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blkkizzat · 4 months

Note

please write nerd geto ! i’m sure you’ll write something amazinggg

Of course doll! Sorry this took a while I was sick most of December and January whooped my ass with classes starting again but I love love the idea of Nerd!Geto especially a Nerd!Geto with glasses so had to write a whole fic. Hope you like it :3 ♡

Lessons in Anatomy

“Shall I give you a lesson, Y/N? Do you want me to teach you how to squirt?”

summary: thanks to some bad choices and party girl ways you're on academic probation and can't afford to fail another test. fortunately your longtime friend nerd!geto is there to give you lessons in both economics and anatomy.

cw: college AU. fingering, squirting, dirty talk, edging, mentions of satosugu, rich party kid shit, incestuous friendships, mentions of reader x other jjk men, mentions of casual sex/hookups, mentions of drinking/drug use, reader is a dumb (and I mean dumb) bimbo, a little bit of a brat too, slight coercion, slight dubcon, virgin!suguru, soft dom!sugu, sex ed!sugu, roleplay as sugu is pre med major, some minor fluff, pet names: slut, bunny etc. a bit of a crack fic too haha. slightly black fem coded, no descriptors. a/n: LOL how this became an 8.2k fic about squirting idk chile... but special shout out to @littlemochabunni who talked me off a ledge when I was being emo and I wanted to scrap the entire thing and start over. w/c: 8.2k

“I can’t believe I’m here and missing the biggest party of the year!”

You groaned as you scrolled through your stories to see all the pics and vids of your friends living their best drunken lives and happily binge drinking on frat row to celebrate your school’s football league championship win.

Toru just did unassisted keg stand pushups and you missed it!

You, on the other hand, were stuck studying with Suguru in his dorm room.

100% sober and being forced to learn 5 weeks of econ, that you never took a single note for, in one weekend.

Well not forced exactly.

You and Satoru had practically begged Suguru to help you study this weekend. If you failed this class you would flunk out as you were already on academic probation.

“Well I for one can’t believe you’re dumb enough to attempt to cheat off Toji and Sukuna of all people.”

Suguru quipped back while pushing up his glasses. He snatched your phone away from you and placed it on the other side of his desk, away from you.

Not that he took offense to the remark, but he too had better things to do on a Friday night than tutoring you. Keggers definitely weren't his scene though and Suguru wouldn’t be caught dead at a party celebrating with those frat monkeys. Even if said monkeys included his childhood friends.

However, as a pre-med student he’d much rather stay in to write his essay for the clinical research internship he was trying to get.

“Hey! I didn’t cheat off them for the record! Toji and Sukuna said they had the hookup for the answers!”

You pouted grumbling as you tried to reach for your phone on the other side of the table only for Suguru to take it again. This time he slid it into his pockets, keeping it away from you for good.

“Urgh, it’s not my fault they got the test for ECON 230A and 230B mixed up. I didn’t even know there was a second section!”

Suguru had to resist the urge to roll his eyes at you again. The pilfered test definitely had ‘ECON 230B’ printed in big bold letters at the top.

You all were idiots.

Unfortunately for you, you were just a cheerleader idiot.

The other idiots, Toji and Sukuna, dubbed the ‘The Boom Bros’, were the reason your team even won the championships in the first place. The best defensive backs your college or any college in your division have seen, ever. Not letting an opposing team score more than 10 points the entire season, there was no way in hell they were going down for that right before the championships.

That left you as the scapegoat, which was something Suguru noted that you happily took the fall for. Although there is a very good possibility of you being a soon-to-be college dropout, your social clout was skyrocketing.

Word spread among the popular social circles fast on how you ‘saved the big game’.

Suguru couldn’t care less about football, though he was getting annoyed at all the texts, DMs and messages you received asking where you were. They were making you completely lose the little focus you were capable of, which is what made him confiscate your phone in the first place.

Sighing, Suguru was pretty sure you would be competent enough to pass if you just applied yourself more to anything other than drinking and parties.

“Y/N, just try to focus on studying, please.”

You pouted, turning back to the textbook in front of you.

How did Suguru’s nerdy ass enjoy studying so much?

Studying, especially anything to do with math, gives you an ick. In fact, you were sure the only reason you graduated from high school and even got into this university was because you played 7-minutes-in-heaven with Choso at the start of senior year.

