into their parasocial relationship, you’re not sure.

You find that a good session on Twitter and your fingers usually does the trick— maybe a toy or two, if you find yourself feeling that needy.

Today’s session quickly becomes both disappointing and humbling; every account you try to look for has either been suspended or deleted, and every video you come across is something that’s not to your taste or something you’ve seen many, many times.

You feel weak as you come across the same account again; guiltypleasures— and he’s damn right, because you’re unable to resist the urge to click on his icon, feeling your thighs rub together with impatience as you sit back in bed— scrolling through, you’re surprised to see that he’s posted another video— without a second thought, you’re watching it.

“Fucking pathetic,” he sighs out, the familiar growled phrase making you gulp; you never found yourself to be too attracted to men who are extremely dominating and mean, but the man on your screen is somehow able to make it work as you find yourself getting wetter, “are you touching yourself right now? Don’t you wish I was there with you?”

And shit, you think you know why he’s able to make you come back to him every time, even if he’s posted nothing new and you’re forced to rewatch old videos most of the time; maybe it’s because of his hands, delicate and thin as they wrap around his favorite pocket pussy, or maybe it’s the way he slowly fucks into the said toy; stretching it out, his tip poking out and oozing enough cum that you can hear the wet squelching sounds that come from every thrust.

Or maybe, it’s his voice, deep and breathy and addicting as he mumbles out filthy things like it’s the only thing he knew how to do; his lips are red and swollen as he groans, hissing through his teeth as you watch the way his hands tighten around his toy.

“Shit, I’d fuck you so good,” he sighs out, hips rutting into the toy in his hands as he laughs; his head tilts, and though you’re only able to see his lips, you know his eyes are teasing as he looks into the camera, “fuck you so that you’d never want anyone else but me.”

His thrusts are picking up— you didn’t even realize the moment you began touching yourself, embarrassing whimpers and breaths falling from your lips as you keep your eyes honed in on his motions; you’re close, so close, your ministration speeding up as you fight to keep your eyes open.

“You’d be my good little cumdump, just for me to use— right?”

The video ends shortly after.

God damn it! your mind screams, the sudden cut-off catching you so off guard that you completely ruined your orgasm; you feel insanely embarrassed by how frustrated you feel, not realizing how short the clip he posted was until now. Clicking away, you feel as though your mood is ruined as you read the contents of his tweet.

A small clip from the stream. Watch the rest here: https://…..

Shit. Of course he would be a camboy. How did you not realize this sooner?

Honestly, if you sounded like that, you would be one too— and frustratingly enough, the brief cutoff is a damn good marketing strategy, because after a moment of thought, you’re clicking on the link.

You could just rewatch the video— you could also just go rewatch his previous videos, or even use your imagination to help you finish— but the idea of doing so is much more unpleasant than usual. (And humiliating, because you’ve found with horror that you’ve begun to memorize how his previous, equally as short, clips go.)

Your resolve begins to weaken the moment you click on his page— because of course, everything costs money— It costs to see his previous streams, costs to message him, and costs to get a fucking membership.

Who is paying for all this?!

You, apparently— because after some serious, slightly horny-impaired thought, you decide that getting a low-tier membership wouldn’t be too bad, right?

The cost is monthly (because of course it is, this website seems to want to charge you for just looking at his page) and you wince slightly as you watch your transaction go through.

Once you see the notification of your purchase pop up on your phone, you feel dreadfully sobered.

Because shit, being a low-tier subscriber only gets you a part of his most recent streams— about less than half of it, you notice— only able to get full access to streams prior to this month. It’s enough for now, but you can’t help but feel as though you’ve become the very thing you’ve despised as you lay back in your bed, staring at your ceiling for a moment before you’re sighing.

You’re still horny.

»»»

You think you can get behind the whole camboy thing. One may say you’ve been swayed, and quite honestly, you don’t think you could dispel such claims at this point.

Because it’s been a few months, and you’ve managed to stay through the whole thing. You’re surprised that you’ve begun to keep his streaming times in mind as you go about your day, ending your study sessions early or wondering if you’ll get home from work in time to watch his streams.

You always do. Maybe it’s a deity above making sure you get your money’s worth, or maybe it’s the fact that guiltypleasures is a human too, with a normal life and better shit to do than sit in front of a camera and jerk off all day.

The idea of following in his footsteps has crossed your mind more often than you expected; anything would be better than being a hostess at this god-awful job you have, forced to sit through the way people take out their anger on you and proceed to flirt with the servers— one of those servers being Beomgyu.

You were able to realize how popular Beomgyu was after your second shift— it didn’t take a genius to figure out why as you were left to deal with the way women of your age and older (mostly older. So many older women.) would creep up to you shyly, putting up a front of innocence as they asked you is Beomgyu here today? Could we sit in his area, please?

Seeing him rack up tips after a busy shift is always enough to have you wondering if you should switch to being a server— but then you see the way the women are treated, your stomach flipping in disgust at the way men leer and comment at them— you’ve even seen Beomgyu get cursed at plenty of times as well, shivering at the jealous partners and the way they’ve been blacklisted for threatening him.

Tonight is one of those nights. You’ve clocked out, shrugging on your jacket and gathering your belongings when you see Beomgyu storm in through the employee entrance; you don’t think you’ve ever seen him angry, but the sight has your eyes widening as you watch the way he frowns at his uniform, cursing angrily under his breath as he approaches the break table you stand by.

“Fuck,” he hisses, low and breathy and mean as he continues complaining, berating the customer that had the audacity to throw their drink at him— but you, in your very depraved state, remain stuck on the way he sounds, his voice far too attractive for a person who is spouting out filth.

This feels familiar.

“Hey, you okay?” you ask softly, feeling awkward as you mentally slap yourself for your train of thought; it seems as though Beomgyu hadn’t even realized you were there, his head snapping up as he stares at you like a deer caught in headlights— his mood is immediately shifting as he sends you a sweet smile, acting as though his clothes aren’t soaked as he waves you off causally.

“Yeah. Just some ridiculous customers,” he says, laughing softly as he grabs at a pile of napkins on the table; you wince as you watch him scrub roughly at the stains, unable to stop yourself as you jump to his aide.

“Here, you’ll only get the stains in deeper if you do that,” you say, taking the napkin from his hands as you begin to dab at his uniform without much thought; you’re much closer than you should be to someone you’ve never really talked to, but you don’t seem to realize it as Beomgyu practically forgets to breathe from your proximity.

Shit, how did he find himself in this situation? He might as well go back out and thank the jealous, “tough guy” boyfriend that threw his drink at Beomgyu, because he feels as though every guilty fantasy is coming back to mind as he takes in your concentrated expression, your hand placed firmly on his chest for support as the other dabs at the stains in his uniform.

You smell so good. Even though you’ve been in the restaurant just as long as him and have been around food this whole time, he’s still able to pick up on your scent with every shaky breath he takes.

You’re wearing your glasses, too.

Beomgyu’s mind is wandering off to dangerous places; he knows he needs to get himself under control, because the danger of him popping a boner just from how close you are is a higher probability than he’d like to admit. It seems as though you’re snapping out of your trance the moment he clears his throat, your face growing hot and slightly horrified as you jump back; Beomgyu can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips at the sight, finding your embarrassment oddly endearing.

“Sorry, got carried away,” you say, smiling shakily as you take in the way Beomgyu practically beams at you— always a sweet, nice guy, waving you off without a problem as he laughs softly.

“No, it seems to have helped,” he says, and you can’t help but notice how oddly charismatic he is even now, during this mundane interaction that has you stuttering over your words stupidly— but to be fair, how are you supposed to give him advice on how to get the stains out when he’s looking at you with the cutest god damn puppy eyes you’ve ever seen, his brown eyes round and sparkly as he listens intently to every word you say?

“I wouldn’t have thought to do that,” he smiles, his cheeks puffing up cutely and oh, is it weird that you want to coo at how cute he is and pinch his cheeks…?

Definitely weird, you decide, letting out a soft laugh as he tells you that he’ll try it as soon as he gets home.

“Speaking of which, I’ll let you go; you probably don’t want to be here longer than necessary,” Beomgyu is so kind and considerate even as you tell him it’s fine and that you didn’t have any plans after work anyway.

“I’ll let you get back to work,” you can’t help the soft laugh that escapes you as Beomgyu asks you to wish him luck, the smile he sports coy as you follow his command without any hesitation— you take this as your chance to leave before things get awkward, but a part of you itches to go back and talk to him more.

Beomgyu’s good, you realize as you’re exiting the building, a bewildered laugh escaping you as you realize that he managed to charm you just from that short interaction.

You get why he’s so popular.

»»»

Any plans to go to bed early and rest are immediately thrown out the minute your phone buzzes beside you.

You were just about to put your laptop away— just on the verge of falling asleep, until your eyes reluctantly drifted to read the words that take over your screen— it’s a Twitter notification, the username making your eyes widen as you’re scrambling to unlock your phone and read the rest.

guiltypleasures

had a shitty shift today, let me take it out on you? https://…….

Oh. oh, oh lord… you can feel the exhaustion lifted off in an instant; suddenly, you’re wide awake, eyes widening as you quickly copy the link of his tweet into your browser— while your mind scolds you for trying to stay up and possibly ruining your sleep schedule, the other, much more sinister part of it tells you that you’re paying for a reason.

The stream starts in five minutes.

While you wait anxiously in your room, your hands swiftly going to your nightstand to take out some toys— your trusty vibrator and a dildo you recently bought, all because of him— Beomgyu paces around his setup, gathering his own toys and changing into something that the viewers might like; today's ensemble is a bit more bothersome than usual, but he knows how much his viewers like when he dresses up and role plays a bit with them.

He was tired; today's shift took a toll on him, and he’d rather be fast asleep than putting on a stream— but after looking at today's earnings, he couldn’t help but feel unsatisfied with it all, deciding on impulse that he would put on a stream to make up for his lack of tips— instead, he’ll earn tips in another way.

“Hey,” he starts quietly, sitting back in his seat as he takes a glance at his monitor, making sure his face is out of frame. The viewer count rises and comments flood in no time, all of them freaking out about how good he looks in the suit he wears; the all-black ensemble feels stifling to him, but he knows taking it off will be worth it in the end.

Bad day today? Let us make you feel better :(

His top tippers are all begging for his attention, desperate and needy as always as they beg for him to get started— but he feels a lot more sluggish than usual, his gloved hands caressing his thighs slowly as he reads the comments out loud.

“Yeah, today’s shift wasn’t that great,” he speaks, his voice deep and sultry as he allows a moment to pass, reading all the comments that beg for him to use them, “I only thought about you though. Just wanted to see you.”

There he goes again— he’s no longer talking to his audience, but to you instead, closing his eyes and imagining a world where you’re in front of him, or even on the other side of this screen, one of the many faces that lusts over the way his cock begins to harden, the bulge becoming much more apparent as he lets his mind wander.

Unbeknownst to him, you are on the other side of your screen; a shy and flustered mess as you shift in your bed, watching the comments fly by as you wonder if you should join in— not that you could, anyway, your low-tier subscription excluding you from doing such things, as ridiculous as it is.

You’re practically devouring the man on your screen with your eyes; taking in the way he’s dressed, his pretty hands covered with leather gloves as he runs them slowly over his black trousers; stopping as they run back to his hips, a hand beginning to palm at his bulge as he spreads his legs a little wider in his chair— today's setup is a bit different, along with his attitude as he seems to sweet talk the audience more than usual.

“Seeing you is the only good part of my day,” he sighed, his free hand trailing up his chest before it stops at his tie— he’s tugging at it, loosening it and allowing it to hang around his neck as he continues, “Can’t stop thinking about how much I want you, how I’d fuck you until all you can remember is my name.”

The offer is tempting; you groan a little as you watch him begin to slide off his blazer, throwing it to the side before he’s unbuttoning his white shirt— he’s making quick work to become undressed, you notice, untucking the material and undoing his belt as the sounds of it jingling ring out in the room.

Yet, no one knows his name— no one knows anything about him, except the tattoo that runs across his side as he slides off his shirt, the sharp, elegant lines running all along his ribs, trailing down to his hip bones and disappearing under his pants— the rest of him remaining a mystery as you’re left to lust over a nameless, faceless stranger.

That’s probably where the appeal comes from; you’re able to imagine anything about him, from what his face looks like to what he may do when the cameras are off; you’re free to mold him into the perfect fantasy, using him and projecting onto him as you watch him slowly unzip his pants, a hand slipping under as he begins to jerk himself off teasingly, slow as always as he waits for the requests to come in— like clockwork, your eyes fall to the end of his tattoo, taking in the cute heart that rests by his hip bone, the ending of the elaborate piece that always has you wondering what it’d be like to see in person.

“Hmm? You want more?” he says, tilting his head slightly as he smiles; it’s mocking as always, biting into his lip as he begins to roll his hips into his hand— making a show out of it, throwing his head back and letting out a breathy moan that has you shivering.

“How about you show me just how much you want it,” he sighs out, smiling evilly as tips begin to come in left and right as a response; you find the way he’s able to manipulate the audience impressive, always able to get them to blow their money on him without hesitation.

He leans forward, towards the screen, and you’re able to admire his lips as he reads the comments, mouthing them as the lights cast a glow on his pretty, pouty mouth, his neck tempting and begging to be marked as you watch the way he displays it so teasingly.

“Good girl,” he laughs softly, your eyes flickering to the comment section for a moment; his top tipper has spent an egregious amount on him yet again, and you listen to the way he softly begins to fulfill her request, the rest of the audience momentarily disappearing as he begins to speak to her.

“Always such an obedient thing for me, hmm? Tell me, what do you want to see?”

His manipulation is seamless as he watches another tip flood in; all from the same person, the amount doubled in order to get his attention past all the others that blow a measly twenty on him, nothing compared to the three hundred that is highlighted in gold, the comment momentarily pinned for the man to read it.

I want you to fuck your favorite fleshlight and use a vibrator while you think of me. Can you moan my name please? It’s—

Her comment has your eyes widening for a second; it’s bold and demanding, and the idea of requesting such a thing from the camboy in front of you is daunting as you read her request over and over— your face feels hot and you’re already taking off your sweatpants from how needy you are, wondering if the man on your screen will accept such a request.

The first two are nothing to him— in fact, it’s more on the tamer side as he already finds himself reaching for the aforementioned toys.

The problem lies in the last request.

He’s not one to moan names on a live stream; he usually saves it for personal requests he gets, the videos much more personal and calculated as he gets to take his time with them— so for his top tipper to request such a thing on his livestream is a bit more difficult; especially when he spends this time thinking of you.

But then again, it’s three hundred dollars.

“Okay then, is that what you want? Hmm?” he teases softly, purring out her name at the end as he watches the way she tips him again; it has him laughing in amusement, sitting back in his chair before he’s crossing his arms over his chest, singing out her name with a soft lilt as he watches the way she continues to pour money at him like it’s nothing.

Soon enough, more requests come in; all with the same amount and request, hoping that they’ll be able to hear their names fall from his lips as he slowly begins to tug down his pants, raising his hips as he’s left in nothing but his underwear, the briefs straining painfully as his cock twitches, begging to be free.

“One at a time,” he murmurs sweetly, patronizing as he mumbles that it’s her turn now, watching the way she seems to react with every purr of her name.

The sudden trend of requests makes his stream slightly difficult; he’s always found himself to be a lot more into them when he’s mentally moaning out your name, lips ghosting over the syllables every time he’s coming undone. Instead, he’s forced to moan out the name of a stranger as he begins to palm himself slowly, even though his mind thinks back to you and the small interaction you had today.

He feels his cock twitch at the mere thought. It’s painfully hard and won’t stop leaking as he takes it out, not needing to use any lubricant as he begins stroking it slowly, hips jumping at the feeling of the leather against his skin— and though his lips moan another’s name, his eyes remain closed, thinking about you.

You and your meek personality, always letting guests take out their anger on you before they’re turning around and sucking up to Beomgyu— he’s always had to resist the urge to fuck them up as a response, knowing that you think no one else notices your sullied mood and your crestfallen gaze every time they seem to get away with it.

He’s never free to comfort you. You’re both far too busy to be around each other for longer than a few minutes, and today was like a blessing as he caught you at just the right time— he would have stayed the rest of his shift back there talking to you, if only he hadn’t been playing the part of a sweet, considerate guy.

He thinks back to how you felt against him. How, even though your actions were innocent and you were much more focused on taking out the stain of his uniform, he still felt the warmth of your hand against his chest, delicate and smaller than his as you leaned in close enough to allow himself to get a whiff of your sweet scent.

And those glasses.

He never thought he would find himself hung up on such an item, but the way they make your eyes look big and sparkly is practically enough to make him cum on the spot. Instead, he grabs a hold of his newest fleshlight, soft and tight, just how he imagines you would be.

It’s perverted, but as he slides his cock into the tight sleeve, groaning slightly at how he’s barely able to push through, he imagines that it’s you. His mind begins to wonder what it would be like if you were above him right now, your thighs encasing his and your pussy leaking onto his cock as he fucked into you without abandon.

As he turns on his vibrator, running it along his balls and letting out pathetic moans, he imagines what it would be like to use it on you while he fucked you, imagining the way your tits would bounce and your eyes would squeeze shut as he made you cum until you were unable to hold yourself up.

On the other side of the screen, you imagine the same thing. Your legs are shaking and you’re fighting to keep your eyes open as you follow the pace he’s set, pressing your vibrator firmly against your clit and letting out weak whimpers at the sensation. You try to ignore the way he calls out the same name over and over, wondering instead what it would be like to hear your name from his lips— the sound is ringing throughout your mind the moment you imagine it, burying your face into your pillow as you increase the intensity of your toy.

“Let me fill you up, want you dripping with my cum,” he growls out, the sloppy sounds of his thrusts only spurring you on as your thighs close around your hand, hips grinding into your dildo as you sink your teeth into your lip ruthlessly— it’s almost enough to draw blood as you watch the way he cums into his toy, hips continuing to rut into the it even long after he’s come, a white ring forming at the base as he turns the vibrator off from the overstimulation.

“_— Shit,” Beomgyu almost slipped up for a second, proceeding to moan out his requested name repeatedly as a distraction.

And you know you’re imagining it, but you’re briefly coming undone after that, your pussy tightening against your dildo and your legs shaking as you run your vibrator along your clit, imagining that it’s him inside you, that he’s currently spilling his load in your cunt— your mind swearing that you almost heard your name slip from his lips for a second— and it isn’t until you recover from your orgasm, the sound of another name leaving his lips repeatedly making you come to, that you realize it was your brain playing trick on you to help you get off.

But you weren’t imagining things.

Beomgyu hopes his audience didn’t pick up on his small mistake, but he’s relieved to see that they’re none the wiser as they continue to request to hear their name next.