It had been a secret double dare from Gojo but you sucked the soul out of that boy in Gojo’s closet that night. From then on, Choso pretty much did anything you wanted that year, including all your homework. Hell, he even wrote your college admissions essays and in turn you gave him some sloppy toppy here and there.

Choso was always eager to feel your soft lips on his cock, so you’re sure he could have thought of a better way for you to cheat so you didn't have to study at all and could be out partying right now. It’s just your bad luck that he was studying abroad this semester with his little brother Yuuji.

Although, even if you did flunk out you weren’t that worried. Worst case scenario if you couldn’t find a career or a husband you could always be one of Gojo’s three mistresses he said he would keep once he was older, married and had taken over his family’s company.

He had pinky-pie-promised he would take care of you if you needed it and as one of your best friends you knew he was good for that promise. Even if he did make it while you both were partying, tripping balls off acid so hard that Satoru convinced himself your cunt could produce cotton candy. He chewed on your pussy for 2 hours straight one wild night on your group’s graduation trip where he then asked if you would be his future mistress.

But that didn’t necessarily mean you wanted that life for yourself. You liked your independence and Satoru would be alot to deal with, even with 2 other mistresses and a wife.

Therefore, unless you wanted to resign yourself to that fate, you were stuck with Suguru as your tutor.

It’s not like you didn’t get along with Suguru, he’d been one of your closest friends since you were young along with Satoru. But as you got older your interests kind of drifted apart and you saw him less and less, especially as you got to college.

You wanted to party and Suguru prioritized studying.

You had missed him. You wanted to have fun with him again.

And this was definitely not fun.

Reading the same paragraph for the fifth time and retaining shit all of whatever the passage had said about ‘demand curve fluctuations’, you were ready to climb up the walls.

You began to fidget, still in your cheer uniform from the game earlier. The material of your skirt rode up to your upper thighs when you splayed your knees out and leaned forward to lay your head on the desk face down with an exasperated yawn.

Suguru shared in your exasperation but directed his towards you with another sigh, looking you over. His weariness at you from your inability to study causes his eyes to linger on your form longer than they should.

Resting against his desk, your back had molded into a nice natural little arch as your tits pushed forward . Adjusting his glasses Suguru found it difficult to pull his eyes away once they landed on your thighs. Practically leering, Suguru is transfixed by the way the fabric bunched at your hips digs into your soft skin.

He curses your university’s school colors as the next thing that caught his eye was the bright yellow cheer panties you wore that were tight enough to show the full shape of your cunt. Your panties are so skinforming that they don’t fail to give you camel toe. The indent of the slit between your fat pussy lips is on full display.

You’ve always been attractive, Suguru muses as he feels his pants slightly tighten. But it’s no mystery why you were such a slut now if these were the positions you found yourself in when alone with guys.

“Seeing something you like, Sugu baby?”

Suguru snaps his head up at your teasing to see you looking straight at him, your head still resting on his desk but has since turned to face him. The wink along with the lazy yet knowing smile forming on your cherry stained lips lets him know you know he was staring at your cunt.

Caught red handed, Suguru rolls his eyes and scoffs as he returns back to the textbooks in front of him while you laugh. Dismissing your question entirely he changes the subject back to studying but can’t resist throwing in a little dig to take the heat off himself.

“Y/N, can’t you just focus? You’ve barely made any progress… Or is it that you want to flunk out and be reduced to Toru’s mistress or something?”

Fuck, you forgot Suguru knew about that too. (Duh, of course he did. He was the sober one who found you both, taking care of you once your come downs had hit).

Not letting him get away with that shade, the brat in you clapped back as you returned his sarcasm back at him.

“Okay, well high school was one thing but do you want to go through college without getting any play too? Or are you satisfied just from peeking up a skirt?”

Annoyance flashes in Suguru’s eyes. He thought you had some audacity seeing as you were the one who was casually flaunting your pussy for him in the first place. Nevertheless, you continued, using Suguru as a punching bag for your current academic frustrations.

“Your pocket pussy and getting head from Toru behind the bleachers at prom doesn’t count by the way!”

Suguru pinched the bridge of his nose as his tolerance of the situation had officially bubbled over. He was tired of everyone thinking he was missing out on something just because he didn’t want to kill off brain cells partying every weekend or play STD Roulette with casual hookups.

You bringing up prom was a low blow. It was the first time he’d ever had a drink and Toru had practically begged him. Satoru wanted to know if his head was just as good for guys as it was for girls (spoiler alert: it was).

Also, what you thought just because you fucked around alot it was actually any good?

“Yeah and getting railed by a bunch of banana brained monkey jocks, that counts Y/N? They wouldn’t know what to do with your clit even if it was an actual football.”

Suguru retorted and he watched as your eyes widened with shock then seethed with anger as you finally sat upright in the seat.

Ding Ding! He had hit a nerve.

“Oh and you would know what to do, cherry boy?”

Suguru knows he probably shouldn’t push it further. But like Satoru, you always knew what buttons to push to get under his skin. Suguru can’t help but to want to get under your skin as well, especially since he was never one of the ones getting under your clothes.

“Well I can actually spell clitoris, so that already puts me at an advantage over those ball chasing monkeys. Have you ever even had a real orgasm before, Y/N?”

You started to speak but Suguru cut you off before you could.

“—and I mean one that didn’t come from tripping with Satoru or a toy? I bet you’ve never even squirted before.”

Damn.

You resisted the urge to chew on your lip, not wanting him to know just how right he was but your immediate silence was telling. Racking your brain, you tried to find a way to get your lick back but found yourself at a loss.

It was mostly true to be honest.

A hot and heavy make-out session at a party would typically lead to mostly underwhelming sex and you would have to return to your dorm or wait for them to leave to finish yourself off with your rose or dildo… or both.

Okay and sure, maybe the one and only time you did really have an intense body orgasm was the time you dropped acid with Satoru but… fuck –Wait…squirting?! Wasn’t that just pee? Gross!

Satisfied with your small ammunition, after a pause you bit back again.

“Alright, so frat boys aren’t sex gods, tell me something I don’t know. It’s still sex Suguru—”

You flipped your hair and crossed your legs arrogantly as you continued.

“— sex that you aren’t having, which, duh, is obvious if you think squirting is an actual thing. Because Eww nasty, I’m so not into piss-play, Sugu!”

You waited for his reply, assuring your win but Suguru just blinked at you, dumbfounded.

The thought of you having won shatters when Suguru erupts into a fit of laughter. Hitting the table for emphasis Suguru was near howling as the glasses fell off his face and he had to clutch his sides for support, keeling over in his chair.

Suguru couldn’t actually believe that you believed squirting was the same as urinating!

On second thought, knowing you, this kind of checked out…

Watching Suguru in a fit of hysterics had your face burning with embarrassment as waves of self-consciousness came over you.

To be honest, you weren’t even sure why you were feeling insecure as this was supposed to be your victory! This was not the reaction you expected from him at all to say the least!

Just what made this so funny!? Because you didn’t want to piss yourself during sex?!

“Sugu…”

“Hey, Suguru!!!”

Frustrated with him ignoring you and still laughing after failing to get his attention, you jumped up from your seat and marched directly in front of Suguru. Angrily you yanked his head up by his man bun.

You were so ready to tell Suguru to go to hell for laughing at you. Even if you weren’t too sure exactly what he was laughing at you for, he was still being a jerk right now.

However the words caught in your throat as soon as you saw his face.

Suguru’s wide grin easily illuminated the dimly lit dorm room. Tears gathered in the crinkle around his eyes and pulled into an expression of such warmth that you were reminded of all the fun times you had together goofing off over the years. You nearly forgot what it was like to see him laugh like this.

So nostalgic you almost forgot he was still laughing at your expense — almost.

“Don’t be an asshole Sugu…”

Your voice was low, lacking any real bite as all your fire fizzled and was replaced by a pout.

Defeated, you let go of your stiff grip on his silky bun causing it to unravel and frame his face with thick black strands that flowed down past his shoulders. Although it wasn’t the first time you had seen Suguru with his hair down and no glasses, you couldn’t help but stare at him now.

He had grown much more into his features since high school.

College Suguru had sharper eyes, a slimmer face with a strong jawline and hair that flowed down to his chest. Not to mention his lanky boyish frame had filled out. The muscles underneath were prominent now even if he was wearing a baggy band tee and sweats. Suguru didn’t go to parties but from the looks of him he certainly didn’t miss going to the gym.

He didn’t look much like the nerd you knew him to be right now at all.

Granted, you were still a bit salty with Suguru but didn’t want to fight with him anymore. Especially given the way his dark eyes sparkled as he gazed up at you, your heart nearly skipping a beat as if you were really only noticing him now for the first time.