“Let’s see…” he says, and you’re barely able to keep your eyes open as you watch the way he leans towards the camera again, reading requests off the monitor as he grinds his hips into his toy absentmindedly throughout it.

He’s barely getting started.

In turn, so are you.

»»»

Beomgyu is the sweetest guy you’ve ever met.

After your brief conversation at the restaurant, you quickly found yourself talking to him more often.

It turned into him sitting next to you during the one class you shared, your friendship growing stronger day by day as you got to know him better.

He acts like a puppy; he’s so sweet and kind, his voice soft and endearing every time he spoke to you— and, like a stark contrast to the flirty and outgoing guy you saw during your shifts at the restaurant, he was very shy, ever the gentleman as he always treated you with nothing but kindness.

“Good morning,” Beomgyu hums, sitting in the seat next to yours before he’s placing down a cup of coffee, “I got this for you. I already finished mine, but I thought you might like some too.”

Sweet gestures like these were common with him; despite your insistence that he really didn’t need to, he always did it anyway, ever the charming man as he sent you a cute smile that would have you unable to say no.

“Hey, I heard you’re friends with Yeonjun?” you ask, reluctantly accepting the drink after he insisted that you didn’t need to feel bad; your lips are curving into a small smile as you take a drink, stomach flipping at the realization that it was your usual order— you’re surprised he was able to remember it after the first time you got coffee together.

Beomgyu nods in confirmation. You’re a bit surprised by his answer, unable to see the two be friends due to their contrasting personalities. You can tell that he’s curious as to why you’re asking as he pouts slightly— a habit he always does when he’s confused— and you’re quick to swallow down your drink and give him context.

“He’s having a party this weekend. I was wondering if you’re going?” you say, and Beomgyu feels his stomach drop slightly; not because you were going— well, not entirely, at least— but because if you were going, you’d definitely end up seeing a different side of him. And after seeing how fond you are of his puppy-like behavior, he dreads seeing your reaction to a much more reckless side of him.

“I… think so,” he says sheepishly, wondering what kind of excuse he should make to not go— but he pauses, seeing the way you pout at him, grabbing his arm desperately as you lean into him as you plead.

“You should go— pleeeasee? Yeonjun’s parties are super over the top and he always invites hella people, I don’t wanna be there alone.”

You have this man wrapped around your finger; with one look at your face, your gaze sweet and pleading as you cutely pout at him expectantly, he finds himself agreeing, unable to fight back a smile as he watches the way you cheer triumphantly, quieting down the moment the lecture starts.

Beomgyu will definitely have to be careful this weekend— but seeing you will be worth it, even if he’s risking the chance of potentially changing the way you’ll view him forever.

»»»

You have yet to see Beomgyu.

The party started hours ago, yet you’ve only been present for a few as you’ve already both greeted and lost Yeonjun, forced to mingle with people you barely know as you all hang out in his backyard— because lord knows how packed and stuffy the place would’ve been if he held it inside.

You currently find yourself playing cup pong, teaming with the girl in your communications class as you go against two strangers— Yunjin is much friendlier and outgoing when she’s drunk, cheering you on and yelling triumphantly with every ball you get in— you’ve barely had anything to drink as a result, and Yunjin is eager to fix that as she hands you a small shot cup; you’re hesitant at first, only accepting it after she explains that it isn’t strong at all, the soju mixed in with other things as she tells you you’ll barely feel it.

It’s not that you’re a lightweight that would get drunk off one shot, but you’d rather not get shit-faced when you have yet to find Beomgyu; your eyes scan over the place once more after you take the shot, Yunjin’s cheers falling deaf onto your ears as you allow the team in front of you have their turn.

“Drinking already?”

Beomgyu has snuck up on you successfully— you’re flinching in surprise as you feel his hand fall gently on the small of your back, leaning in close so he’s properly able to speak to you over the music.

Beomgyu feels as though looking at you is a sin; he’s forcing himself to keep his eyes off you, listening to the way you ramble into his ear about how happy you are to see him, your head tilting back and exposing the column of your neck to him to get him to hear you.

“You’re not wearing your glasses,” he comments, oddly hung up on it as he watches the way your smile only widens.

“Yeah, didn’t feel like it,” you say lightheartedly, leaning back against Beomgyu and finding comfort in the position that allows the two of you to speak over the booming music.

Unbeknownst to you, he takes this moment to drink in your appearance. The white, oversized button-up you wear is left completely open as it drapes over your figure, the light blue denim shorts entirely too tempting as they ride up your thighs, much too short to even cover you properly— but of course, that’s the look you were going for, leaving your bottoms unbuttoned and folded down as you allow your bikini to peek through— the color is flattering on your skin, and Beomgyu wonders if he’ll be strong enough to resist you, eyes flickering over to the pool that’s filled with plenty of people as a distraction.

“You wanna go in?” you ask, and Beomgyu realizes you’ve followed his line of sight, shaking his head quickly in response. You laugh, turning around briefly as you listen to the sounds of Yunjin telling you that you have to drink— you freely down the shot in the plastic cup this time, much more at ease now that Beomgyu is around— and turn back to him, pulling at his shirt slightly as you take in his attire.

“Come on, you’re definitely dressed for the part!”

And that much was true— though he realized halfway through his drive here that doing so would not be a good idea, especially if he wanted to keep up this cute, innocent act of his.

“It’s too full right now,” he says, his excuse valid as you study the pool for a moment— only to agree, turning back to the game as you tell Beomgyu to cheer for you with a cheeky smile.

It doesn’t take much longer for you to get tipsy— all because you made the mistake of trusting Yunjin to play properly during her turn, missing entirely and proceeding to get the two of you obliterated after she went against one of the guys on the opposite team (Jake, he later told you.)— but you’re quick to make sure to bring Beomgyu down with you, handing him every other shot you get as you tell him he’s now on your team.

What you don’t seem to realize is that Beomgyu is not a lightweight— far from it, watching with amusement as you slowly begin to get tipsy, your mouth loosening and your personality becoming much more outgoing after losing the game to Jake and his friend— three times in a row.

“Again?” you ask, laughing at the way Yunjin yells in agreement— Beomgyu has to tug on your shirt to get you away, telling you that it’s definitely not a good idea to go again, especially with someone as uncoordinated as Yunjin.

“Why didn’t you play with me then?” you say, leaning against him as you smile up at him prettily; he’s leading you away from the table and towards the grass, over to where a small campfire is lit, plenty of chairs scattered about as the music becomes louder in this area.

“You don’t like games?” you ask him, stumbling to a stop and tugging at his shirt to stop with you, just so he’s able to hear you better. Coyly, you smile, your eyes twinkling mischievously as you lean in to speak to him quietly, “Don’t you wanna play with me?”

Your words are fairly innocent— but your delivery is not, and it has Beomgyu sputtering in surprise as he wonders how he should respond to such a random advance— though he doesn’t need to in the end, watching as you break character and laugh at your own antics, perking up immediately as you listen to the song that’s playing.

“Oh, I love this song!”

You’re dancing carelessly to the song without a second thought, pulling Beomgyu in and laughing at the way he seems reluctant to let loose; it’s probably the alcohol in your system that’s making you act like such an idiot, leaning against him and smiling at the way he seems adamant to avoid your gaze.

“You know, I just realized that we’re matching!” you laugh, tugging at the collar of his white button-up before you’re glancing down; it’s tucked neatly into his denim shorts, and your smile is only growing wider as you look back up at him, “we look like a couple or something.”

Your words affect him much more than he’d like to admit— but he has no time to dwell on it, eyes looking past you and at Yeonjun, who walks straight toward the two of you with a grin stuck on his face.

“Hey, why didn’t you tell me you were here?” Yeonjun yells, grabbing your attention as you’re turning to greet Yeonjun; you’re bubbly and seem to find everything funny as you giggle slightly, waving at him happily before you’re stepping away from Beomgyu.

“I couldn’t find you,” Beomgyu mumbles, watching the way Yeonjun slings an arm around your shoulders casually— he feels oddly angered at the sight, unsure why it irritates him so much to see the two of you act so close.

“Didn’t know you two were friends,” Yeonjun says, and he watches as you begin to ramble about your history with Beomgyu with a small smile— scanning your outfit, he frowns.

“You haven’t gotten in the pool yet?” Yeonjun asks, raising a brow at your entirely dry figure; you shake your head, which only makes him tilt his head in confusion, “I thought you said that’s the only reason you were coming?”

“Well, I just haven’t gotten the chance to,” you say sheepishly, the shy smile on your face quickly turning to one of confusion the moment Yeonjun hugs you; he’s got you tight, and you’re stumbling along with him as you begin questioning what he’s doing, your eyes widening the moment you peek over his shoulder— you’re heading straight to the pool, the volume of your yells rising significantly as you begin to struggle against your friend, yelling at Beomgyu to come to your rescue.

(It’s all for dramatic effect. Yeonjun laughs at the way you pretend to struggle against him, and he pretends he doesn’t hear your laugh of joy the moment he falls over the edge, letting go of you in time and forcing the two of you into the water.)

You’re pleasantly surprised to find that the water isn’t freezing; you personally thank Yeonjun’s heating system as you come up for air, wiping at your face and adjusting your hair as you begin to splash Yeonjun, insulting him for being such a bully.

Your movements are immediately stopping the moment you spot Beomgyu at the edge— Yeonjun is quick to leave, sending you a small wink (the term “wink” used loosely) before he’s off to find his next target—he’s taken his shoes off and he looks more than ready to jump in, and you can’t help but laugh sweetly at his concern before you realize that you should probably take off your shoes as well.

“You okay?” He asks you, watching the way you cringe as you take off your shoes, tossing them over the edge and leaving them to dry as you swim to where he stands.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you smile, watching the way he seems hesitant to do anything— to get in or leave, you’re unsure. A second passes before an evil thought pops into your head, taking notice of your equally soaked clothes that remain stuck on your body.

“Oh. Hey, could you hold this?” you begin, shedding off your shirt before you’re bundling it into a ball, holding out the fabric for him— he crouches down, arm reaching out for your shirt— and you seize your moment, both hands grabbing onto him and tugging as hard as you can.

And Beomgyu, in his unguarded state, falls in immediately.

The laugh you let out is pure evil as you watch him fall in, flailing for a second before he’s coming up for air— and honestly, Beomgyu can’t even be mad, at least not when you’re laughing so hard, your face lit up as you take in the way his hair is completely flat on his head.

“Sorry. Couldn’t help it,” you say, but you don’t look sorry at all as you swim over to your shirt that’s now sunk into the bottom of the pool. You’re diving down to get it, quick to throw it over the edge and by your shoes before you’re tugging off your shorts. You’re glancing back at Beomgyu, relieved to see he doesn’t look angry at all, when you spot something peculiar.

“Woah, what’s that?” you ask, approaching Beomgyu eagerly as he’s quick to follow your gaze. His cheeks are on fire and his hands are quick to fly onto his ribs, turning away from your curious hands and even more curious gaze as he stutters out an excuse.

“It’s nothing.” That’s probably one of the lamest things Beomgyu has ever said, and you’re not believing him for a second as your eyes widen at his sudden change in behavior.

“Is it a tattoo?” you ask, trying to get a peek through the cracks of his fingers; but the water makes everything blurry, unable to get the details of it before you’re humming appreciatively. “Hmm. That’s cool— I didn’t know that was such a common spot to get tattooed.”

“Is it?” he asks, and suddenly, he doesn’t seem to want to hide it anymore. Your curious gaze and awed compliments have him smiling, raising a brow as he feels himself become more confident— the idea that you of all people would judge him seems ridiculous now.

“Who else do you know that has a tattoo here?” you’re late to process the question— only because your eyes are widening as he admits that it is a tattoo, the words flying out of your mouth before you can truly process if it’s a good idea.

“I don’t know. I’ve just seen it online, I guess.” Of course, this could mean many things— but it means one thing to you, and you’re practically biting your tongue from the sheer terror that you inadvertently admitted to a guilty, secret pleasure of yours.

“Online?” he asks, and you try to not look suspicious as you choose to simply remain quiet and nod.

“Yeah, like on Pinterest and stuff,” you add, hoping that it’s enough to prove your innocence (to yourself) as you watch Beomgyu nod along to your words.

“Aren’t your clothes weighing you down?” you ask, eyeing the way he’s barely moved with a small smile, “or like, are you not wearing anything underneath?”

Most of the people here came with their swimsuits underneath— some just opted to strip to their underwear, which is why you didn’t feel alarmed to find people stripping their layers in order to jump into the pool.

Though, now that you think about it, you feel a bit bad for forcing Beomgyu to get in without much of a warning. Your concerns are quickly soothed, however, when Beomgyu shakes his head, hands coming up to unbutton his shirt before he’s laughing softly at your words.

“I was wearing my shorts underneath these,” he confesses, your eyes widening as you find yourself going silent— because wow, was Beomgyu always this ripped?

You feel odd as you watch him strip, sliding off his shirt as most of his torso remains underwater; he’s slowly making his way to where you stand by the edge, and you can feel your heart stopping as you take in the look in his eyes.

Dark. Dangerous. Tempting. You think you’re imagining things as you look away, gulping heavily as you feel yourself sobering suddenly. He’s throwing his shirt in the direction that your pile of clothes lie, and you feel oddly embarrassed by the way you have to look away as he strips his bottoms off as well.

You’re only glancing back in time to see him hover out of the pool for a second, his upper body coming out of the water as he takes a moment to lay out both your clothing properly.

Holy shit.

Was it common for people to have the same tattoo? It surely was, right? Those are the only things that are going through your mind as you observe Beomgyu’s tattoo, taking in the familiarity of each line as your eyes drift down to his v-line— your eyes spot the small, perfect heart that rests right at his pubic bone.

Oh god. Oh god, oh god oh god, you think, trying your best to not lose your shit and melt in a puddle of horror and embarrassment as you realize that Beomgyu has the exact tattoo as guiltypleasures.

It had to be a popular tattoo. Or maybe it was a reference to something, or a drawing a tattoo artist put out to let other people use— anything, it had to be anything else than the conclusion your mind was terrified of making, meeting Beomgyu’s gaze shyly as you realize that he’s caught you staring, hard.

“It’s pretty,” you breathe out, unsure you can trust your voice as you watch Beomgyu sink back into the pool, “Is it… a reference to something?”

Please say yes. Please say yes.

“Thanks,” he starts, leaving you on edge as he takes a moment to inspect his tattoo— running his fingertips over it, tracing over the delicate lines in a way that has you gripping onto the edge of the pool, “and no, it’s not. I designed it myself.”

You’re gonna pass out.

“Really?” you grit out, hoping he can’t pick up on the tension of your voice as you smile, albeit forced, “Like, it’s one of a kind?”

“Yup,” he grins, staring down at his tattoo with a proud look on his face, “One of a kind. My tattoo artist didn’t even post it, upon my request.”

You’re gonna cry. Maybe you’ll scream, or even sink into the pool and try to drown yourself.

Because Choi Beomgyu, your closest friend for the past few months and the man you may or may have not been beginning to crush on, is guiltypleasures, the man you lust after every night and fucking pay to watch.

You know they say that quiet guys are the freakiest, but this is too fucking much.

“That’s so cool,” you say, sinking into the pool so the water is up to your mouth, hoping that you won’t blurt out any more stupidities as you stare off into the distance, attempting to let this new information settle in.

“Hey, you okay?” he asks, and you hate how attentive Beomgyu has become— even more because everything is starting to click, his husky and deep voice a replica of your stupid camboy’s, your body reacting involuntarily to the sound of it as you simply nod softly.

“Mhmm,” you hum out, coming out of the water a bit so you can speak, “I think those drinks from earlier fucked up my stomach— I should go home.”

“Oh,” Beomgyu says, and you feel awful for the way he’s become confused at your sudden shift in mood, “Are you sure you’ll be okay driving—?”

“I Ubered here,” you mumble, oddly embarrassed at your words, “cause I knew I’d probably drink a lot.”

“Well then let me take you home,” he insists, ever the gentleman as you try to say that he shouldn’t, that he should just stay and enjoy the party.

“It’s dangerous to call an Uber at this hour though,” he continues, his stupid fucking puppy eyes taking a toll on your resolve as you bite your lip, “Plus, I only really came to this party because of you.”

God, what the hell was this behavior?! This innocent, shy, and sweet Beomgyu was a complete one-eighty— scratch that— was an entirely different fucking person than the one that always talked down at you at night, spilling filth like it was in his nature and treating you like you were worthless.

It was a bit terrifying as you watched the way he remained entirely oblivious to the Earth-shattering realization, getting out of the pool and reaching out to help you out with a sweet smile.

After a second, you take it.

You feel so awkward as you gather your clothes; you’re jumpy and you’re sure Beomgyu has picked up on it as he eyes you from time to time, watching as you wring out your clothes as much as you can before you’re slipping on your shirt, your shorts left in your hand as you avoid Beomgyu’s eyes entirely.

“I have a few blankets in my car— you should use those to keep yourself warm,” he says softly, looking back at you and frowning at the way you only nod with a tense smile.

Was he wrong about you? Were you lying when you reacted positively to his tattoo? Beomgyu has no idea why something as simple as a tattoo would change the way you treat him entirely, but he’s determined to get to the bottom of this as you enter his car, entirely stiff as you wrap one of his aforementioned blankets around yourself.

“Hey, did something happen tonight?” He asks you halfway through his drive, licking his lips nervously as he watches the way you jump in your seat, not expecting his question at all as you remain silent for a second.

“Uhm, no?” you say, though you seem unsure of your own answer as you wrap the blankets a little tighter around yourself, “I’m telling you, it was probably the drinks— I didn’t think my stomach would be so sensitive tonight.”

Your explanation is entirely plausible, but Beomgyu doesn’t believe it as he watches the way you remain tense, his car slowing to a stop as the two of you wait at the stoplight in an awkward silence.

“You’re lying,” Beomgyu says, deciding that it’s better to just be bold instead of tiptoeing around the subject, “Is it because of my tattoo?”

Your lips press together.

“It is,” he says, and he feels an unexpected wave of disappointment and anger wash over him, “did something that small put you off that much?”

“That’s not it,” you say, your heart pounding against your chest and your body heating up as you realize that you’ve upset him— and greatly, because you’re able to see the way his brows knit together and his hand tightens on the steering wheel as he begins to drive again.

Did he think you were judging him? That you thought less of him because of such a small thing?

“Then what is it?” he insists, and you’re mortified to see that you’re stuck in traffic, victim to Beomgyu’s sharp gaze that demands answers, “Cause you’ve been acting weird since I showed it to you.”

“I’ve seen it before,” you mutter quietly, sinking into your seat from the humiliation, “I recognized it. Your tattoo.”