Sniffling, a cocktail of emotions swirls in you. Moisture pricks in the corners of your eyes despite yourself.

Suguru, who was also staring at you, took notice right away.

“Hey Bunny, I’m sorry...”

You relaxed a bit hearing the old nickname he and Satoru gave to you back in middle school, you couldn’t remember the last time he called you that.

Grabbing your hand in his much larger one, Suguru gave your palm a gentle rub with his thumb. His hand was surprisingly soft.

Despite his sweet gesture, your brow twitched slightly at Suguru’s soft chuckles, still continuing albeit less frequently, at your expense.

“It’s just that… I dunno, I guess I would have expected you to have experienced it at least once before Y/N, it’s definitely not pee.”

You huffed. You still weren’t convinced it wasn’t pee but now you were more curious than anything.

“And how do you know that Suguru? You’ve made a girl squirt before?”

There was no sarcasm in your tone this time, just doubt since he would have told Toru and Toru definitely would have told you if Suguru was getting play from someone.

Suguru to his credit wasn't discouraged though.

If anything, he seemed to gain confidence on the matter now that you weren’t fighting him, rather looking to him for knowledge, for the first time tonight.

“Well, no, but I did get a 4.0 out of Anatomy last semester and unlike you I actually paid attention in Sex Ed. Also, just because I’m a virgin, doesn’t mean I’m completely clueless. There is a little thing called the internet, Y/N.”

You mouthed an ‘O’— a bit ashamed that you actually thought because he was a virgin who didn’t party he was merely just sitting around clueless to everything about sex.

But what could just reading textbooks and the internet teach him over actual experience?

Then again, Suguru was practically a genius, if he was saying something was possible you could be sure it was. Still you couldn’t stop your mind racing as you considered his previous words.

You were the one with all the experience so you should have experienced it before, right?

Maybe the guys you hooked up with weren’t the problem then? Maybe you were.

“What if– w-what if I’m the problem Suguru? What if I just can’t?”

Tugging you closer, his fingers now interlacing with yours, Suguru’s other hand settled on your hip giving you a warm squeeze. You were so close to him now that his chin almost rested on your belly and Suguru was craning his head up to you with a small sly grin still on his face.

“It’s not a matter of can or can’t Bunny, you just don’t know how. Shall I give you a lesson, Y/N?”

“Do you want me to teach you how to squirt?”

You felt a bit lightheaded as you considered the words that just came out of Suguru’s mouth. You weren’t shy at all when it came to matters of sex and you had the reputation to prove it. Yet your stomach still did a little flip at Suguru propositioning you.

Sure you were a bit of a slut and had at least made out with almost every guy in your group of friends, but not Suguru. Not for lack of attraction though, you had teased Suguru in the past but he had always been the responsible one, like an older brother or protector.

Besides, Satoru was always so needy for his attention. There weren’t often times you were with Suguru alone and he never seemed all too interested in sex either, at least when directly compared to a horn dog like Satoru.

You didn’t actually know if he was serious though so you decided to make light of it, giggling.

“If you wanted me to pop your cherry Sugu, all ya had to do was ask.”

Suguru smiled back at you, he shook his head chuckling.

“I’ll only need to use my fingers, Y/N. Besides, this is about you. What I really want is for you to not flunk out, I would miss you, ya know?”

You try to keep a poker face but you couldn’t help feeling giddy at the fact you were extremely happy to hear Suguru would miss you. You had already missed him and combined with the inkling of new feelings stirring in your chest from seeing your old friend in a new light you feel adrenaline begin to pump through you as you brim with nervous energy.

“Let’s think of this as a study break from Economics. You had to miss the party but we can still have some fun. You might even learn something for once, eh?”

His hand left your hip in order to push the books and papers on his desk aside and patted the wooden surface. The hand still intertwined with yours guided you over.

“Hop on up, Bunny. It’s time for your anatomy lesson.”

You look at the desk and pause as if you are unsure, biting your lip.

Thoughts of finally hooking up with Suguru excited and the fact you were nervous whether you would disappoint him if you couldn’t actually squirt flood your mind at once. However when you meet Suguru’s eyes and feel gentle reassuring pressure on your hand your body is already moving towards the desk, making the decision for you.

Your heart is already thudding in your eardrums by the time you settle on top of Suguru’s study desk. Suguru immediately shifts into instructor mode, picking his glasses up off the floor and adjusting them back on his face.

He directs you to lean back and relax and soon your shoulders are against the wall behind the desk as you are propped up on your elbows.

You yelp as Suguru startles you by grabbing your hips with a firm squeeze and scooches you flush to his pelvis. Feet propped up to the edge as well all you needed were the stirrups and you could have been at the gyno's office, giggling now at the thought.

“Sugu, you can’t be serious. I feel like you’re about to give me a pap, not an orgasm.”

Suguru’s mouth twitches up into a smirk.

“There’s a reason they have you lie in this position, makes for easier access. If you’re going to squirt I’m going to need to find that slutty lil’ gland of yours and I don’t mean your clit, Bunny.”

You huffed but you were otherwise agreeable.

You couldn’t deny you were a slut especially not now with your legs spread open wide exposing your bright yellow cheer-panty clad cunt to Suguru. Laid out like this, the thin layer of spandex is stretched to its absolute limits causing your chubby pussy lips to poke out of the sides. This does not go unnoticed by Suguru who hadn’t taken his eyes off your lower half since you initially spread your legs.

His Adam's apple bobbed heavily as he swallowed and breathed deeply at the sight of you.

Suguru can barely believe he’s really about to do this.

If anything he is overconfident in his abilities, despite his lack of actual on-the-job experience so to speak. From all his studying as a pre-med student, books, health articles and yes even porn, Suguru could say he had an in-depth understanding of human anatomy and bodily functions.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t need to calm himself enough to stop his balmy palms from sweating further at the reality of finally being allowed to actually touch you.

“I’ll be in your care then, Doctor Geto.”

You make a lighthearted joke with a nervous laugh to ease your own anticipation. However the joke has the opposite effect for Suguru and he snaps his head up as if you had activated something in him.

Suguru’s fiery expression sends shivers down your back. Although as quickly as it appeared it was gone again, replaced by his trademark comforting grin. Even so your fingers pressed a bit deeper into the wood beneath you, steadying your frazzling nerves.

“Well aren’t you a lucky one then, being my first patient ever. You’ll be a good little pussy and listen to me, won't you?”

Suguru is looking down again, speaking directly to your cunt who is tingling in response to his voice. It’s fucking lewd. But then again so is the studious scrutiny of Suguru’s eyes so single-mindedly transfixed to your cunt you wonder if his leer alone could dissolve the cheer panties right off of you.

You let go of the breath you didn’t realize you were holding once Suguru finally starts touching you.

But not your pussy just yet.

His long thick fingers are surprisingly cool on your skin as they press into your warmth, ghosting just above your knee on both sides.

Gentle strokes travel down along your inner thighs and up again to lightly tickle the backs of your legs. You tense and squirm beneath him when your eyes meet Suguru’s own.

“Sugu–”

“Patience, Bunny. It’s no wonder you never cum if you’re so used to diving right in. You need to relax first. This won’t happen if you aren’t relaxed, can you try to do that for me?”

You nodded back at him, yet the goosebumps left in the wake of Suguru’s soft caresses had you trembling. So used to rushed thrusts and hurried grasps, you don’t know how to just take it in the moment.

You had never been touched this delicately before.

Already oversensitive, if anything you felt like the one who was the virgin in this situation.

If Suguru notices, he says nothing. His touches are progressively firmer, the light pets morphing into soft squeezes and circular strokes of the hand once he traverses closer to your core.

“You know Bunny, the inner thigh area is an erogenous zone? Can you say that, Y/N? Ero-gen-ous?

Suguru pronounces the word out for you as his heavy muscular hands make their way to the crease of your inner thighs, his hands once more perilously close to your pussy as he pauses looking up at you again expectantly.

“Say it, Y/N.”

Your cunt clenches at his command and it leaves you stuttering. Heat blossoms across your cheeks from how needy you sound choking out the word.

“Er-Ero-gennn-ous.”

Suguru rewards you by moving his hands again but to your dismay they pass your core to dig into your hips, his thumbs swirling over your hip bones. He leans his body in closer to you and you break eye contact to turn your head away lest you really start falling apart in his hands.

“Good girl. Ya know, you’re quite bright with the right motivation, Bunny.”