Beomgyu pauses. Then he thinks of the many times he’s had his shirt ride up when he’s around you, from stretching to taking off his hoodie and having his undershirt get pulled up along with it.

“Okay?”

“Like. Online.”

That’s enough to leave him silent. Stupefied, even. One glance at you and your body language is enough to confirm that it’s exactly what he’s thinking, your posture so small that you look like you wish you could disappear.

“You’ve—“ he swallows, wondering what else to say as traffic begins moving again, “like… Twitter—?”

“Your streams.”

Fuck. Fuck, oh fuck, Beomgyu needs to get the fuck out of the car this instant, because his dick is already hardening and he can feel his brain short-circuiting at your words— you watch his streams.

In your mind, you feel as though you’ve completely dug a hole for yourself— Beomgyu is probably horrified at your confession, but it’s not as though you knew it was him, or that you had any malicious intent, or that—!

All Beomgyu can think of is how he shouldn’t park the car in the middle of the road and fuck you stupid.

“Did you watch them a lot?” he asks you, his voice eerily quiet and stable, and oh no he’s interrogating you right now, this is the end for you.

“Yeah,” you say, deciding to be completely transparent now that you’ve decided to tell the truth, “I’m sorry.”

Is it possible to come untouched like this? Beomgyu might just find out, because the way your voice is so meek and shy and guilty has him biting down on his lip, his mind growing foggier and his foot pressing down on the gas pedal a little harder as he begins to weave through lanes.

“You were a subscriber then,” he says calmly, and you feel as though he’s trying to humiliate you on purpose as you nod your head in admittance— unbeknownst to you, that’s exactly what he’s doing, enjoying the way he’s breaking you down from just a few questions with sick pleasure.

“How much money did you spend on me then?” You’re finding his line of questioning a bit odd at this point, but you refuse to look up from your lap as you find yourself answering anyways.

“I was just a low-tier subscriber…” you say, and it feels even more humiliating to admit that you cheaped out on him— what the hell was wrong with you?

“Low-tier? Not even a single tip?” he repeats, and you don’t seem to register the way he pouts at you until it’s far too late.

Stopping at a red light, he grabs your chin, turning your face roughly so you’re looking at him— and he’s back, the man behind the screen, except this time you can see the sheer pity that fills his gaze as he speaks to you as though you’re lower than him.

“How are you gonna make it up to me now?”

»»»

God. Fuck. Are you dreaming? You think you might pass out.

“I know, I know I said I wouldn’t stream tonight— shouldn’t you just be happy I’m here?”

Your stomach is twisted in knots and you feel small as you attempt to take in everything properly— Beomgyu’s setup, the same room you’ve seen countless times before— you’re able to see it all, from his large computer monitors, his filming camera, to his grandiose bed and the insane amount of toys he keeps on standby.

You shift restlessly on your feet, entirely bare save for a shirt that Beomgyu let you borrow— another white button-up, the very same one that he loved to wear when he dressed up, now hanging from your figure as he allowed the two of you to freshen up the moment you got to his home.

Nervously, you had left the shirt completely buttoned up; you watched from behind his camera as he continued to sweet talk his viewers, dressed comfortably in a sweater and sweats, his attire a complete contrast to your own.

“You’re happy to see me? I don’t believe you,” he smiles, and you feel as though you’re back to being a faceless member of his stream as you press your thighs together, able to hear the way notifications pop up on his computer, all of them signifying a new tip.

“You know, today’s a pretty special occasion actually,” he begins, pausing to see his comments and the reactions within them, “you’re curious? Do you wanna try something new with me?”

Yes. It’s the only thing he sees in his comments, and he lets out a soft laugh before he’s turning back to his camera.

Then, he’s looking past it.

“Come here, baby.”

You knew this was coming— you agreed to this, for crying out loud, but you still feel as though your legs are made of jello as you hesitate, biting your lip before your eyes are widening nervously, the safe word the two of you established beforehand running through your mind like a mantra you mustn’t forget.

“Come on, you don’t want to keep them waiting, do you?” he asks, eyes flickering over to his screen, watching the way everyone seems to go haywire from his words, “See? They’re curious, they want to see you.”

You’re taking your first step towards the camera— then another, and another, until you’re walking past the setup, your back facing the camera as you make your way to where he sits at the edge of the bed, unsure of what to do as you remain frozen in front of him.

“What, are you nervous?” he asks, and he’s only able to let out a mean laugh the moment you’re nodding in response, unable to use your voice properly— that’ll change soon, he thinks, reaching for your hands and guiding them to his shoulders.

“Don’t be,” he whispers, aiming for your thighs next as he’s tugging at them, pleased with the way you let him mold you to his desired position, your thighs on either side of his as you hover over him pathetically, “I know they’ll love you.”

Neither of your full faces can be seen— but the audience can definitely see the way he captures your lips in a harsh kiss, filled with nothing but pure need as he finally gets to feel you properly— you feel as though you’re about to run out air when he finally pulls away, laughing as he feels the way you buttoned every single button of the shirt he gave you.

“Now why would you do that?” he whispers against your lips, and your fingers dig into his shoulders pathetically as you watch him rip it open— the viewers are going wild at the sight, tipping ridiculous amounts of money just so they can get Beomgyu to see their requests; curiously your eyes drift to his monitor.

You practically collapse at the things you read on the screen.

Finger her. Eat her out. Use a vibrator on her, tie her up, breed her until she can’t walk straight, use a dildo on her—

The horror comes from the fact that Beomgyu is clearly considering doing all of it.

“What do you think baby?” he asks you, pressing his hand on the small of your back and forcing you to arch into him, your ass perking out and your cunt left to be entirely displayed as he trails his hand up your back, lifting your shirt along with it as he allows the viewers to get a good look at you.

“Anything that piques your interest?” he whispers, your head buried in his shoulder as you shake from the embarrassment of it all, “or…”

You jolt at the way his hand lands a sharp smack on your ass. He’s quick to soothe the area, smiling at the way he takes in the small whimper you let out, burying your face deeper into his shoulder and arching more in response. He lands another one, much more harsher than the last as his hand immediately drifts to your pussy, spreading you for the camera and watching the way you practically glisten under the light.

“Should I decide how I get to use you for myself?”

He’s a bit surprised to find that you’re quick to nod at his second request, much too shy to even lift your head from where it rests as your fingers dig into his skin.

He smiles, his eyes drifting back to the monitor as he begins reading over their requests.

“Hmm, are you shy, princess?” he asks, fingers trailing along your slit, feeling the way your hole flutters at the feeling, wanting nothing more than to feel him inside as you whine quietly, nodding at his words.

“But you’re so fucking wet, and we haven’t even done anything,” slowly, his fingers slip inside— you’re both moaning at the feeling, and Beomgyu thinks that he might just be the one to cum as he feels the way you stretch around his fingers.

“God, you’re so tight,” he groans, beginning to test out the waters by scissoring you— spreading you out for the camera, watching over your shoulder as your arousal practically leaks out; he gulps, unable to keep his eyes away from the sight as he sighs.

“Feels so soft and warm,” he mutters, placing a kiss on your temple before he’s reaching for something off-screen— the box of toys, you realize, forced to keep your face buried in his shoulder in an attempt to not show your face to his audience.

“Just like I thought you would be,” he says, smiling against your skin as he murmurs the words into your ear— just for you to hear, not for the thousands of people who are currently watching the stream.

“Do you know what I thought about every time I went live?” he asks, sitting up and shifting so that you’re back in position, shaking your head softly as you feel his fingers begin to circle your entrance.

“You.” the stretch you suddenly feel has you moaning pathetically, the first sound the viewers are able to hear as the comments begin to fly past— your legs are shaking at the feeling of him slowly pushing the silicone dildo into your pussy, thick and long as you squeeze your eyes shut, feeling tears prick at your eyes from how full you feel.

“I thought of you. Every time.”

Beomgyu’s eyes are dark as his hand grabs at your ass, spreading your cheeks and showing off the way the dildo begins disappearing into your tight cunt, your arousal already beginning to drip down the toy with every slow thrust of his.

“Wished you were there every time I would stream. I thought about fucking you the way I would fuck my toys,” his thrusts begin speeding up; you’re a moaning mess against him as you push your ass back, showcasing yourself perfectly and pushing up against the toy that he continues to ram into you— you’re jolting back into him with every thrust, your hands beginning to cramp with how hard you’re holding on to him.

“I would always moan your name too, did you ever notice?”

Your mind goes back to the time you thought you heard it— and, unexpectedly, you’re coming undone, reaching your peak as you respond with a pathetic yes…! The realization that it had all been real much more overwhelming than you thought.

Beomgyu continues to fuck the toy into you even long after you’re done coming; you’re a whimpering, crying mess against him, the stimulation making your mind muddled as you quietly attempt to get him to stop.

“Hmm? What do you want baby?” he asks, lips trailing down your neck and to your shoulders, where he begins to slip off your shirt so that you’re more exposed. He remains fully clothed as he begins sucking bruises into your skin, following one of his requests to mark up your pretty skin— his hair falls over his face, covering him momentarily as he begins drifting along your body carelessly.

It’s too much— yet, it’s not enough to have you using your safe word, and the fact makes Beomgyu smile as he bottoms out the toy inside you, grinding it into your pathetic pussy as he watches the way a ring of your cum begins to form around the base.

“Come on, talk to me. We’re waiting,” you’re hesitant to speak— that much is clear, especially when you know how much traction this stream is currently getting, the sound of tips constant as you shake your head in defeat.

“No? Okay then,” your shirt is being slipped off, leaving you naked as you wince slightly at the feeling of your garment being removed. Once again, Beomgyu is moving you around, and you’re facing the camera now as your legs are pried open by his own, the toy still stuffed inside you as you sit on Beomgyu’s lap— right on his hard cock, whining softly as you feel him begin to hold your hips down, grinding into you for some release.

“Don’t wanna use your words? Don’t wanna say anything to me or the viewers?” he tries again, eyes narrowing at the way you remain disobedient and shake your head, laying back against him as you pant softly.

“You’re not gonna thank our viewers for wanting me to please you, you fucking whore?” his hands are swift, and before you realize what he’s doing, your hands are cuffed behind your back, the fuzzy feeling reminding you of the cuffs he uses on himself sometimes.

“Fine. You wanna be ungrateful, stay quiet?” every sound that leaves your lips is unsure and soft, barely able to reach the microphone of the camera as Beomgyu scoffs at you. “Then stay fucking quiet. I don’t wanna hear a single word from you, understand?”

He doesn’t let you respond— of course he wouldn’t let you— but the way your mouth falls open suggests that you almost went against his command, the vibrator that he now pressed onto your clit making your legs shake with the sudden stimulation, threatening to close before Beomgyu’s own pried you back open swiftly.

“Look at you. Like a bitch in heat, only thinking about yourself,” he growls, his other hand beginning to thrust the toy back into you at a harsh pace, listening to the sounds of your arousal and the toy smacking against your skin with a satisfied groan, “Do you have any idea how many people wish they were in your place, wish they could be getting fucked stupid instead of having to sit and watch as I do it to you?”

He pauses. Then, he turns up the intensity of the vibrator with a cruel laugh.

“You would fucking know,” he seethes, taking in the way you writhe against him pathetically, biting at your lip to keep quiet as your hands struggle behind your back, “shit, can’t you hear how pathetic you sound? I bet you were a lot louder when you watched me, just another of my useless viewers that wish that I would fuck you— that I would even fucking acknowledge you.”

Everything that happens next is all a blur— your mind is foggy and you’re coming undone as you feel Beomgyu bite down on your neck, unable to hold back the pure keen of pleasure that rips through you, a string of unintelligible sounds flowing out of you desperately as you cream around the toy, feeling tears sting your eyes the moment Beomgyu decides to turn the intensity up again.

“Take it. I know you can,” he laughs purely because he knows that you have yet to use your safe word. It’s even worse because he’s right, the overstimulation fogging your mind and making you melt in his arms, still able to trust him even if your mind isn’t entirely there.

After a moment, the vibrator is turned off— you can hear him toss it to the side before he’s pulling the dildo out of your aching cunt, your body twitching at the sudden feeling before your cum is oozing out, dripping all over Beomgyu’s sweats and onto his sheets as he merely laughs at you.

You’re being turned around again— you feel woozy as you cling to Beomgyu, barely capable of hovering over him as he simply looks up at you, his eyes holding that same, innocent puppy-like look that got you trapped in his clutches in the first place.

“I feel so stuffy,” he pouts, tilting his head up at you as you simply whine incoherently in response, “I know baby. Won’t you help me out?”

It takes you a second to even register his request, your hands suddenly freed by him before you finally realize what he asked; your hands are slow and clumsy as you reach for the hem of his sweater, barely able to tug it up before he’s helping you out— your hands land on his shoulders once more for stability, your gaze falling on his chest and trailing down curiously.

And there it is. The very tattoo that got you into this mess, though this time you’re free to gawk at it, not paying attention to the way Beomgyu realized he caught you staring until he’s grabbing your hand, placing it on his chest and trailing it down, allowing you to feel him up as he shudders slightly at the feeling.

Your fingers trace over the tattoo. All the way down, following every elaborate line until you’re stopped by the hem of his pants, hands immediately slipping under before you’re tugging them off, pulling off his boxers too as you feel him lift his hips, left just as bare as you before he smiles.

You feel his cock poking at your entrance, painfully hard as he begins to rub it against your slit; teasing you with the tip, looking over your shoulder to see what his viewers may be saying.

“What do you think?” He asks, pushing his tip into your cunt before he’s pulling back out. The action has you whining hopelessly, and Beomgyu has to take a second to recollect his resolve, pausing all movements in order to not come then and there.

“Should I fuck her? Does she deserve it?” He asks, looking over at you, cooing softly at the way your eyes remain glassy and fucked out, “Don’t cry. You don’t deserve to cry, not when you’ve been so ungrateful to our viewers.”

A tip catches his attention, and he’s briefly scanning over the amount and request before he’s biting back a smile.

“See? Even though you haven’t said a word to them, they still want to see me fuck you,” he says, taking your hands off his shoulders and leaving you to wobble momentarily as he places your cuffs back on.

“Aren’t they the sweetest?”

You’re barely able to process what’s going on— all you know is that your position changes within seconds, and your face is buried into the mattress while your ass is up in the air, your legs shaky as you’re barely able to hold yourself up; luckily for you, Beomgyu is there to help, hands grabbing onto your hips before he’s making you lean back.

His cock is poking at your entrance, and he’s already able to feel the way your cunt tries to suck him in as he passes his tip along your entrance, left entranced with the way you look under him, a complete, ruined mess as you quietly whine out to him, your voice muffled from where your face remained in his sheets.

It’s cute, really, the way you’re able to focus so hard on keeping your face hidden— if you lifted your head now, every single viewer on his screen would be able to drink up your expression as he fucked you— the thought irritates Beomgyu.

He’ll just have to make sure to fuck you until you’re too weak to move.

“God, you’re such a brat,” he groans out, entering you slowly and feeling the way you clamp onto him dangerously; even with how wet you are, he finds it difficult to fuck you, gritting his teeth and taking a moment where he merely concentrates on not coming inside you then and there.

“Stop fucking squeezing like that— ah— shit—,” it seems as though your pussy has him going stupid, unable to form a coherent sentence as he slowly pulls out— the whine you let out is long and lethal, so desperate and carnal that Beomgyu finds himself losing control; tightening his hold on your hips, he begins to fuck into you without a care.

“Such a good little pussy,” he grits out, watching the way your ass bounces against him with every thrust, “fuck, wish you’d let me fuck you sooner— would’ve made you mine, wouldn’t be able to get enough of you— god, fuck—!”

The way you tighten at his words is dangerous. He’s cursing and talking down like he always does, but this time, it’s just for you. The very thought is enough to have you clenching around him again, mouth agape and drooling against his sheets as your sounds get louder.

Another tip rings through— the same person from before, repeating the only part of their previous request that Beomgyu has yet to fulfill.

Won’t she say thank you?

The words have him stuttering out a laugh, unable to help the way he moans in between. His thrusts slow, and he’s bottoming out inside you before his motions are nothing but a slow grind, rutting his hips into your aching pussy while he reaches for something off-screen.

Your whines and soft complaints at the sudden change of pace are brief— because soon after a familiar buzzing sound is filling your ears, and before you can react, the same vibrator form before is pressed against your clit on the highest setting.

“Gyuuuuu…!” you whine out, long and desperate and incoherent as Beomgyu grabs at your cuffs, using them as leverage to make you slam back into him. His thrusts are brutal and the sound of skin against skin is enough rivalry to the buzzing of the toy as he begins to use the last of his energy to fuck you to your orgasm, watching as the chat buzzes with excitement from your sudden word.

What? What’d she say?? Was that his name? omg?!

“Do you think you deserve to come?” he sneers, his voice gruff as you shake your head, knowing damn well that you haven’t been perfectly compliant to him like he wanted you to be, especially now that you may have just slipped up and let out a personal fact about him.

“Exactly,” he continues, his thrusts toning down in speed, but not intensity— he pulls out to the tip with every thrust, only to slam back into you and have you jolt forward from the harshness of his pace; the vibrator that was once relentless on your clit is now hovering mere centimeters from you, taunting you as all stimulation becomes insignificant to what it was before.

“Maybe, if you’re good for me, I’ll let you come,” he begins, watching the way you can only nod eagerly against the sheets, your hands struggling against your cuffs— he’s holding your hand at the sight, fingers interlocking as he watches you grip onto his hand with both of yours tightly.

“Will you be good for me? Are you gonna listen to whatever the fuck I ask you to do?” he says, his voice hardening at the end as he looks at you expectantly— a second passes before you’re nodding again.

“My viewers have been so patient with you. The only reason you got all this was because they wanted it— if it were up to me, I would’ve dumped my load in you already and left.”

That’s a lie— the biggest fucking lie Beomgyu has ever told, knowing damn well that he would’ve done all this and more to you any day, entirely unprovoked. But he knows his viewers love it, and so do you, because your cunt squeezes him so tightly he’s afraid he might just come early.

“Aren’t you grateful they loved you so much? Hmm?” you’re barely registering his words anymore. But you’re nodding nonetheless, your thighs beginning to shake from the sheer pleasure of feeling Beomgyu rut into your cunt throughout all this.

“Tell them thank you,” he says sweetly, not giving you enough time to speak before he’s back to fucking you wildly; his pace picking up, aiming for that specific spot that leaves you dumb and drooly as he places the vibrator back on your clit— any chances of sounding sane are thrown out the window as he begins tugging on your cuffs, bouncing you back against him as the wet sounds of his thrusts ring out through the room.

“Did you hear me—?” he asks, landing a smack to your ass before he’s soothing the area, slowing down so he can smack you again, “I said say thank you. Do you think you’re above us, pretty?”

Your first attempt to speak is a garbled mess.

“Come on, I know you can do better than that. Or— do you just wanna be a cute little cumdump for me—? Ah, let me use you every time I stream… don’t need any fucking toys when I have my pretty doll for me— right—?” His own sentences are becoming more incoherent the longer he fucks you, addicted to the way your pussy practically sucks him in deeper in response.

“Try again,” he growls, feeling his own orgasm approaching slowly, “show me you’re not a— shit, a fucking brat, and maybe I’ll let you… ugh, let you come.”

Beomgyu swore he got rid of his habit of rambling like this long ago. But, you seem to be able to bring it out of him, his calm and collected speeches crumbling like paper in his mind as he takes in the way both your arousals are smeared over skin and dripping down your thighs, forming a ring around Beomgyu’s cock as he feels his resolve beginning to crumble— he begins to fuck you carelessly, not able to think about anything else but reaching his high as he waits for your response.

“Mmh—! ugh… fuck…” your voice is increasing in volume, the shy person from before long gone as you begin to chase your orgasm, much too afraid to lose it as you try to form a single, coherent thought.

“Thank…. thank you…” you whine out, but it’s all too slurred and quiet and pathetic to Beomgyu as he growls out a sharp what? His hand pressing down on the small of your back as he glues your hands to your skin, forced to take the way he fucks you as you moan out uncontrollably.

“Thank you..! Thank you thank you, oh, fuck—!” holy shit, you’re full on crying right now, reduced to nothing but a mess of moans and tears as you ramble on repeatedly, only able to remember those limited words as you feel Beomgyu come inside you— warm and deep, stilling for just a moment before he’s back to fucking you, his own moans becoming much more needy at the feeling of overstimulation.

“Thank you thank you thank youuuu, fuck, fuck fuck mmh—!” you feel stupid. You’ve definitely been fucked stupid, moaning out those stupid thank you’s like a prayer as you feel yourself slumping completely, a boneless, gooey mess as you rely on Beomgyu to hold you up.

He continues to fuck into you slowly, even after you’ve gone entirely still; he thinks you might’ve passed out, but it’s only for a minute before he sees you shifting again, burying your head into the mattress as he hears the distant sound of you sniffling.

Beomgyu feels concerned for a second, ready to check up on you and end the stream before you’re grabbing his hand again; then you’re clenching around him, mumbling his name so sweetly while you try to press yourself against him.

You’re straight up gone, he realizes, stilling for a moment and waiting for you to use your safe word— but you don’t, and he sees you peeking subtly at his monitor before you’re burying your face back into his sheets.

“You got a new tip.”

The words are barely audible to him, but he’s quick to glance at it upon your request; he almost chokes as he sees the five-hundred dollars that have been sent to him, his eyes reading over the request a few times before he’s looking back at you.

Could you try to make her squirt ?

“It’s five hundred dollars,” you mutter, and all Beomgyu can do is let out a bewildered laugh, leaning down to place a kiss on your shoulder before he’s whispering in your ear if you’re okay to continue— the small nod you give him is enough to have his cock hardening inside you.

Fuck, he’s gonna give you the aftercare of the century after this.

#txt smut #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #beomgyu smut #txt fanfic #txt fanfiction #txt imagines #txt oneshots #txt ff #txt fluff #beomgyu x reader #beomgyu x you #beomgyu x y/n #beomgyu ff #beomgyu imagines #beomgyu oneshot

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snailmail444 · 4 months

Note

ohhh, can you do hcs for what the sdv bachelors say during sex?

Bachelor Volume Headcannons

18+ 🌱 NSFW 🌱 MDNI

PART II of the double feature!!! Happy New Year lmao I hope you enjoy this filth 😈 shoutout to @hopefuloverfury who did a HOT bachelor volume headcannon list very recently that I ate UP. Check that out Here

Poll said post as you finish and I had this finished so here you are everyone. As always, MDNI, NSFW content under the cut.

Harvey-

💚 Kinda loud, tbh.

💚 I envision him as captain dad noise already, so I think during sex it carries over and he’s groaning and grunting these hot gravelly moans.

💚 Genuinely. I could go on about the sounds this man is sure to make. Because DAMN. Somebody get him into ASMR sex audios he’d make a fortune.

💚 Now that said I don’t see him as much of a dirty talker.

💚 It doesn’t come naturally to him. He’ll do a bit and try his best to appease you if you’re into it, and he’s definitely a person who could learn, but it’s never been easy for him and won’t be.

💚 Gets too in his head about if what he said was hot or if it was weird. Takes him out of it worrying that he’s taken you out of it. Which, relatable.

💚 But he does know through empirical evidence that his sex noises are hot, so he doesn’t hold back. Especially if you two are going at it rough, or you’re sucking him off, it’s obscene.

💚 Will praise you with that same sultry rasp, because that’s another thing he thinks is safely in the always-hot category.

💚 Such a good job baby, feels so good, etc. Can never go wrong.

💚 Loud to the point his voice cracks when he cums 😇

Elliott-

❤️ My hot take is that I think Elliott would say the filthiest things you’ve ever heard during sex.

❤️ HEAR ME OUT!!!

❤️ I just think that as a man who is incredibly well read he knows what’s hot. And he’s not afraid to say it, either.

❤️ Especially with some of those dime novels that are his guilty pleasure, he’s picked up a thing or two.

❤️ Of course it’s still in a very Elliott way, but he’s a dirty talk king.

❤️ He’ll be worshiping your body while he details everything he wants to do to you. How he’s going to mark you with hickies where everybody can see that you’re his, how hard he’s going to ravage you with his cock, how many times he’s going to make you cum, etc.

❤️ Matches it with equal praise and romantic lines, too. It’s all about balance, and he wants to fuck you like a beast while still reminding you that you’re precious to him.

❤️ Grunts and huffs and moans, but not a lot unless he’s right about to cum. Man’s got more important uses for his mouth!!

❤️ Kind of irrelevant, but I see him as the type to passionately fuck you against the door to his cabin or overtop his writing desk or deep into the mattress. It’s not often that the furniture isn’t creaking and knocking in time to his thrusts.

Alex-

🤎 Okay so another hot take. But I think Alex is secretly incredibly shy and romantic.

🤎 Empirical evidence includes: his heart events imply that he puts on the machismo front as a defense mechanism, and he was raised by the most lovey-dovey old people you’ve ever seen.

🤎 SO. I think he would be very sweet in the way he talks in bed.

🤎 Lots of softness and nerves, but he’s still kinda noisy.

🤎 Tries to muffle himself because he’s embarrassed about making too much noise, but he can’t help it.

🤎 He’ll be about to tell you how good you’re doing, how much he loves it, and his words will warp off into a whimper because it’s too much.

🤎 I feel very strongly that he is a whimperer. I’m sorry. It makes sense.

🤎 Especially with his insane physical endurance he ends up overstimulating himself because he can’t get enough.

🤎 Like he can go a third round, sure, but he’s overstimulated and his voice is cracking and his cheeks are bright pink with exertion.

🤎 Lowkey he’d love it though I mean let’s be real. Let’s be so real. He wants to come until he’s crying. And he will.

🤎 Please don’t come for me abt this it’s just my take.

Shane-

💙 The curse words. The curse words.

💙 Listen. This man is already somebody who swears a lot so in bed? He’s letting FLY.

💙 Fuck that’s so good, you’re so goddamn tight, holy shit that’s hot, et cetera.

💙 Not much for moans but he does grunt so like. Same difference?

💙 Like it’s not that he’s stifling himself he just grunts and groans and swears instead of moans

💙 No whimpering I’m afraid 😔

💙 But he makes UP in dirty talk good lord.

💙Since he’s not a mean person just prickly from his defenses he’s well practiced in being mean even when he’s not.

💙 So ladies gentlemen and those of us that know better, we’ve got the makings of the PERFECT mean dom

💙 Dirty little slut, you’re so fuckin’ pathetic for it, beg on your knees just for the privilege, I could Go On.

💙 Only like that if you want it of course, but like with his gravelly sex voice asking if you think you’ve earned the right to cum yet? Somebody take me AWAY.

💙 Cums with a bit of a yell.

Sam-

🩷 It’s been said before I know.

🩷 But I must also agree. Sam is the loudest in bed. Far and away.

🩷 Good LUCK getting him to shut up honestly, between his whines and whimpers and moans he’s either apologizing for his lack of control or thanking you profusely for letting him hit.

🩷 Because Sam genuinely can’t control himself when he’s fucking half his vocabulary consists of sorry. He wanted to do it slow and sweet, but fuck, you’re so hot and tight around his cock he’s pounding you instead and he’s really sorry but he just can’t help himself.

🩷 I don’t see him swearing much tbh, not unless he’s completely fuck drunk. If he’s not babbling some pseudo-polite good boy nonsense, he’s whining. Maybe the stray shit or fuck, but not to excess.

🩷 Also throws in a ton of compliments. You’re so hot, you feel so good, you sound so beautiful, and so on. I just see him as an open complimenter, and when his mental circuit board is on overload he’s unable to stop himself.

🩷 Gag this man. Do it. I dare you.

🩷 He’ll be moaning and whimpering and drooling all around the gag, his eyebrows drawn up and in, eyes pleading for you to let him moan properly.

🩷 The most pathetic man you’ve ever seen and all because he can’t whine for you. God somebody just take me away, lock me up.

Sebastian-

🖤 King of being amused by how turned on you are.

🖤 He’s chuckling, huffing, asking incredulous rhetorical questions like “yeah? Already?”

🖤 I could see him falling hard and fast, so he’s probably using his dry sense of humor to hide how fucking gone he already is.

🖤 Because emotional vulnerability isn’t his thing so it gives him some distance while still allowing him to enjoy how fucking hot and adorable everything you do is.

🖤 As far as his own sounds, though, he’s not moaning or whining a whole lot.

🖤 He does whisper a lot of swear words, and he’s HEAVY on the panting, as a consolation prize.

🖤 Dirty talk gets a little spicy with him just because he lives to tease. He’s not the heaviest dirty talker even on this list, but he can definitely turn up the heat.

🖤 Lowkey I can see him being a hand holder because he can’t help himself. He can only keep his affections at bay so much.

🖤 And I bring that up only because he’d lose his breath the moment your fingers twined with his and reward you with a soft, stuttering moan.

🖤 Definitely bites you to keep from making noise when he comes. He’d probably end up whining if he didn’t.

865 notes · View notes

royaltozaki · 7 days

Text

looking for love

sana x fem!reader - trailer • part 2

synopsis: sana asks y/n to join her on the next season of the bachelorette, undercover. night 1.

w/c: 5.0k

a/n: first fully fledged work! tysm for all the love on the inspo piece 🥹 i was also lowkey winging this as i went again so some names that come up are completely made up and some not so much if i feel strongly abt that person (cough heechul) and so i also have no idea what i wanna do w the characters introduced yet but we’ll see as we go 🤪 hope you enjoy!

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

“i’m going to be the next bachelorette!”

you choke on the overly sweet concoction sana always got whenever you visited this cafe.

“excuse me?”

sana grins and pats your back, swapping the drink in your hand with a much preferred matcha infused espresso that was your go-to. she always insisted on trying each other’s drinks no matter how many times you told her her’s would always be way too sweet and she told you she didn’t care. she needed you to feel what she felt, taste what she tasted.

“i was kinda in a moment of weakness when i applied, i swear i didn’t think i would get in! it was just a silly haha like what if y’know?” she sips on her drink humming in satisfaction.

“no. i don’t know. i’d rather move back in with my parents than go on that show.” you deadpan.

sana whines, “y/n c’moooooooon. jihyo had just left me for that muscly gym rat and i needed some love!”

“do you know how many times we’ve sat on my couch and laughed at that show? like… 19, 20… too many!” you pulled out your fingers to count for emphasis. “besides, all the people that go on there aren’t even there for the right reasons. they’re all just there for their 5 minutes of fame. you won’t find what you’re looking for there sana.”

she pouts, “and what would i be looking for exactly?”

you sigh exasperatedly, “LOVE!”

patrons around the cafe glance at the two of you weirdly before you shrink and whisper-shout, “love sana! you deserve the massive beach house with the dogs and kids and family running around. someone you can go home to and eat with, dance with, laugh with. someone who knows your atrociously sweet coffee order and still gets it for you even though you always get cavities. someone who will force you to go to the dentist and hold your hand while they fill those cavities, and then buy you ice cream after despite their better judgement.”

sana’s smile gets wider and wider as you go on. finally she wraps you in a big hug and squeezes, all giggles and the smell of fresh laundry.

“and that’s exactly why i need you as my bestest bestest friend to come stay with me while i’m on the show!”

“...wait… wait wait wait wait sana, no. what… huh?” you push her backwards holding her by the shoulders shaking slightly trying to get some sense in her.

she giggles, “you heard me! you know everything there is to know about me, plus, because this is the first bachelorette season where there’ll be girls and guys the producers wanted to push as much novelty as possible. so they asked if there was anyone i’d like to bring with me to help in the decision process and of course i said you! pleaseeee? you said it yourself, you know exactly what i’m looking for, i won’t be able to do this without you.” she gave you her best puppy dog eyes, leaning in with a dangerous pout.

fuck it, you were never one to say no to her anyway. at least this way you could make sure whoever she ended up with was someone who deserved her.

you sigh, “fine but you owe me. like big time owe me.”

she squealed gleefully attacking you with kisses and a tight squeeze of her arms. “i love you i love you this is gonna be so much fun!!”

you smile at her antics wrapping your arms around her and hugging, “yeah yeah love you too you idiot.”

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

the next few months are filled with preparation as you’re both briefed on how the show’s going to run, where you’ll be staying, and all the little details. the bachelorette pad was a big villa nestled in the hillsides with incredible views, 2 bedrooms, and a fully equipped kitchen and pool. there were always people there, hair and makeup, costuming, scripting, it was probably as far from reality as reality tv could get. but it also meant you and sana didn’t have to do anything because people helped you move in, prepared all your meals for you, dressed you, gave you talking points, all the showbiz.

finally, opening night came and you were separated from sana to join all the other suitors as an undercover agent. you were to pretend to be one of the people lined up to meet her but you were really there to sus out all the contestants even before they put their television personalities on. to see if anyone was really the real deal.

currently, you were in a limousine with 3 other contestants about to pull up to the bachelor mansion where all the participants would be staying. the three of them would be the first to meet sana and you smile politely as they get off the car one by one looking antsy and nervous.

eventually it was your turn and you stepped out of the car with a practiced smile, adjusting to the brightness of the lighting and beginning your walk down the red carpet. behind you, you can hear your limousine pulling away and another one holding the next batch of contestants pulling in.

your form-fitting white dress trails behind you lightly, heels clacking softly on the red carpet as you catch your first glimpse of sana.

oh my god. she’s wearing a pastel pink flowing dress adorned with pretty pink roses with her midsection exposed showing the smooth planes of skin on her stomach. flower ornaments pin up long brown tresses of hair and pearls dance along her collarbone in a makeshift necklace. she looks positively ethereal.

you catch yourself taking a breath and blushing as she beams when she catches sight of you, eyes widening as she takes you in. you swore you could see a light blush brush her cheeks as well, or it could’ve been the makeup emphasised to match her dress.

“hi.” you’re shy as you approach her.

her eyes snap up to yours, grinning, “hi yourself stranger. c'mere.” she pulls you into a hug and you can sense the cameras zooming in, no doubt a voiceover would be edited in place later explaining who you were and how you two knew each other.

she pulls away but keeps you within arms length looking you up and down again, “y/n! look at you all dressed up for me. didn’t know you had it in you.” she winks and you blush again. she was making you do a lot of that these last few minutes.

“oh please, this is nothing compared to the main character of the night.” sana frowns, she never found your self-deprecating style of compliments particularly engaging. you quickly correct yourself, “but seriously sana, you look incredible. like you seriously just walked out of a princess movie.”

her eyes twinkle with glee as she does a little twirl for you and the thousands of people who would watch this. “well i hope i’ll find my prince or whatever somewhere here tonight.”

you roll your eyes fondly, “speaking of, how were the first 3 contestants? any of them catch your eye?” you get straight into it, the producers had handed you both loose scripts to follow so you both knew how the conversation should go.

“mm, i think it’s still a little early to say, there are still 21 other people to meet after all. but the second girl was pretty, i think her name was miyeon? her energy seemed really bright and it feels like we could get along really well.”

you recall the girl that had seemed the most relaxed out of everyone in your limo. she had introduced herself and tried to make small talk and had given off a generally sweet vibe. you nod your head in agreement, “she seems sweet. i’m happy for you sana.” you smile knowing your time was short on the red carpet, “i’ll leave you to it then. see you inside soon?”

she smiles and her hand drags down your shoulder to hold yours as you walk away, “mhmm don’t have too much fun without me in there. and don’t scare off all my possible options!”

you laugh as your hands naturally part, bringing them up in a shrug and blowing her a kiss for the extra television effect.

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

the mansion is impressive, you can’t help but stare in awe as you enter the ceiling high archway into the courtyard where the other contestants would wait for sana. you nod politely again at the people already there, accepting a flute of champagne and trying to make yourself seem as excited and nervous as someone would be in your position.

the first person to move towards you in greeting is miyeon, “hi! y/n right? love the dress by the way. how’d you find meeting sana?”

you were prepared for this, you needed to make sure they didn’t suspect that you knew sana already, you needed to play the part of a lovestruck contestant. “oh my god she’s beautiful! i saw her walking down the red carpet and was just floored, i had to take a second to calm myself before introducing myself.”

miyeon nods in enthusiasm, “right! i’m so glad this season is so much more inclusive than the previous ones. sana’s not only incredibly gorgeous she’s also an icon for bisexuals everywhere now and i really respect her for coming on this show and being brave enough to be that public figure.”

you nod along, you hadn’t seen it that way until now, “oh absolutely! it’s gonna be a bit messy though huh, with a mixed gender pool contestants could end up falling for each other instead, especially with the amount of time we’re going to spend in this house together.”

“i don’t think that’s going to be a problem for me.” miyeon glances around as the next contestant, a tall man in a blue suit walks in, “i’m pretty set on sana after that first impression. god all this waiting is making me insane though, this show definitely isn’t for the jealous.”

you smile internally but a strange pit sits in your stomach after hearing the word jealous. you ignore it, continuing to prod miyeon who seems elated to talk about sana and really does seem like she would be a good match for her. some others join your conversation and soon enough you’re all getting to know one another outside of what your first impressions of sana are.

“oh i model for a couple cosmetic brands here and there. that’s where you may have seen me.” miyeon is very friendly and welcoming and has made herself comfortable amongst the increasing crowd of people.

“oh that’s incredible! you’ll have to tell me which brands later, i work in marketing research so i’m all about that stuff.” a girl in a blue dress you’ve already forgotten the name of replies.