Puffs of moist heat glide over the tip of your ear as his lips are only millimeters away from your skin. His words stimulate a deep in your gut reaching all the way down to your toes, trying to resist how much he’s affecting you.

Suguru chuckles at your bashfulness.

“Are you always this shy, Bunny? Or does that honor just belong to me?”

You whimpered. You aren’t sure how you got here.

How was Suguru, a nerdy virgin, making you come undone like this? You didn’t know where the darkness that crept up on the edges of his eyes was coming from either, yet you squirm in anticipation despite yourself.

You loved it.

Always a know-it-all, so you would hate to admit it outloud, but Suguru was already making you feel more excitement than any frat boy you had been with. Lack of hands-on experience be damned. You’re losing it as his lips sensually flutter against your collarbone.

“Y-you s-said only fingers, S-Sugu!”

Your voice lacks any real reprimand as you are arching up into his touches and quivering for more. Suguru obliges as he alternates between delicate nips and open mouth kisses sinfully marking you. Groaning into the crook of your neck Suguru savors the lingering taste of your perfume and the natural saltiness of your skin.

Returning his attention back to your ear Suguru’s breath trails over your skin until your lobe is once again trapped between his moist lips. He lightly tugs it between his teeth before giving it a sharp bite.

“AHH!”

The sting sends a jolt of electricity shooting straight into your cunt and a strangled noise escapes your lips. Your knees are starting to buckle but Suguru’s quick reflexes stopped your legs from clamping together all the way, bracing you.

Taking your hands and leading them to the backs of your thighs, Suguru is making you steady yourself back into a spread position for him and gives you strict instructions not to move.

“Good girl… This should be more than obvious now Bunny, but there are erogenous zones all over your body that connect to the pleasure nerve endings here.”

Suguru’s voice is silky as his index finger tows long strokes over the slit of your clothed cunt and applies pressure on your clit for emphasis. Whines fumble out of you when Suguru switches from steady swipes to idle flicks with pads of his fingers and your legs twitch again once more.

“It's important to simulate multiple areas simultaneously and I only have two hands, don’t I? You don’t mind Y/N do you?”

You still can’t bear to look Suguru in the eyes, much less respond vocally so you just shake your head.

“Feeling good, Bunny? Which do you like better, the strokes or the flicks?”

Your eyes squeeze shut from Suguru demonstrating both over your covered cunt. You try not to tear up but the amount of autonomy you had in this situation was new to you. Embarrassed and vulnerable you’re realizing that in spite of all your sexual experiences you still don’t feel comfortable expressing your needs.

“Hey, Y/N–”

Suguru clutches your face in his massive grip, squishing both your cheeks with a single hand and forcing your glassy eyes back on him. It was hard to focus on what he was saying anyway while you cooed from the feather-like circles he had been drawing on your clit.

“–you have to talk to me. This and sex in general, is just another form of communication. It won't work well and you definitely won’t squirt unless you can express to your partner what feels good and what doesn’t.”

You are sure he can feel the heat gathering in your cheeks radiating off your skin.

“Stop t-teasing S-Sugu… I-I know you can tell it’s good.”

Suguru eases his hold on you, his smirk deepening at your complaint.

“Oh I can, tell Bunny. Believe me. Your pussy, she’s so sensitive no matter how much you try to hide it from me. But I still need to hear it from your mouth regardless.”

The hand playing with your cunt splays out and Suguru fully cups you in his hands. The pulsing of your clit vibrates against his palm even through your panties.

“If you’re going to be a slut Bunny, at least be a vocal one. Be a slut for your own pleasure...this fat n’pretty cunt of yours deserves it.”

Suguru’s mouth is mere millimeters above yours, floating suspended both your lips are parted as you’re sharing the same air. The dizzying effect of breathing him in only intensifies with his words.

“Or perhaps you just get off on the idea of being free use?”

Suguru chuckles but doesn’t make you answer that question in favor of pulling back from you to inspect the large wet spot you soaked through your cheer panties from all of his taunting.

Pleased he gives your clothed pussy a smack, the moisture underneath the flimsy fabric evident in the soft squelchy sound that fills the room.

Smack, another moist sound echoes from your cunt.

“Oh, looks like she’s ready. This mouth down here is so much more talkative, Bunny.”

Hooking his fingers in the fabric Suguru peels your soaked cheer panties to the side, whistling at the thick strings of your essence that lingered between your cunt and your panties.