“oh really? where are you based at? i’m in finance over at yeouido.” this time it's a built man in a navy tux with sunnies over his eyes. he seemed pretentious and too much of a flirt for your liking. he was obviously trying to put it on the girl in the blue dress.

“finance huh. figures.” a cool tone interrupts them, a woman with slicked back short hair in an emerald suit rolled up to the sleeves showing off a deadly tattoo array. she’s rolling her eyes and makes no further comment, turning to the man in glasses next to her who looks much too uncomfortable and out of his limits.

he gulps visibly as she turns to him, placing his hand behind his neck nervously as he laughs, “right hahaha…”

she narrows her eyes at him before being clapped on the back by another man with a friendly smile and eye crinkles. definitely sana’s type in men. “don’t scare the poor bloke off now eunji.” the australian accent surprises you, “ignore her mate, she’s all tough on the outside but she’s a real softy once you get to know her.” he holds out a hand for the guy in the glasses to shake.

he smiles gratefully and takes it, “thankyou…?”

“jacky.”

“thankyou jacky. i’m wonsik.”

the girl in the emerald suit rolls her eyes and scoffs, “whatever jacky, any man who’s too scared to sit next to a woman that looks a little off norm is only looking for someone soft that they can dominate to fuel their tiny man egos.”

you can’t help the scoff you release as her piercing gaze turns to you, raising an eyebrow.

“sorry, sorry, i didn’t mean to eavesdrop. i just thought that comment was funny. and true. i’m y/n by the way.”

eunji regards you before grinning, “eunji. this knucklehead is jacky. we met while i was on exchange in australia and he stalked me back here once he heard i was going on this.”

“stalked is an exaggeration. most of my family already lives here, and now that i’m back, i’d like to have someone to share the rest of my life with. someone who’s not eunji.” he grins. “and jeeeeeeez sana would be a pretty good someone for that.”

you smile in response, “oh absolutely-” but you’re interrupted halfway through as you see the last contestant walk through the door.

dark hair, oozing confidence, lightly tanned skin and a slight smirk on her face, park jihyo, the reason for sana being here, just entered the arena.

beside you jacky whistles, “now that’s competition.”

you can’t help but worry over sana immediately. did she know jihyo would be here? how was their meeting on the red carpet? what was jihyo doing here in the first place?

but then you realise jihyo is the one person that would blow your cover and she was headed straight for you. you quickly scramble up from your seat, trying to be as discreet as possible, muttering a quick “sorry bathroom, nice meeting you all.” and turn away from your group heading towards the bathrooms, intending to find a producer and figure out just what the hell was going on.

however, before you succeed, loud applause is heard behind you followed by a couple wolf whistles and catcalls. shit. jihyo was the last person to walk in. meaning sana would be coming in now and the real show would begin.

you slip back towards the crowd keeping an eye out for jihyo as you find a place towards the back shooting a quick smile at wonsik who stands next to you. the mc for the season is making some introductory comments that you can’t really be bothered to hear and you bring your attention to sana who again, takes your breath away. but you force yourself to concentrate, noticing the slightly abnormal flush on her cheeks and the fiddling fingers she hides in the folds of her dress. you frown, seeing jihyo must have been a surprise for her too then.

“-aaand here’s your bachelorette for the 2024 season!” the mc pans to sana with the camera who waves shyly and offers a smile. you wish you were there to hold her hand and calm her or talk to her but you resign yourself to gripping the fur of your coat tightly.

sana turns to you and the contestants and you try desperately to meet her eye, “hey everyone, it’s nice to finally see you all together! this place is incredible, i almost wish i could move in with you all. you guys having a good time yet?”

“better now that you're here!” a man from the crowd yells out followed by a couple chuckles.

sana giggles, “awwh thankyou jun.” sana was doing better than you at remembering these names already. “so as you guys probably know, tonight is our first night together. and with that, comes the first impression rose.” a cinematic reveal of the pink rose settled on top of the 18 red roses as the contestants shuffle to get a peek, ooh-ing and ahh-ing. “you’ll all get chances to talk to me throughout the night, and i’ll pick someone at the end of it to give this first impression rose who’ll get the first date of the season with me. unfortunately, i’ll also have to say goodbye to 5 of you if you don’t get any roses at all. and i reeeeally wish i didn’t have to because you’ve all seemed so lovely and i can’t wait to get to know you all!”

the mc steps in now, “and with that, let the night begin!” party poppers explode and music starts playing creating an ambience similar to a bar. sana hasn’t seemed to have spotted you yet and moves towards the closest cluster of people to her, smiling and greeting everyone.

very quickly though, someone has already stepped in and asked to take her away for a chat. it's one of the girls in a dark suit with sleek makeup and hair tied up in a high ponytail. you had been instructed not to talk to sana until she came to you so you could only watch on helplessly with the 23 other contestants vying for her attention. you needed to make sure she was okay after seeing jihyo and where her mindset was at. you also needed to avoid jihyo so she doesn’t alert the rest of the contestants to your relationship with sana.

so you stalk over to one of the camera producers who looks only a little frightened at the glare in your eyes.

“what the fuck is park jihyo doing here?”

“um i-i i’m only a camera person! sorry i d-don’t know you’ll have to ask one of the higher ups.”

you raise an eyebrow.

“r-right! i’ll get one of them now…” he grabs his phone and calls someone, glancing nervously around to see if anyone has noticed the two of you. soon enough, a short, stubby man with a beard comes over and whispers, “what?!”

“park jihyo. sana’s ex. i’m sure you would’ve known that when you did the background checks. what is she doing here?”

“sweetheart of course we knew. she’s here for the extra drama. this is television we’re making here. no one’s going to watch it if its not entertaining.” he rolls his eyes and impatiently taps his foot.

“at the expense of your main product’s feelings?” you spit the word product out, hating that this was the way sana was being treated.

“please, sana signed a contract. she knew what she was getting into when she signed up for this show. this is all show business sweetie now if you don’t mind we gotta get back to running it so we can all get paid and go home alright?” he doesn’t leave room for a response as he quickly ushers the poor cameraman away and you’re left seething.

un fucking believable. it’s fine. sana could just not choose jihyo tonight and she could be sent on her merry way. it’ll be fine. so long as sana didn’t actually still have feelings for jihyo… fuck, you just needed to talk to sana to clear things up and make sure she wasn’t being pressured into doing anything she didn’t want to do.

your mind was going a million miles an hour as you headed back towards the other contestants, taking careful note to avoid the group jihyo was currently talking to.

“hey y/n, got a chance to talk to sana yet?” its eunji and you’re grateful for the distraction.

“not yet, i’m thinking to just let the crows have her first, not really into getting on anyone’s bad side tonight.”

“fair enough. you shoulda seen this one guy’s face when jiwon interrupted his time. he was all like-“ she pulls a face that makes her look constipated and you can’t help but laugh, recalling jiwon as the woman in an elegant dark maroon dress who worked as a nurse.

“how about you? steal her away yet?”

“nah not yet but because jacky and i kinda came in a package set he said he’ll bring her to me after he’s had a chat with her.” she looks over her shoulder, “speaking of…”

you see sana and jacky approaching, jacky gesturing something to make her laugh and doing what looked like an impression of a fish out of water.

“-he was really sick! like full vomitting, left her on her own in this completely foreign place to go puke his guts out in the toilets!”

sana was laughing giddily at jacky’s story, unaware that they had just stopped in front of the two of you.

jacky grins, “so remember how i was telling you about that scrawny little girl i met in the tunnel underneath my school trying to build a bomb…”

your eyebrow raises as you look alarmingly at eunji who avoids your gaze with a blush on her cheeks, punching jacky lightly in the shoulder, “how many times have i told you not to tell that story. it was just a mini explosive and it was for a science experiment! you’d know if you didn’t spend all our classes texting that one girl… what was her name again…? p…p something?”

its jacky’s turn to blush as he quickly interjects in protest. sana giggles and looks betwen them, “some competition for me then?”

jacky stumbles, “n-no! not at all don’t worry sana she’s like waaaay back in the past and also waaaay far away in sydney my eyes are only for you i swear!”

sana laughs again, “well that’s good to know. wouldn’t want you to be here if you were still in love with someone else back home.” she turns to eunji, her eyes briefly meeting yours with a twinkle and your heart stutters at the morsel of attention. “eunji right? you’ll have to tell me your side of this story because i don’t think jacky has done you justice.”

eunji slips back into her cool persona offering a tattooed arm out for sana to link, “of course sana.”

sana looks back at you though with a promise, “and i’ll come find you after this y/n so don’t go running anywhere yeah?”

you nod dumbly as you watch your best friend be taken away again, trying to figure out why you wished it was you leading her away and not eunji.

jacky whistles to get your attention, “jealous much? and after she practically promised to see you next which is a lot better than what some of these people are getting. poor wonsik has been beaten every time he’s tried to ask her out.”

you sputter, “j-jealous? what?” you weren’t jealous, you were just concerned for your friend. you wanted the best for her and not many people fit that bill.

“it’s not anything to be embarassed about mate don’t worry. i feel weird as well handing the girl i’m trying to date over to one of my best friends who’s also trying to date her. it’s pretty messed up in here but we’re all in it together right?” he grins and you find yourself feeling slightly guilty because you were not in fact, all in this together, you were there to judge all of these people who you had originally thought to be shallow fame-chasers but maybe there was a little more to them then you thought.

you smile anyway remembering the role you’re playing, “right, thanks jacky, you’re a good guy.”

“awwwwh don’t flatter me, eunji needs to come back before my ego grows too big.”

you laugh and enjoy your conversation with him while walking to join a larger group of people.

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

it’s a while before sana finds you again, some others seemed to have jumped in after eunji so by the time she gets to you, its near the end of the night already.

“you been hiding from me or something y/n?”

you stand up with a stretch, taking her hand in yours and leading her away with a teasing smile, “i’d accuse you of that actually. i thought you’d come to find me right after you were done with eunji?”

sana gasps, “oh shit y/n i totally forgot i’m so sorry! eunji was just telling me all this cool stuff that she’s done and places she’s been and then people kept coming to ‘queue’ me and it just completely slipped my mind and i-“

you laugh, “i’m just joking sana i know it’s pretty crazy in here even with all the prep we’ve done for it. as long as you’re having fun then i’m happy.”

she squeezes your hand in response as you reach a small clearing with a hammock-like seat and you both sit down, fingers still interlocked.

“sooooo princess sana, which suitor has caught your attention tonight?” you put on a fake posh accent.

sana laughs and slaps you playfully, “stop that silly, it’s been great though! i think i have an idea who i wanna give the first impression rose to but it's so hard to think of people to get rid of, i don’t want anyone to go before they’ve even had a chance here yet.”

“reeeeally… you can’t think of a single person to get rid of yet…?”

she rolls her eyes, “i’m fine don’t worry y/n. jihyo… surprised me being here but we talked a little on the carpet and she said she made a mistake when she left. she really wants to be with me again y/n.”

your hands tighten against sana’s, “and what about you? how do you feel about her being back?”

“well… it’s definitely not the way i thought i’d see her again. but… i’m not sure… i… there’s so much history between us and… well she was the first person i loved y/n. you know that. it’s hard to turn that away.”

you hum. jihyo wasn’t sana’s first partner but she was the first person sana could say i love you to. and she treated sana well, everything seemed fine, sana thought they were going to get married. the breakup came out of nowhere and left sana devastated for months. you thought jihyo was a nice enough person but it was hard to think of her in a positive light when she left the person you cared about most completely broken and in pieces left for you to pick up. the last thing you wanted was for sana to go through that all over again.

“you disapprove.” sana looks at you knowingly.

you purse your lips, “she hurt you sana. really fucking bad. i can’t bear to see someone who’s caused you so much pain smiling as if none of that happened, as if those months of you starving yourself, hurting yourself didn’t happen because of her.”

sana frowns, unclenching your hands that you didn’t realise were wound up so tightly. “baby… i’m stronger now for it aren’t i? you helped me become myself again and i became better for it. and you’ll be here with me every step of the way to make sure it doesn’t happen again. so you can put your little micromanaging overprotective guard dog personality to use.” she teases trying to lighten the mood, “now c’mon, let's move on from this, surely you have people you like and dislike already. lemme hear them.”

you sigh bringing your head to rest on her shoulder, “well you seemed to get along with eunji and jacky. i like the both of them, they’re fun. miyeon is also a sweetheart and you were right when you said you think the two of you could get along. she reminds me of you in a lotta ways, it's kinda scary.”

sana giggles next to you.

“mm some of the guys i didn’t like. there’s this one guy heechul i think, he is like 100% a simp for japanese women. and like, in a creepy body pillow way. this poor girl momo, who also seems really sweet by the way, maybe just a little shy, was being harassed the entire night by him anytime you weren’t looking his way. i also overheard him showing off to some of the guys about how he got a minor’s phone number by offering to teach her korean. one of the guys obviously put him down for it, which is like the bare minimum i guess, that was sunwoo, but some others egged him on talking about some incel reddit shit and how they’re glad all the women here are thin and pale. eugh, even talking about this makes me cringe. if it were up to me, i’d say there’s actually too many roses on that platter tonight.”

you can feel sana’s laughs in her throat, hearty and high. “well yeah but you also like, hate most men so it wouldn’t be too challenging.”

you look at her with a pout, “not all men! jacky was nice! and i’m sure there’ll be other decent guys here too that i can approve of. and if not, well… it’s their fault for being so gross and men-like.”

you love the way her laugh twinkles with the night sky. you can’t get over just how beautiful she looks tonight. and you catch yourself wondering just when you started describing sana with the word beautiful in your head. eugh. this was all jacky’s fault, you’d gone too deep into your role as a contestant for sana’s attention. you just needed this night to end and the big reveal that you were actually sana’s best friend sent to spy on the contestants to see how they acted in their natural habitats. then you could go back to being just that, sana’s best friend.

you can see in the corner of your eye producers signalling the two of you to head back to the others. you were almost inclined to ignore them just to spend a few more minutes with sana but she had already seen them and was gathering her dress ready to stand up.

she reaches a hand out to you, “c’mon, let’s head back. got announcements to make and people to cut.”

you smile, taking her hand gratefully and lifting yourself up. you hope the rest of the season goes a little smoother than tonight had gone, but the value of entertainment may impede on that.

#sana #sana x reader #minatozaki sana #sana imagines #twice sana #twice x reader #twice imagines #royaltozaki

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dear-bunnyboo · 5 months

Note

I am in love with your fics 💕

Can I please request a Joe Burrow one shot where it’s about his calf early in the season, the reader constantly worries about Joe and tells him to sit each game out but Joe is stubborn so he doesn’t listen and Joe snaps at one point and it hurts the reader. Then it moves to one day where the reader doesn’t even bother worrying about him because the reader knows Joe won’t listen. Can it be angsty but end on a good note.

first Joey B one-shot angst!!! Love this request so much and it kinda lowkey reminded me of my other Joe Burrow one-shot— IDGAF 🤍

I never intended this one-shot to be too perfect for our current situation but it is what it is. This is for all my loves who are all lowkey freaking out because of the game, hope this makes you feel better even more just a moment 🤍

𝐒𝐀𝐘 𝐘𝐄𝐒 || 𝐉𝐎𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Joe Burrow x Reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You just want Joe to listen to you and say yes for once.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: angst, cursing, mentions of injuries, shouting, frustrated!Joe, arguments, crying, fluff in the end

𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐜. 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 || 𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

You thought that this season would start different for your boyfriend Joe but it seems like it’s simply rotten luck on his part— you could say that Joe is a lucky guy; from being gifted with insane talent, skill, looks, personality, and the likes. However, he seems to have a knack on starting his football season either injured or sick.

It started with his knee injury during his rookie year— tearing left ACL and MCL during one of his games. Then him rupturing his appendix the year after, earning him another trip to the surgery table.

You honestly thought that this year was gonna be different for the quarterback. He has always been vocal about his disappointment in missing the beginning of each season— one of Joe’s many goals every year to to start the season healthy and end it healthy.

You and Joe thought that this year would be finally be the year he starts off strong and healthy— you were both wrong.

After getting a call from the Bengals’ coach Zach Taylor about your boyfriend being carted off the practice field for straining his calf; you were pretty sure you were close to crying. Joe’s calf injury surprisingly is the least serious out of all the injuries he had sustained but seeing your boyfriend so depleted once he got home from that practice hurt you.

Joe loves football. He loves what he does and it hurts you to see him so defeated.

However, Joe is not one to give up that easily. Once he got the clearance to continue with practice, he went straight for it and he was adamant on playing their first game of the season. You, however, you didn’t think it was a good idea for him to do so. Most of the people around him want him to sit the first few weeks out— you especially; scared that he might aggravate his injury even further.

But Joe was a lot of things and stubborn was one of those things.

He simply brushed your concerns off with a smile, “I feel good to play, baby. I need to play.” Joe reassured you before slightly limping over to his office to do his film study.

“You really don’t need to. It’s the first week, Joe.” You tried again before he could even leave your sights.

Joe turns to face you, and gave you another reassuring smile, “I’m fine. Alright? I’ll be okay.”

He was proven very wrong when week 1 rolled in and they loss to Cleveland— a terrible start for the season, you love Joe and are pretty bias towards the Bengals but you’d be lying if you said they didn’t play like ass that day.

Joe clearly wasn’t playing like himself. Everyone with two working eyes could see that his injury was holding him back—every tackle, every run, every movement he made made you gnaw on your lips.

You knew that he was blaming himself, yet you also knew that this would only push Joe to try even harder when the one thing he should be doing is rest.

“Joe, seriously. I don’t think you should play next week.” You tried reasoning out to your hard-headed boyfriend who seemed like he had his mind already made.

“That was a terrible game we just had. Which why I need to play next week so we can start strong— get our footing back.” Joe sighed as he ran his hands over his face in frustration as he remembered his awful performance.

“You are injured— you’re calf isn’t fully healed yet, people understand.” You said standing in front of the quarterback, trying to console the inconsolable.

“That’s not an excuse.”

“It is—”

“I’m playing next week— that’s final. Now, can we please talk about something else?” Joe cuts you off.

You blinked a couple times at your boyfriend before sighing, succumbing to his request you turned to move to the kitchen.

“What do you want to eat?”

You succeeded in changing the subject to your surprise earning a appreciative smile from Joe. As you made your dinner, you conversed with your boyfriend while you thought about the next game against the Ravens.

…

0-2

Week 2, different team, same predicament.

The Bengals lost, again. Which honestly didn’t come as a surprise for you— it was a better game at least, compared to the shit show that was week 1.

Joe did however, re-tweak his calf. Seeing him limp off the field after the game broke your heart. You could practically feel the frustration come out of Joe from a mile away— hopefully, this time he says yes to you and rest.

However, when Joe got home, you knew right away that his injury wouldn’t him from playing.

When you opened the door to greet your boyfriend, you immediately noticed the way he was leaning all his weight on his good leg. His brows were furrowed and his lips were pressed into a tight line— you had an inkling that you were not going to like whatever he was about to say.

And you were right.

“Before you even say anything— I’m fine. I only re-tweaked it and yes, I will be playing next week.” Joe hobbled inside the house, heading towards the kitchen to fix himself a drink.

“Joe you’re not okay.” You said firmly finally putting your foot down causing Joe to turn to look at you.

“You just strained your calf, you only re-tweaked it, what the hell is next, Joe?” You said trying to keep you voice calm, however, your furious eyes staring into Joe’s was betraying what you truly felt.

Your boyfriend threw his head back with a deep sigh in frustration. You two have seem to have the same conversation over and over again every week— and Joe didn’t understand why you can’t grasp the fact that he will be present every game. While you didn’t understand that Joe can’t grasp the fact that he needed to sit his ass down before he hurts himself even more.

In all honesty, you were scared— terrified even. You knew what you signed up for the second you accepted to be Joe’s girlfriend. You understood how dangerous it’s gonna be, you understood how hard it’s going to be for the both of you. But after tearing his ACL and MCL you were just living on the edge; constantly in fear that something even terrible was going to happen.

Getting that call from Zach, shook you to your core. You remembered dreading that it was gonna be career ending, luckily it wasn’t— just a strained calf, but on the rate Joe is going, you’ll never know.

“How many times am I going to tell you that I’m fine?” Joe was finally angry… angry at you. Listening to his tone made your heart drop, yet you can’t blame him. You know how much pressure he’s in; the amount of times people called him names just because of his bad performances; especially after signing a $275 million deal.

“All I’m asking is one game, Joe. Just one. Just sit one out— if you listened to me and didn’t play week 1 we wouldn’t be in this predicament.” You said defeatedly.

“And if you listened to me you’d actually know that I’m fine.” The quarterback retaliated.

The two of you were now face to face in the kitchen, both trying not to let anger get the best of you two and scream.

“Stop saying that when you are clearly in pain, Joe!” You threw your hands up in frustration as you watched your boyfriend eye you up and down.

“I don’t understand why you’re so worked up about this— it’s my health, my job, my life!” Joe grunts moving to walk away to hole himself back into his office.

His health. His job. His life. While his girlfriend is losing her goddamn mind.

“I’m concerned, Joe. It’s my job to worry about yo–”

“Then fucking don’t!” Joe snaps at you making you step back in shock.

Joe has never yelled at you, not once.

“And again, I’m playing next week whether you like it or not.” Joe’s tone finally calmed down, his blue eyes eyeing your still figure as you stared at him as if you didn’t know who he was.

Just then did Joe realized what he said to you— and moreover, how he said it. His eyes soften under the realization, his tall figure walking towards you to gather you in his arms and apologize.

But before he could do so, something snapped inside of you.

“Baby, I’m so so–”

“No. You’re right. I’m sorry.” You shook your head as if snapping yourself out of a trance before looking up at your now concerned boyfriend who was watching you closely.

His health. His job. His life.

“What do you want for dinner?” You smiled at him, the fakest one you could muster— Joe noticed, he wasn’t stupid… maybe he was a little.

“Do you want pasta? I’ll make you pasta.”

…

Thankfully week 3 was successful.

The Bengals’ first win of the season. The game wasn’t up to par with their usual standards of playing but a win is a win— and you were grateful for that win, for your sake and Joe’s.

The days leading up to the game against the Titans were fast approaching and Joe was frustrated. During practice he took notice how he still wasn’t 100% healthy and that bothered the quarterback; it affected his mobility and his speed mostly which throws his game off.

They won their first game of the season and Joe knows not to be complacent. Yet, he can’t help but hear that nagging voice inside his head that was telling him that you were right— hell, everyone was right. You weren’t the only one who wants him to skip a few games. Ever since his calf injury, his teammates, his coach, his parents, and the fans were all adamant for him to rest.

Obviously, Joe didn’t listen which only caused his calf to take longer to heal which you warned him would happen. As he hobbled up inside his house after practice, he was greeted by the sound of the living room TV— there you were snuggled up on the couch fully immersed as you watched your favorite show.

“Hey.” Joe announced his arrival causing you to turn the TV off and turn to him with a reserved smile.

“Hey, how was practice?” You asked before walking up to the quarterback placing a kiss on his awaiting lips.

“It was tiring as usual.” Joe stated as he wrapped his arms around your waist before continuing, “My calf is sore too.” He confessed guilt filled his face as he awaited for your reaction.

“I’ll prepare an ice compress. Sit down and elevate your leg up the couch.” You pulled away from him before pushing him down the couch lightly. You placed a few pillows at the end of the couch and carefully helped Joe place his injured leg on it.

You quietly moved to get his ice compress not saying another word which was unusual for you— shocking Joe. He was so sure the you were gonna scold him again.

But you didn’t.

You placed the ice compress on his injured calf, placed a kiss on his lips, before turning to him and saying, “I need to shower. Just yell if you need anything.”

Then you left.

No scolding, no questions, no expressing of concern— nothing.

Clearly what Joe said the other day is still bothering you. You still cared and loved the man, obviously. You still took care of him. But your opinions— as much as you’re concerned are not needed, so you kept quiet and kept them to yourself.

Joe didn’t like it at all. He knew he messed up the second he said what he said. The look on your face pained him, he hated himself for talking to you in such way and making you feel like you were in the wrong.

And now you’ve shut down.

While Joe was thankful for the ice compress, he can only hope that the next one he gets from you would be accompanied by the same smile that always greets him whenever he gets home from a long day of practice.

…

2-2

It was the last week of September and the Bengals were still winning. However, Joe wasn't winning.

The quarterback knew that you were still angry with him. He knew that ever since the moment he got home. It's been weeks since he had a proper conversation with you— it was as if the both of you were living separate lives, and it killed him.

Every morning he would wake up with his breakfast and medicine ready and every night, dinner would be on the table with your plate untouched and the leftovers covered and put away inside the fridge.

Joe had never been in this position before. You have never been mad at him, never. Not once. Sure, the two of you have fought over trivial things here and there but never had the two of you had a fight as big as this one.

Joe knows how much he fucked up, yet he's not sure if you were ready to forgive him or if he even deserved it.

And it seems like, the universe is testing his patience.

Joe was frustrated, so damn frustrated. This season wasn't going as well as he wanted it to go and with his calf injury, his mobility was greatly affected and the pain was also hindering him from playing to his fullest capacity.

And it was getting harder and harder to hide it from his girlfriend.

You were starting to catch on, and you were starting to suspect that something was going on with him. But being the stubborn and proud man he was, he refused to let it affect his performance, or the relationship with his girlfriend.

After an excruciating practice, the quarterback was greeted by the sight of his beautiful girlfriend, who was already in the kitchen cooking for dinner.

"Hey." Joe greeted.

"Hi." You simply greeted back without even looking up from the vegetables you were cutting.

"Smells good." He tried, wanting to engage a conversation with you.

"Thank you." You smiled before throwing the vegetables in the pan, "Dinner will be ready in a bit. Can you wash up?"

Joe stared at your back for a few moments before nodding his head, "Alright."

You heard the bathroom door close and that's when you decided to let the tears fall from your eyes.

You missed your boyfriend. You wanted your boyfriend back.

This whole thing was draining you. You hated having to keep yourself together and act as if everything was alright. It was eating you inside.

You weren't the type to hold grudges, especially to Joe. You always understood his point of view, and even if he was wrong, you'd always forgive him. But the way he talked to you last time, the way he treated you, made your heart ache.

"Fuck." You muttered as you wiped the tears from your eyes and proceeded to cook dinner.

You can't remember how long it had been since you've properly talked to Joe. The both of you have been tiptoeing around each other, not wanting to push the other's buttons.

And you were sick of it.

"How was practice?" You asked once the two of you had sat down at the dining table to eat.

Joe looked up from his food and gave you a small smile, "It was good."

You nodded your head and proceeded to eat.

"How was your day?" Joe asked after a few minutes of silence.

"It was fine."

Joe sighed before looking up at you, "Please don't do that."

"What?" You feigned innocence.

"Pretend."

"What are you talking about?" You said defensively.

"Baby, come on. You know exactly what I'm talking about." Joe said.

You rolled your eyes before scoffing, "I'm not pretending."

"You've barely said a word to me in the past three weeks. Do you honestly expect me to believe that?"

"Oh, because you didn't say a word to me either. And you were the one who told me to not worry. So, I'm not worrying." You fired back.

"You're being stubborn."

"Oh, now I'm the stubborn one?" You chuckled sarcastically.

"Yeah. You are." Joe nodded his head.

"So, what? Are we just not going to talk until we die?"

"Well, clearly that's the option that you're leaning on."

"I can't talk to you when you're acting like a dick!" You exclaimed, clearly tired of him putting the blame on you.

"Because you're the picture perfect definition of maturity and rationality."

"You're such a fucking asshole." You muttered, pushing your plate away from you before standing up.

"Where are you going?"

“Away from you.” You moved to walk towards the bedroom.

Joe let out a frustrated groan before standing up to catch your hand in his.

“Can we please talk about this? Properly like adults?” Joe was practically begging at this point.

You stared at him, contemplating if you should actually have a civil conversation or just brush him off.

However, Joe didn't give you the time to think.

He leaned in and pressed his lips against yours. The kiss was slow and sweet and everything you needed to finally snap. You pulled away and looked at him, his blue eyes gazing into yours.

"Joe..."

"I'm so sorry."

Joe didn't know where it came from. One moment he was pleading for you to listen to him, and then the next thing he knows is that his mouth was already moving, "I'm sorry, baby. I'm sorry for not listening to you, and I'm sorry for taking it all out on you. I'm sorry for hurting you, baby. I didn't mean what I said, and I regretted it the second it came out of my mouth. I'm so, so sorry."

He kissed your forehead before cupping your face in his hands.

"I'm not asking for your forgiveness. I'm not even gonna ask if I'm forgiven because I probably don't deserve it. But, I need you to know that I'm sorry."

You looked up at him before nodding your head, "I'm not mad at you anymore, Joe. I was, and I was hurt. But I wasn't mad."

"I was hurt sure but I knew how frustrated you were and how much pressure you are in— so i understand.” You sighed. “ I hate seeing you hurt and I know how much you love your job but what if it’s also the reason you lose it?” You finally confessed as your eyes filled with a light mist.

“I just want you to rest. For a day at least— cause that is never gonna get better if you didn’t and you know it.” You pointed at his injured calf as you explained.

“Yes, baby. I know and I will.” Joe promised.

And he kept that promise— leading on after their bye week, they have been winning games after games. Joe’s performance drastically changed from how he started. Everyone could see that their quarterback was back, which you couldn’t take credit for— cause Joe was a lot of things; stubborn, hard-headed, but he is also hard working.

And you couldn’t be more proud.

dividers: @cafekitsune

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#joe burrow #dear bunnyboo🏹#joe burrow x reader #cincinnati bengals #joe brrr #joe burrow x y/n #joe burrow bengals #joeburrow #joe shiesty #joey burrow #angry joe #joey b #joe burrow x you #joe burrow x oc

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loganlermanstanaccount · 6 months

Text

please don't kill me mr ghostface (part 1)

(AO3 Mirror), (Main Masterlist), (Kinktober '23 Masterlist)

(Part 2 - coming soon!)

pairing: stalker!Miguel x f!reader, slight yandere undertones. (he's a murderer lowkey but very gentle and sweet and scary hot that's all guys I promise.)

summary: murders on campus. the odd toothbrush goes missing. what's new, honestly. life keeps ticking and you end up at a Halloween party somewhere you shouldn't. there, you meet a gorgeous man in a strange mask. he seems sweet, and all you're looking for is a bit of fun. what could go wrong?

warnings: 18+ , fingering, anal play (mig eats ass, send tweet!) , rimming, p in v, soft dom mig, some switchy + needy behaviour, mild threat of violence (not by mig), alcohol consumption. Minors DNI

a/n: 5k words of ignoring red flags. girl get a grip!

wc: 5.2k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You look too good to feel this shitty.

That's the thought you're left with, picking at flimsy spiderwebs draped on a sofa. Sandwiched between two couples making out like their life depends on it, of course, but that's beside the point.

“Someone said there's CCTV of a guy walking out the building at 3am… seems a little convenient, if you ask me…”

There's a TV on in the background, barely cutting through the dense chatter. By this point, your eyes have glazed over, trying not to let them rattle around in your skull. Drunken conversation around you, and it's the same thing as always; long, winding tales of a campus killer - the kind out of a cheesy slasher. What the news says, officially, is that there weren't any links between those 3 bodies that turned up out on the playing field, an empty dorm, a supply closet; but it hasn't stopped people from indulging in wild speculation.

“No, no, she just didn't turn up to my Econ class….I swear–”

Stay in pairs. Don't walk alone at night. Whilst you think it's all tangential at best, you're not one to tempt fate. The gossip, you could do without. But it doesn't hurt to keep yourself safe, pepper spray nestled in your usual bag.

Tonight, however, you've left it at home, thinking the friends you came with would be enough. Somewhere, somehow, they're off chugging shit beer and you're milling about the place and sinking into couch cushions. There's something sticky by the seat, and there's a crackle as you're jostled - the sharp edge of a stray elbow almost knocks your drink away.

Fuck.

For one night only, you're a cheerleader. A short, short skirt and little top; it has you feeling overdressed. Even though you've left the pompoms at home, next to your taser; seemingly, you've read the mood wrong - stupidly assuming people would dress up for a Halloween party. As you make your way to the kitchen, tugging down your skirt here and there, that's all you can see; half-hearted costumes - cat ears, white sheets and flimsy masks. It feels like you stick out in comparison. You've gone all out, with nothing but the threat of a beer sodden lap for your trouble.

It's a big house. Alpha-delta-phi, kappa-something-or-the-other; a frat with too much money and too much time on their hands. With all the doors you walk past, shallow thuds and thumping ringing out behind them, you're as good as lost. The best ragers this side of campus - as raved about by one of your friends. It feels like bucketfuls of horseshit right now, wandering around packed halls - and oh. Is that the same staircase?

“ Fuck, watch it!” You clatter into the side of an arm, a t-shirt with a superman symbol emblazoned at the chest. He's pretty, but his features curl into a sudden sneer.

" Sorry –" You start but he doesn't let you finish, wagging a thick finger in your face.

There's a girl draped on his arm, merely watching as he shouts; loud over pumping music from the next room over.

"Hey, dipshit , you gonna keep staring? Mouth open like a fucking fish– do you know how much this shit costs?" Your eyes are wide, as he gets closer - stinking of alcohol and pot and God knows what else. You're not drunk enough to entertain this, shirking away from confrontation. The room is hot, his breath is sticky , and–

He grabs your arm. Immediately you're trying to wrench yourself away, not daring to look into blown pupils. Clammy, his grip tightens on bare skin and your stomach churns. He's solid, bigger than you and unable to keep the anger out of his voice…. and fuck. You're scared.

Fear, rising like bile at the back of your throat. Bitter and sharp, fear at the fact that there isn't anyone to help; that everyone else looks away and pretends that this isn't happening. Fear at the spittle that sprays from his mouth like poison, stinging skin. You screw your eyes shut, expecting a slap, a blow, or something worse and then…

Thud. The hand around your wrist is no more, replaced by a gentle pat on your shoulder. Nothing lingering, just a light touch to get you to open your eyes; to see that guy on the floor, clutching at a swollen jaw and split lip.

"You okay? "

It's deep, muffled by a mask, and the figure in front of you has to crouch to be heard over incessant chatter.

You're nodding, sheepishly, not trusting yourself to keep that edge out of your voice.

Ghostface, the masked man, the only other person at this party properly dressed up; he only cocks his head in a gesture that says a thousand words. His robe pools around his wrists, thick fabric that you grab onto without thinking, grip just as tight as your would-be assailant. You don't even want to think about it, what could've happened if someone hadn't stepped in. It has you biting back tears, more shaken than you'd like to admit.

"H-Hey, hey, easy…" He's rubbing little circles into your shoulder, hesitant. Your lip wobbles, ever so slightly, but he catches it, gently pulling you aside.

There isn't a crowd. The stragglers, those that saw the display, barely look at the guy on the floor, scrambling to his feet and far away. In the meantime, you fight off tears and force yourself to flash a shaky smile.

"Good. " You croak, taking his hands off your shoulders. "F-Fuck , I mean… I'm good. Thank you."

He doesn't quite budge, giving you that strange look again. At least, you think so, rearing up to his full height to cross his arms. Quiet incredulity, almost cartoonish, and it almost makes you laugh. Almost.

"Let me get you a drink… some water, or something." He says, stretching out a gloved hand. Sensing your hesitance, he quickly adds, "... Please ."

Chewing your lip, you only have to think for a second before taking it, and you're led out through double doors. Your masked man is big; broad shouldered and hulking, cutting through the writhing mass with ease. It's just as well, you think, unable to sort through the tangle of things that rattle around in your head. You hate this fucking school, sometimes. Boys will be boys. Wear more appropriate clothing. Well, wasn't she just asking for it? A culture of inaction; of hand-wringing and hand-waving… passing on the blame until three dead bodies show up on campus.

That's one thing you have to thank the so-called serial killer for, at least. At least something might actually change around here.

Empty, the kitchen is a mess, but nothing you wouldn't expect. Drink long gone; a distant memory spilled on a carpet, somewhere; you perch awkwardly around a counter, not knowing where to put your hands. Rattled, you've resorted to a glassy stare; stewing and festering and thinking so intensely it might frighten off your masked man.

It doesn't. He merely taps you, a gentle elbow to your side and he offers you a glass of water. Weakly, you give him a smile, gulping up the liquid.

"You here by yourself ?" He asks, muffled by plastic.

You can't help it, eyes wide at the implication - a masked man, a killer on campus - and he must realise the way it sounds.

In no time at all, he clarifies, "I just mean… fuck … is there someone I can call? So you're not alone."

It's a kind gesture. Kinder than you'd expect from a stranger. Slowly, you shake your head.

"They ditched me about an hour ago." You give a bitter laugh. "Just me and you, Mr Ghostface."

And with that he laughs; deep and sonorous, causing heat to bloom at your chest. Despite yourself, you smile, and you swear you see a glint of something behind the mask.

It has you itching for a drink. All of a sudden you make your way across the room, swiping at empty beer bottles and cans, rummaging around for some hard liquor. When you find it - a half empty bottle of something that smells like carpet cleaner and acetone - you're taking a swig, and offering it to the man across from you. It's sneaky, but you don't think he clocks your paltry attempt to see what he looks like under that mask.