“So fucking wet, the prettiest most obedient lil’ pussy, aren’t you?”

A fleeting thought of sassing Suguru since yours is the first real pussy he has actually even seen up close dissipates as soon as your entrance flutters against his two thick fingers that rub over your uncovered opening.

Involuntary bucking your hips, the burning urge to feel him inside you is all you care about now, pride be damned.

You want him.

“Sugu–”

“–Shhh!”

Suguru cuts your pleas short.

“Don’t interrupt Doctor Geto when he’s speaking with his favorite patient, Bunny… Your nasty lil’ cunt is really begging for her treatment, isn’t she?”

You pout at him, quieting down while Suguru rewards your submission by slipping into your folds once more, entering fully past your entrance and into your gummy walls. It’s only a single digit inside you but your pussy is hungrily sucking him in deeper, trying to devour his middle finger whole.

Suguru murmurs intelligible obscenities from how warm and tight you are. He needs to find that spot.

Your hands struggle to keep your legs from quaking when you feel his finger, longer, thicker and far more pointed than your own, bottom out before languidly dragging delicious pressure back through you, exploring your walls in search of–

“Found her.”

Your ass jerks up and nearly off the desk entirely when his finger roughly prods into the firm spongy spot within your cunt you didn’t even know existed until now.

“FAH-FAH-FUHHCKKKKKKKKK–”

Your voice cracks and your vision blurs with tears that finally are cascading down your face smudging your mascara. Your reaction has you missing the wide-eyed look of amazement Suguru gives you utterly entranced by the way your entire body quivered from just a solid tap to the gland.

Suguru had expected an intense reaction. He’d seen and read about how temporary control of muscles and spasms were common when abusing this spot in women. But the one thing textbooks, articles, nor porn could prepare him for was how fucking sexy you’d be while he was doing it.

The ache in his pants has him groaning as he has to lean nearly his entire weight into you in order to get your lower half to settle back down on the desk. Pausing his movements inside of you, Suguru allows you to catch your breath.

Still the heavy pad of his finger is weighing down on you with enough force you still need to suck in your breaths, barely able to squeak out words.

“W-Wh-What is th-that S-Suguuu?!”

Suguru tells you not to worry about the actual name. It’s not very sexy, so you won’t remember it and it’s important that you do, so eventually he tells you to just call it the g-spot.

You groan at the loss of pressure on your g-spot when Suguru removes himself from you entirely in order to bring the finger that had been inside you to his lips. Watching him savoring the essence of your sweet cunt on his tongue, you couldn’t take any longer, finding your voice.

“Su-Surugu, N-Need–N-need more. P—please!”

Suguru obliges, slapping the fat of your ass teetering off the desk and lifts you as his knee slides under your hip. Leaning into you further, Suguru throws one of your shapely legs over his shoulder.

“Oh, you found your voice Bunny? Then tell me what my patient wants. Where does Doctor Geto need to touch you?”

“M-my pussy– fuck– p-please Sugu, wanna feel good there. She’ll be so good for you!”

Suguru’s pleased smile is your only warning before two of his large fingers plunge-in and bottom out inside your cunt, knocking against your cervix. Your jaw completely slacks as you groan at the sudden intrusion, allowing Suguru the perfect invitation to your mouth.

Wasting no time, Suguru crashes his lips into yours. The kiss is sloppy, hot and needy as any cries that attempted to leave you were drowned out in the wet cavern of Suguru’s mouth.

Fuck, you’re greedy as hell.

The kiss makes Suguru’s head spin and he loses himself in your sinful hunger as you wrap your arms around his neck and begin to dominate the kiss, sucking on his tongue. Soon Suguru finds himself groaning against your lips and slowly rocking his cock into the back of your thigh. Fuck, your body was too responsive, too eager for him to slut you out on his fingers.

Suguru couldn’t lose sight of the goal though, you needed to squirt so he needed to take back control.

Catching you off guard, he bullies a third finger– his ring finger, into your cunt as well. Breathless you break the kiss, your eyes sinking back into your head as you meet the thrusts of his fingers with the roll of your hips.

You aren’t able to control the way your body convulses as you writhe against Suguru. His massive body weighed over you as his hair fell in front of his face, hiding his crazed expression from you.

Suguru is also panting as he vigorously pumps the appendages into you. In and out, swirling them Suguru’s fingers take special care to zigzag sweet torment over your g-spot.