He shakes his head, hands up in defeat.

"You sure?" Your voice is lilting, hazy around the edges. Creeping up closer, you press your body to his, taking another unceremonious gulp. Under that cloak - heavy, somewhat well made - you can feel him, lean and cut muscle that tenses as you get closer.

Batting your eyelashes, you make full use of the cheerleader get-up, snaking a dainty hand to his side, and then up to the counter. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was ogling you, chest taught and tight at the way you feel against him.

Or maybe, he's bored as shit. You wouldn't know - with the mask, and all.

Wobbly, you clamber up onto the counter, helped up by a gentle hand at the small of your back… and oh. You like that: big, thick fingers that press into you, carefully tracing your waist… and why won't they go down a little further? Grab handfuls of the flesh at your thighs, your ass, everything in between?

He's too conservative for that, you think. Nervous, too. Nevertheless, he slots between your thighs, big palms flat next to your ass.

"I… I don't mind watching." He says, voice low.

It makes you giggle as you drink, sweet and soft, and liquid dribbles past your lips, down to collarbone. Mr Ghostface is gentle, tracing a finger across the juncture of your neck, light pressure on the vein that sits nice and pretty at its side.

It goes to your head. The alcohol, the large man of few words with a hand on your neck. When he finishes swiping at the liquid and pulls his hand away, you curl your hand around his, bringing it to your lips. Pert lips wrap around his finger, tongue swiping over leather, and you swear you can hear his breath hitch - heart clearly skipping a beat.

"Careful…" You say, leaning forward to press your tits against him, brushing away imaginary fluff from his shoulders. "I really like this costume."

"I like it too." He clears his throat. "You look nice."

"Nice? Is that all I get, Mr Ghostface?" You're teasing, tracing up his broad chest to his neck and then just under his chin. Carefully, you hook a finger under the thin strap of his mask, tugging ever-so gently.

Quickly, he stops you.

"Not yet, sweetheart."

You pout, flashing him a frustrated look - and God , does he want to kiss it off of you.

"But soon?"

"If you're good." You swear you can hear him smile, hands wrapping around your waist.

You get a bit bolder, hand tracing up his sleeve, clutching at thick, corded forearm. Watching intently as he keens, pushing you to the edge of the kitchen counter with only one hand at your back. This close, you even like the way he smells, like rust and oil and earth, the way he feels around you; strong arms caging you in, protecting you. You feel safe, for some reason.

When he sighs into you, exposing a sliver of tan neck, you feel your knees go weak - unable to stop yourself from mouthing at it, pressing little kisses into the skin. He seems so sensitive, rocking into the counter for some pressure already, clutching you closer and closer until there's a hickey blooming just under sharp jawline.

"Fuck- " He hisses, pawing at your waist a little more desperately.

Suddenly self conscious, you separate with a wet smack, and inspect your handiwork.

"Shit." Eyes wide, you press a finger into the flesh. Your masked man winces. "M'sorry. Got carried away."

He heaves, placing his head on your shoulder for a moment, trying to catch his breath.

"It's fine," He strains. "Don't worry… s'fine."

Admittedly, he doesn't seem too fine, adjusting what feels like a painful hard-on beneath a loose cloak.

Cradling his head so he can look at you, you whisper something bold, even for someone who's downed more than a couple shots worth of cheap liquor.

"I know somewhere… I-I think … that we could go if you wanted to…" His head lolls, and you hear him swallow roughly. "Somewhere quiet . We'd be alone. Just us."

A beat passes and you think you might've read this wrong, much too forward for your own good. It’s why he surprises you by nodding - slowly, at first, and then with more conviction. Taking your hand, he snakes it under his mask, and you almost gasp when you feel soft, plump lips at your knuckles and palm, pressing shaky kisses to the skin.

“I need to do something first.” He says it so quietly, you almost miss it under the mask. “Where can I meet you?”

You don’t ask questions.

“Pool house.” You nod towards the windows, overlooking a sizable pool. People mill about its edges, but you know the little house is off-limits for the night. “Side entrance. They… leave it unlocked, sometimes.”

He doesn’t ask questions.

Before he goes, he snakes a hand under your skirt, giving your ass a sizable squeeze - leaving you breathless.

You don’t feel the cold as you slip out, playing with a loose thread at the hem of your skirt. The side entrance is stiff but unlocked, and you duck past a screen, head on a swivel. Like a good girl, you sit on plush cushions, thighs pressed together to relieve a pressure that has been building since you met your masked man. And you want to touch yourself; to circle that little bud with clumsy fingers, imagining it was him.

You wait. And you wait. You settle between the cushions, adjust your skirt, look at your hair through a makeshift mirror - the glossy surface of windows overlooking the pool. Not wanting to risk turning on the lights, you wander past what little streams in from across the pool; flashing and pounding with the heady bass of music. You can't help but wonder where he's gone, if he's even coming, and what he had to do so desperately that he'd leave you wanting more.

At this point, you don't even care if he takes off his mask. You don't want to know a name, or see the real man underneath the costume. You just want him; writhing underneath as you bounce on his fat cock.

"Hey."

That voice makes you jump, swiveling to face him. How did he get in without you noticing? He was so quiet, so–

"Missed you." He says it so soft, it makes you melt, walking slowly towards him. Shrouded in shadow, as you get closer you notice he's shed his cloak, donned in a white t-shirt and straight leg jeans. Big boots, thick with fresh mud, thud onto the tile. When you meet, two figures cut by bright light, you almost gasp. He's taken off the mask. Instead of Mr Ghostface, you're met with a man - and he is so, so beautiful .

Tan skin. High cheekbones, a jaw that could cut glass. His hair is haphazardly slicked back, fluffy and curly in all the right places. But it's his eyes: mischievous and glinting and serious all at the same time - absolutely gorgeous. You could look at him like this forever; chest heaving, messy, out of breath.

Your hand comes to his chest. He’s hot to the touch, clasping his great big hand atop yours. Squeezing, he pulls you closer, other hand creeping up bare thigh, before hooking under your ass in a move that makes you squeal.

From this close, his lashes look so pretty; wispy and romantic and yearning.

"You look beautiful.” He doesn’t kiss you, not yet, content with only watching - studying you with sharp eyes. “Always do."

All you hear are the compliments, too tipsy to notice what the stranger implies. You're not usually one for a one night stand, but he is intoxicating - intense in a way that's hard to explain.

Carding one hand through the curls at the nape of his neck, you press your lips to his in a kiss that starts off sweet and quickly deepens. He is hungry and devouring; licking up your moans with plump lips.

You lead him to the sofa, only separating for fleeting breaths. Eyes low, illuminated by a flash of light here and there; you force yourself to concentrate on him , shuddering breaths and all. He’s hard, rocking into your lower half splayed out beneath him and arms caged around your head. It’s sly, but you snake a hand past his t-shirt, across his back and then fumble with the belt. It makes him smile, soft laughter spilling into your parted lips; before he sits up above you.

“You want it that bad, huh?” Windswept, he croons, batting away your hands to unbuckle the clasp himself.

You groan, shifting upwards. You don’t notice the way his eyes dart down, eying up the peek of thigh that spills out of little shorts.

“Say it f’me, sweetheart.” He hikes up your skirt, exposing your covered cunt. He’s gentle, pawing at the flesh, pressing the heel of his palm right above your clit.

“F-Fuck!” The pressure is delicious, and you roll your hips up, up, up; chasing some semblance of relief. When he stops, you whine - clutching at his forearm, frustrated. “Want it, please .”

“Want what?” He prompts, lifting his shirt over his head in one quick movement. You’re met with the wide span of his chest, muscle taut and tight above you.

“Want you in me. I want… I want you to fuck me ‘til I break, pound my fucking hole so hard I can feel it in the morning. I want– ”

You’re babbling, now, spurred on by the way he tugs off black shorts, lifting up your legs to slip them off. He’s too slow, clearly enjoying watching you squirm and writhe.

“You can have it, sweetheart.” He coos, before capturing you into another kiss. This time, he separates and you follow him up; finally parting with a wet smack. “I’ll give you whatever you want, however you want it… but you gotta do something first.”

“ Anything .” You breathe.

“Fuck yourself, for me. I…I–”

“You like to watch.” You finish it for him, breathless.

“Please.” His head dips low; big, red-brown eyes never leaving yours.

The way he says it leaves you panting, hung off of every word. And you croon, leaning back into couch cushions, already hot at the way he kneads his thumbs to the flesh near your pussy. This close, he can see the way your cunt pulses, eating up a tiny thong between glistening lips. He’s kneeling on the floor, now, snaking his body around to get a perfect view, flashing looks between both your pretty lips.

More than willing to oblige, you pat at your clit, sending sweet pleasure coursing through your lower half. Even though your legs tremble, he holds you down, placing gentle kisses to your inner thighs. Slipping your thong to the side, you dip two fingers past your slit, gathering up slick to press carefully into your hole.

“So… so pretty. ” He sighs, not daring to close his eyes despite the pleasure he feels. When you notice how his other hand is buried in his pants; jerking up and down to match your pace. You start slow, for now, pumping two fingers in and out, heel of your palm snug against your clit. The sounds are obscene, the wet schlick-schlick ringing out in the quiet room.

“Prettiest fucking thing I’ve ever s-seen.” Your stranger moans, slathering over your thighs with sloppy kisses, occasionally swiping at your knuckles. Lower and lower, as you get faster and faster, his tongue makes you feel amazing. You’re close - entranced by your spot in the limelight and the sharp eyes that watch every ministration.

It’s only when you’re knuckle deep, well and truly fucking yourself ; chasing something just out of reach with his help; when two things happen, catching you by surprise. The first, the one that sends electricity down your spine, that makes you jolt and shiver and almost cum right then and there…

…is a wet kiss pressed to your asshole. He slathers and slobbers and licks large stripes up and down; ripping a great moan out from you. He doesn’t stop there, spreading the globes of your ass to delve deeper, tongue-fucking you as your hand stills - unable to concentrate on anything else. Pornographic, he humps his lower half to the same pace, sealing his mouth over your hole. With the vibrations of his moans sending pleasure straight to your clit, you finally cum - a rolling, bubbling orgasm that ends just as intensely.

The second thing that happens, just as you fall off the edge, is that you’re plunged into darkness. The lights from across the pool, once bright and flashing; are cut off. The music stops, and chatter dies down. Your stranger holds you through it, licking up cum from your neglected cunt, whispering sweet things into the skin.

“There it is, baby. Nice n’ slow.” He soothes as you whimper, hand tight in his hair.

In the dark, you’re heaving, feeling him slow down as your cunt clenches around nothing, empty. Shaky, you sit up on your haunches as he follows you up.

“Is everything…? What happened?” You’re a little panicked, shaken up from your orgasm.

“You’re okay, you’re okay. ” He rubs little circles into bare skin. “Too much?”

You shake your head, nuzzling into him. He gives your forehead a kiss, and you feel warmth bloom across your chest.

He shifts. “Just give it a…”

As if on cue, a generator whirs to life, flooding the little room in red light. Something similar seems to happen across the pool, as you take a quick glance to the window.

Your head is a little fuzzy. It aches as you catch his eye, looking at you intently.

“Do you want to stop? We don’t have to–”

“No.” You say it resolutely, with so much force it even catches you off guard. “I want to.”

“Fuck.” He mutters, brows pressed together imperceptibly.

For someone you’ve just met, he still looks at you like ice about to melt, like he’s bearing witness to the last breaths of a dying star. He looks at you like he knows you; like he knows how many half-truths and one-night stands you’ve had to endure. It makes you shiver; here, bathed in crimson light, pressed against one another.

He starts with your lips, a gentle thumb pressed flat, and then deeper, deeper, deeper. It’s like before, you realise, the taste of liquor and leather long gone. He keeps his eyes on you, careful as he pops the thumb out, groaning at the length of spit that comes with a flash of your pink tongue. You splay yourself out underneath him, drinking in the sight above; your stranger, your masked man once upon a time, shirtless and breathless and rock hard against your cunt. Now, he tugs down black boxers, its band cut across his torso just so. Thick hair; dark, curly, neatly trimmed; and you reach to trace down his happy trail, to get a hand on his pretty cock.

He just watches , eyes dark, leaning forward to rock into your soft palm and put his mouth on the skin that pillows out from a tight crop top. To give him more access, you tug it down, exposing sensitive nipple. And then that tongue; searching, inquisitive, precise; wraps itself around the flesh. You keen - a pretty moan that has his heart fluttering and eyes clasped shut.

“Inside.” At first, it’s a whisper, said in the throes of deep pleasure. You repeat it, slowing your hand at his cock.

When he doesn’t answer; still slathering at your tits, pawing the flesh that spills out from your costume; you tug, a sharp thing that has him moaning and sitting up on his haunches.

“Said I wanted you inside, baby.” You say - and his breaths are deep, his eyes are wild. “Do you want it? Do you want me?”

“A-Always….course I— ” He stops himself, chewing at the inside of his cheek. Finally, he nods and you continue, satisfied.

“Watch.” You titter, reaching down to line him up; carefully gathering slick up at the head of his cock. His tip weeps; shuddering like your stranger does above, getting close and hitching up you up to stay flush against you. His eyes stay trained downward. Inside, he mouths at your neck, groaning once his cock sinks into your fluttering hole.

There’s a tightening grip at your hips, big hands bunching up the skirt to keep you close, with a careful pressure at your clit. That sends heat coursing through your veins, tasting deep crimson in the air. He fucks; up close and humping like he wants to crawl into your skin, with a fervour you’ve never encountered before. It has you hot and sticky, desperate for that biting edge that keeps slipping from dainty fingers. You start to put a hand at your clit, tracing between your bodies when a strong hand pulls it away. Firm.

“No, no, no…” He whispers it, putting your wandering hand to his face, kissing the palm.

“Please. ” You whine. “M’close. So close.”

You feel him twitch inside, hips stuttering at your tone.

“No.” He says it again, resolute. “I’m going to make you cum. Gonna make you feel so good, sweetheart… just… just be patient. Please. For me .”

You’re reaching up for a kiss, of which he obliges. This time, it stays sweet; pink tongues swiped over lips.

“Look at me.” His hips shift, changing angles to hit that sweet spot like you’ve been moulded to his dick - like he knows just where to touch you to make you fall apart. “Look at me, hermosa. Ohh f-fuck, you take me so well… so pretty. You gonna milk my cock? Feels so good around me, sweetheart, like you were made for me. Like we’re ... L-Like–”

You groan, unable to tear yourself away from his writhing form: strong, lean muscles, tensing in the red light. And oh, isn’t he pretty, mere moments away from release, from spilling thick cum inside you.

“M’gonna–”

“I know, I know, hermosa. ” You like the way he says it, rolling off his tongue like honey; treacled and sweet. “Cum f’me, sweetheart. Want to feel you clamp around my cock. Cum for me. ”

And just like that, you’re gone; nails digging into his back as you careen off a steep cliff’s edge. Your stranger quickly follows, pulling out to wrap a tight hand around the base of his cock, spilling onto your stomach as you clench around nothing.

You’re whining, getting ready to complain; why hasn’t he come inside? why doesn’t he want to stay?; when he stills, settling by your side. Propped up by one arm, he crouches down to stroke at your cheek, to touch your jaw, moving your head this way and that - as if he’s looking for something hidden behind bright eyes.

In the red of the emergency lights, you suppose you’re looking for something too. A beat passes, and then another. The generator splutters, whirring and coughing. The lights turn off; replaced by the noise and white lights from across the pool.

So lost in one another, you hadn’t quite noticed; everything else falling away.

He clears his throat, clambering off of the sofa and tugging up his trousers. Quickly, he returns, a bundle of towels draped across his bare shoulders, and then he wipes off the cum - gently, separating sweaty limbs. Your costume is more or less intact, but you’re unable to do more than just lay there. He’s diligent and patient, not in any sort of rush. When you sit up, he pulls on a shirt, kneeling by your legs to play with a loose thread at your skirt. Too intimate, you suppose. With his head on your lap, you don’t think you care.

“We should leave.” You say it first, what’s been left in the air for someone else to pick apart.

“We should.”

“Can’t leave together.” You say simply, curling a hand in his hair.

Humming, he looks up lazily, with a hint of a smile. “You go first.”

Neither of you make a move to get up.

“Mr Ghostface,” You start, giggling. “What happened to your mask?”

“Lost it.” He’s cryptic. Finally, he stands.

Your stranger stretches out a rough palm, and you take it, getting up on shaky legs. You almost collapse onto his chest, but he’s there; solid, stoic. Looking up, and it catches you off guard: the intensity of his stare, how he watches in a way that makes you feel stripped bare.

“You first.” He repeats, still holding on.

He’s pretty. Of course he is, but the shadow and light makes his features even more pronounced. In the quiet, you take the opportunity to catch him off guard; standing on tip-toes to press a quick kiss to his cheek. Jaw tight, he doesn’t react the way you want him to: ever-still, passive. Fuck. You’ve read it wrong: not used to the intensity of this kind of foray. After all: a one night stand seems too reductive, doesn’t quite span the depths and furrows of how your stranger has taken you apart. Finally, you leave the strange man still standing in the pool house. You don’t dare to look, but you can feel him; the weight of his stare at your back.

You can feel his hands, too; the ghost of his touch lingering as you make your way back to the house, mingling with the crowd.

~~~

You don’t tell your friends. You make your back home after the party, bundled into a taxi with a hand tight around your own wrist. It doesn’t feel like his hand on yours - not even close.

“I didn’t actually fuck him yesterday!” Your friend tugs on your sleeve, giggling into your shoulder as she recounts her night. A debrief with the girls turns into hungover breakfast-bleeding-into-lunch at your dorm. They’re bundled onto the sheets, some eating greasy takeout and others nursing bludgeoning headaches.

You’re fine, mostly. A little bit of liquid courage, but your hangover pales in comparison to some - catatonic on your rug and scrolling through their phone in a limbo-like state.

“You didn’t fuck him, but you wanted to.” Someone pipes up, and the conversation devolves into raucous laughter.

You laugh, tucked into yourself. The wonders of a half-dozen sophomores during Halloween - able to grin despite the shit storm that’s been mounting. Campus killers notwithstanding - they make you smile, at least.

“Were you there towards the end?” Someone asks, poking an elbow at your side. “When there was that blackout?”

You nod, simply - not trusting yourself to say more.

“I-I mean…” Her voice is suddenly shaky, thrusting a phone into your unsuspecting hands. “Well… they’re saying it must have happened then, or around that time.”

You squint, confused.

“And it could’ve been anyone, I suppose. There were like, what, a hundred people there? More? ”

“What?”

“A body. They found a body - by the pool house, or something…”

Miguel taglist: @d1lf-loverrr, @afro-hispwriter @ilovemiguelohara @weedxgirlx420 @ladydovahkiin180 @aaliyuh3 @sweetanimebakery @vvitcxen @rosecoloredlenses708 @daikondal @magikmina @impettywhenyouare @alonelygirlsuicidenote @plushyplants @javi0ca @rheeves @starrfruit @nikirikii @marsbars09 @foxglove-grove @mimooyi @crosshairclown @dead-by-light @kynamitedessert @naarra @wanderlustingcastaway @sagejin @cookielovesbook-akie @tangerineloverrr @gobblegluckgluckgod @wolfiepirate @jxxey3 @ebrysteria @elliemm @manchuria @youngghostpeachslime @weasleybuns

@ilovemuppets @vauriz @bonbyon @aimno256 @ancientbeing10 @tvije @venus1224idkpleaze @neteyamsbulletwound @chickenjefferson-blog @maki-z @jasjasthings @aiyaaayei @hyp-oh-critical @tea-earl-grey-thot @sunset-euphoria @moonsio @akiras-key@szaplsdropthealbum@levanneisdumb @naiya-patel17 @Serostapesweat @strawberrymiguel @yumeeesss @errorundyne-exe @spear-bitch @redsoleily @marsissoswag @slezhara @ye4gerzz @adlct515 @nanam1 @indigocookie @cincocosas-blog @starguiders @path0logicalpeoplepleaser@funkyfishy@whoreloll@eugeab@tarjapearce@maddielikesmoths@egotaestical

#miguel o'hara x reader #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #kinktober #miguel o hara x reader #spiderman 2099 #kat_writes😼

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girlboypersonthingy · 1 month

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Hi! How are you? Can i request a Velvette x F reader? Or GN if you feel more comfortable, I don't mind. The reader being so slow to understand Velvette flirting and she gets frustrated like "oh you are so lucky that i love you"

Hi there! I’m good! Hope you’re doing good too. Love thisssssss. Velvette would get so lovingly annoyed lmao 💜 thanks for the request! And enjoy~

TW: suggestive themes, lots of cussing

Notes: gn!reader, this is just a short little drabble

ALSO, I got a ton of requests waiting for me rn. Plz feel free to keep sending em in! Just be patient with me, I’ll get to them 😉

Velvette x reader- Oblivious 💓

Girl tries soooooo hard and gets soooooo mad when you don’t get it.

Velvette is pretty confident, extroverted and bold naturally so when it comes to her fat crush on you, she’s not afraid to make it known.

But come on! She’s trying to have fun with it, trying to tease you and get you all flustered but you just won’t budge.

She will straight up compliment you, loudly and in front of all her models and assistants, something about looking hot as hell, and you just figure she really likes your outfit today. That’s all she means, right?

Velvette likes to jokingly do things that’ll allow her to touch you intimately.

For example, she’ll drop something in your lap just so she can slowly reach down and pick it up, letting her fingers linger on your thigh all while maintaining eye contact

Literally doesn’t phase you and she’s just flabbergasted…like damn, what does she have to do? Straight up kiss you on the mouth to get her point across?

She’ll post pics of you on her sinstagram with nothing but heart emojis as the caption and you just like it and comment “BESTIE” and now she’s pouting bc she wants to be bae, not bestie

One time, she made this big scene complaining about being short a model and her desperately needing an extra body. She’s so dramatic, so cute.

Immediately points to you, wiggling her brows suggestively as she motions for you to follow her.

“I’ll even dress you myself~”

And she proceeds to take you to a room alone and watch as you happily undress. You’re comfortable with her, why not?

Meanwhile, Velvette is dripping in sweat and trying not to straight up moan at the sight of you so bare and vulnerable before her.

“You okay? You look like you don’t feel good.” You feel her forehead as if checking for a fever and she wants to slap you rn bc hello?! She’s literally in love with horny asf for you and you think she’s sick? Satan, help her.

“UugggHGGGHHH! Bloody fuckin hell, (Y/N). Just-just…ugh.”

And when her words fail her, she goes to plan B- kissing you right on the mouth.

It’s one of those kisses that starts tense and awkward but is easy to melt into.

“Oh.” Is all you can get to come out of your mouth once you part and this makes Velvette huff in frustration once again.

She goes on a tangent about her feelings and how frustrated she is with you. She’s like lowkey scolding you as she confesses her love and attraction for you.

By the end of it you’re a bright red, stuttering mess of embarrassment and adoration for her.

“I’m so sorry. I’ve been..very into you this whole time too.” You finally admit it.

“You’re adorable, truly you are. I love you but for FUCK’S SAKE, (Y/N)!”

#hazbin #hazbin hotel #hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel velvette #hazbin velvette #velvette x reader #velvette x you #velvette hazbin hotel #Velvette #Velvette Hazbin #Velvette x y/n

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0oolookitsme · 2 months

Text

Like Gold Dust

Hii everyone! This one is kind of different than most of my fics. There are lots of descriptions and lesser dialogues and she's an angsty one! Lowkey poetic too, I think? I don't know! You tell me! I hope you enjoy reading <3

Verse - Footballer!Harry x Art Director!Y/n (uni era)

Word Count - 3.1k

Warnings - This fic is about Harry dealing with Seasonal Depression and he doesn't deal with it in this fic very healthily. So, if that, in any way, seems like it might be triggering for you or you don't wanna read about it, I totally understand! Close this fic and take care of yourself, I'll see you in the next upload! Sending love <3 (Also, there's miscommunication as well because of course, they are in uni!)

Winter has come knocking the wind out of Harry's lungs, and happiness has begun feeling like gold dust to him -- everybody seems to be chasing after it, but rarely catches it. But while Harry deals with the harshest Winter he's ever had, Y/n seems to have begun hating her favourite season.

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With her head lowered defeatedly, Y/n slapped on the door with her palm for the fifth time. "Harry," she exhaled a breath that she had held hostage in her lungs so that she wouldn’t miss his reply. "I know you're in there ...let me in, please," her voice went meek towards the end, eyes moistening making her screw them shut, tighly.

She let her head rest on the door, sniffling a few times when she feels the sudden tiredness overtake her senses once again.

Maybe he's asleep, she thinks to herself just to get herself moving. Nodding at her own thought, she fisted the hand that was still pressed against the cold shut door and put it back in the warmth of her coat’s pocket.

This was nothing new. Every morning she'd come to his dorm, knock and knock and knock, and get teary eyed when he wouldn't open up. She'd catch him on the campus sometimes, walking in the same clothes she'd been seeing him in since the past three days, his head low and eyes avoiding any and every gaze.

"Harry!" She'd call after him and run up to match her steps with his. "I went to your dorm; thought you were sleeping but here you are!" Halting in her place she'd exclaim. Then, she'd mumble sadly -- "looking all pretty," running a little because he hadn't stopped with her.

She'd walk with him quietly then, cautiously weaving her fingers through his rough ones. He'd squeeze her hand three times in return and hold on tightly until they'd reach the point where they needed to part ways for their classes.

Truth be told, those little encounters seemed to be the only thin thread she was hanging by. His simple touches, holds, and cold lips pressed against her forehead. It made her believe that he didn’t entirely hate her, that she wasn’t as useless as she felt.

Y/n felt like she was lacking somewhere. That she should be the one he should be talking to in moments like these, that she should be the sole source of comfort he had but it seemed like he kept his distance from her as much as he could. And that made her feel like maybe she wasn’t his favourtie person, after all.

She knew that it wasn’t the truth in her heart. That Harry did still love her, and found his safe haven in her – the smallest actions he made were assuring …but they weren’t enough to prevent Y/n’s opposing, combatant mind from exceeding its thinking capacity.

Every night she found herself doubting herself – her capacity to love, especially. Was her love not enough for the both of them to sail a little longer? At Least until Spring came and Harry’s sunflower plant became full of life again?

She feared that their relationship was withering away, just like his sunflower, and she was sat in his room on his window sill with the plant in her lap, frantically giving it sunlight and air and water and better soil but it just won’t stop shrinking in size and fading in colour.

Doing everything she could, still Y/n was always feeling helpless and in despair. It was like she was screaming but Harry wasn’t listening…whether intentionally or not because, from Harry’s point of view, no sound seemed to be coming out of her scream – maybe because he was under water.

"I'll see you soon," she'd tell him and get up on her tiptoes to hug him close to herself, pressing a kiss on his unshaved cheek. And with that, she'd walk away, her hand a lingering touch until she had walked far enough, and she, yet again, proved to be insufficient and not enough.

Walking against the brittle wind, she caught sight of the on-campus cafe. Walking inside, she looked up at the jingling bells above the door and smiled. She’d been coming here for so many months and yet she looked up at the source of the chime every time she walked in – for coffee, mainly, and for some warm shelter, secretly.

"A medium coffee please," she told the barista, who also happened to be a good friend. The cafe was opened by some of the college students, for the college students. It was nothing fancy but did its job remarkably well.

No one was speaking this early in the morning. Everyone was bundled up in any corner that they could seek, and Y/n looked around in hopes that maybe the footsteps she'd heard inside Harry's dorm weren't actual and that she might catch him cozied up here, instead. Because sometimes they'd bump into each other here or at the library, and that would bring her the peace that she was feeling rarely this Winter – which came as a shock to the system because she didn’t nearly love any season as much as she did Winter.

But alas, it was only a hope after all.

"Can I get a refill, please?" Someone asked, slightly embarrassed as the peeked from behind their laptop screen. Standing in front of Y/n, the barista – Kate – agreed to the request with a warm smile.

It was brighter than usual today, Harry had noticed. The sunlight pouring in through his open window laid right on his bed and if he wasn’t already feeling brighter today, which is the reason why he is standing fresh out of his bathroom and rubbing his towel against his head with another one wrapped low on his hips, his mood just felt as if it had bubbled up so high that he couldn’t handle it all by himself.

The flimsy curtains were still drawn in front of his windows, as he quickly changed. Even though he hated dressing up before his skin had fully dried. Unconsciously, he began humming a song and when he realized that while brushing his hair, he felt as if he had caught himself off guard.

Happiness had begun to feel like it was like gold dust, to Harry. He’d suddenly become very aware of how difficult it was to obtain, how everyone wanted it and it was almost as if it had grown out of his comfort zone.

He wasn't excited about the winter, not that he ever was. But he was depressed. Harry avoided his own gaze in the mirror then. He hadn’t said anything to himself other than a broken sob in weeks, so to find himself humming a song felt surreal.

Throwing some things in his backpack, he swung it over his shoulders. He didn’t have anything on his feet, he realized and sprawled on the floor to look under his bed for the socks he was sure he had absentmindedly kicked under there.

He took a quick sniff at his socks, deciding that he could go with them this last day. With a few grunts he pulled them up on his feet, sitting on the floor of his dorm room and tying his shoelaces. Y/n had gifted him those among some other things for Christmas, and that thought made him smile as he stared at the Nikes on his feet for little.

A few of his bones popped as he got up, making him groan in satisfaction. Checking if he had his phone and headphones on him, he decided to go and quickly check the scenery outside via his window and see for himself if he should carry an umbrella, which didn’t make any sense because it could begin raining cats and dogs any time where he lived.

That was when he caught sight of snow – falling down in flakes, slowly like feathers. His mouth fell open as he pressed his palms against the cold window glass, looking outside like some eager kid with his nose slightly smushing against it. His gaze wandered and he realized that everyhting was covered in white snow, shimmering beautifully as sunlight fell down.

Suddenly in a much bigger hurry, he swung his backpack on one of his shoulders again, and locked the door once he was on the other side of it.

The temperature inside his dorm room was much colder than the temperature outside, Harry realized, just as he does every other day and proceeded to walk down the hallway with his hands in the pockets of his bright pink hoodie. He’d been thinking all morning that maybe this serotonin release was only for one day, but chose not to dwell over that so he could simply live for at least some hours – for as long as the sun was away from the jail-bars, namely clouds.

But then he realized that it had finally begun snowing, and he felt like no one could take his happiness from him; absolutely no one.

He hated this issue that he had. He’s been suffering with seasonal depression since he was fifteen, he’d guess, and he hadn’t had one winter since that made him happy. Except, of course, the last one, in which he finally had the nerve to kiss Y/n under a mistletoe that had been hanging on the wall indentation that separates the dining area from the kitchen in his home.

And she made the Winter sufferable, if not entirely rainbows and sunshine for him. But it only made Harry hate himself worse – the fact that she adored no season as much as she did the snow one, and yet she was sad all the time during the span of this Winter in particular, because of him.

When Winter was approaching, she had strictly told him to come meet her before he’d leave for practice in the mornings, just so that she could hold him for a little before they’d go in for entirely different classes for the day, because she was aware that one of his love languages was physical touch. She didn’t really have a clue about how harsh this Winter was going to be on them, considering it hadn’t ever been so bad in the years she had known him, even as his best friend.

But he hadn’t been following the one rule she’d made; he was unable to.

He tried to stay away from her, when he realized that. Just so that she wouldn’t have to share all of her love and happiness with him to the level that she was left with nothing but his sadness. It wasn’t making him feel good, it hurt worse than the Winter did – staying away from her. But it was for the better, he’d tell himself over and over again as he would roll his lips in his mouth and shut his eyes tightly when she would come knocking on his dorm room morning and night, voice sounding as if she were on the verge of breaking down and begging him to open up so that she could come in and help him, and herself even.

“This is making me very sad, Harry. This – whatever it is that you’re doing, i – it isn’t making me feel anything but … but sad,” she would utter defeatedly outside his dorm, being ignorant about the strangers that might be hearing her. And, Harry would clench his eyes shut if his mind showed him a sight of her bottom lip trembling with fat tears rolling down her flushed cheeks.

What would matter to anyone hearing her, if Harry wasn’t hearing her? She’d think as she’d knock for the last few times, getting louder and louder.

It made Hary question his decisions, if he was doing the ‘right thing’ after all. But still he would gulp down his cry that threatened to escape his aching throat. He cried, and held himself as his body shook and broke down in sobs, because it felt selfish to have her do it when she could be outside building a snowman.

He was well aware that she was concerned about him, it showed in her actions -- bled through the looks of care she passed him before she had to part from him. And he felt careless, like he wasn’t being responsible and mature enough by simply letting her in but he was. He couldn’t explain as to how or why, but in his head, he knew he was being sensible by not enclosing her in his misery.

Around Y/n he was calmer and more at peace – that was, nowadays, whenever she would catch him sulking on the campus somewhere. Almost all the time he wanted to be coddling her, holding her or being near her -- he knew she’d keep him sane, at the least but still he didn’t go to her. So he managed to comfort himself by the things that reminded him of her.

He felt such geat despair in that moment, when he would be sliding down the wall of his dorm as tears fell one after another from the slits of his eyes. He’d feel resentful of himself, but would still wrap his arms around his weak body and strangle his sobs because the walls were paper thin. He’d rest his head on his knees, back against the cold wall before he’d crawl to the foot of his bed and cry into the mattress as if it were his mum’s or Y/n’s lap.

The sun had begun its hideaway for multiple days on end, and it got dark way earlier. Although he'd liked to think that he was prepared for the season, for the entirety of the beautiful autumn, he knew he was just baffling to himself. His current state was proof for it.

He felt tired, always. Never sleeping and being irritated at the slightest mistakes made during practice -- whether it was with himself or with his teammates. He had no interest in eating or getting out of his dorm room in the mornings, which was extremely unusual of him. Exams were around the corner and as much as he'd like to say that he was ready to tackle them, it was a lie far far away from the truth.

He wasn't even sure what the syllabus was, if he was being completely honest.

By the end, his throat would be aching because of the stifled wails and the sun would have risen by the time he’d be done collecting himself, and then a headache would follow and his eyes would've dried up because of the night time that he used to study instead of sleeping.

Swiftly climbing down the flight of stairs to go to y/n's dorm, he felt the same kind of sensation he did when he was going back home for the winter break.

He knocked thrice, gently because he’s sure she's still sleeping or just woken up. There was a rush in his body, the thought of seeing her was making him more and more impatient. He was beginning to feel nervous, almost verging on anxious.

The door opened, and Y/n peeked through the small crack before and her eyes widened at the sight in front of her. He was standing right there, freshly showered and dressed in a fresh pair of clothes. His face was shining and as he smiled down at her, his dimples indented in his shaved cheek and she could smell the strong smell of his shaving cream that lingered around for a while. His lips were stretched so far that the front of his bunny could be seen from the small gap forming in between.

He didn't look much better than he did on the mornings that have passed them by since winter started, but he did seem to be in a better mood. It made her happy that he loved the hot pink hoodie that she bought him as much as she did. He had paired it with some joggers, and the shoes that, again, she had gifted him.

Tears pooled in her eyes in an instant and her nose flared a bit as her mouth swung open in a grin, spurts of laughter falling out as she gazed at him in disbelief.

She made herself fully visible and opened the door wider. Instead of saying anything, she closed her mouth shut, still smiling at him brightly, and opened her arms for him to lean into her.

"Good morning," he gritted through his teeth as she held him tightly, rubbing her back up and down as she broke down in his arms. Pushing the door shut with his leg.

“Good fucking morning,” she sobbed and hicupped, a crack in her voice indicating that this was the first time she'd spoken since she'd woken up, and that she would’ve begun screaming in victory if only she could stop the stuttering cries rushing out of her.

This was the sole reason she'd begun to dislike mornings less, in the first place -- the love she felt oozed out of her at the sight of Harry. But she hadn’t realized just how off and gloomy she had been this whole time until she broke down at the mere sight of him looking decent. All these mornings that she had to wake up knowing deep in her core her that she wouldn’t see the sun, no matter how much she begged for it to come out had put her in a despair so great that she couldn’t even fathom the feeling of it.

But when she’d woken up this morning to see the land outside covered in white snow, shining as sunlight fell on it filled her with a certain hope to the brim. It almost made her flinch, the way sunlight fell on her face as she laid in her bed, eyes swollen and pillow still wet with the tears she’d cried into it the night before.

"You look exceptionally good this morning," she said while pointedly eyeing him up, wiping off the snot with the sleeve of her hoodie. "All good?"

Harry laughed at that, picking her up and taking her to the unmade bed. It looked like she was in the process of making it because all of her stuffed animals were strewn all over the floor -- and she tends to sleep with them on the days Harry isn't there to take up more space than necessary.

“I would’ve been on my way to buy some flowers for you, had I not seen the snow outside. Got too excited to see you, couldn’t wait,” he spoke softly, like she was still in a fragile state.“Plus, it’s too cold outside and I’d like my golden girl to come with me… For the sunflowers only bloom at the sight of the sun,” he smiled with his eyes crinkling on ends, and dimples shying away from Y/n’s gaze.

“First of all, we need to talk and second of all – how many times did you reframe this cringy speech, Harry?”

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