You’ve only felt the slight ghostings of this feeling before, nothing so pointed and focused on attacking this spot, while stretching your pussy so well in the process. You want– no need, to feel Suguru’s cock inside you next.

You could tell he must be huge. Heat was radiating off his girthy bulge as it twitched up against your ass cheek even through Suguru’s joggers. The thought causes the hot iron coil in your stomach to tense to its breaking point, begging for release.

Suguru notices.

“A-Are you gonna squirt for me, Y/N?”

For the first time his own voice is ragged, set on keeping his promise to you.

“S-Sugu, I-I– I want to but I–”

Your words catch in your throat as tears that are salty to the taste freely flow past your lips down your chin. You are unsure of what exactly to beg Suguru for even if you could do more than unintelligible babbles at the moment.

It’s coming– you panic— this feeling!

“W-w-ait! Nooo, S–Su–Sugu… I’m g-gonna pee. S-stop, p-puhleaseee!

Your hands slip against Suguru’s shoulders as you try in vain to push him away. So fearful that Suguru was wrong and you may actually piss all over him and his desk.

Suguru isn’t having it though, backhanding your clit with a harsh smack, his knuckle bullying into your bud.

The slap was followed by two more in quick succession, his other hand never slowing inside of you. Disregarding your pleas Suguru ventures even deeper into your guts while pressing down on your lower belly.

“I told you it’s not pee, Bunny. You don’t listen very well, do you?”

Suguru hiss at you, the stress of holding himself back as you fall apart on his fingers was nearly too much, he needed you to lay back, be good for him and take it.

“I-I’m s-sowy, Dr. Geto but– I– wanna–.”

You sniffle back more tears, which has Suguru calming himself in order to soothe you again.

“Shh Bunny, it’s okay– now ask your doctor nicely for what you need. Go on.”

At this point cuming, squirting, whatever Suguru you requires of you in order to release the feral sensations building within you is an essential need to live as much as taking your next breath.

“Doctor Geto, please let me cum! Sugu please! G-gonna s-squirt, gonna squirt s-so g-good for you!!”

“That’s right baby you will… Now squirt on me Bunny, make a pretty mess all over my fucking fingers.”

Timing a particularly hard jolt to your g-spot with simultaneous pressure from over your belly, has you tipping over the edge. Back arching you feel the gratifying release as you squirt hard, fluids spurting all over Suguru’s fingers and spilling down his forearms. The saccharine pleasure of it all is buzzing throughout every cell in your body as your eyes flutter back into your skull.

Your entire body feels like an extension of your pussy, pulsing in tune with your cunt and you don’t realize you are even screaming until Suguru’s mouth is on top of yours once again.

Suguru is tongue fucking your wails all the way back into the depths of your throat until they are mere raspy gurgles.

Riding out your orgasm you protest with choked cries as Suguru's hand abruptly leaves your cunt. Yet before you can process what’s happening you’re mewling loudly again once you feel his lips attacking your cunt. Sucking your clit between his lips, his own groans vibrate into your core making you all the more sensitive.

Your hands fly to him again, tangling up in his long raven locks and trying to push his head away.

Too much! You were far too sensitive right now for him to be lapping at your over stimmed cunt like a mad man.

“Stawwp–”

Your slurs fall on deaf ears as Suguru continues, only pulling back briefly to shush you.

“Haven’t got it all out. This pretty pussy is so fucking nasty she can give a little more, can’t you baby? I know she can.”

Suguru is speaking to you but he sounds a million miles away, focused only on your cunt as he returns to suckling on your clit, his teeth scraping lightly. He knows your pussy will give him the answer he is looking for soon enough.

The iron grip his arms have around your thighs holds you down allowing Suguru unimpeded access to dribble globs of his spit into your folds. His tongue flattens over your clit and his eyes smolder into yours before diving back into your pussy.

So close to cumming yet again your thick thighs clench around him as you unintentionally smother his face deeper into your core. Suguru ignores any need to take breaths, your cunt being the only sustenance needed as he rams his tongue further into your convulsing hole.

Shaking his head around sloppily, Suguru is goading your cunt into giving him more and more. His tongue is a mere worshiper in the temple between your thighs, begging your leaking pussy to give him the last morsels of your squirt.

Not having the willpower to deny him, your pussy gushes out more onto his tongue and shamelessly he swallows all of it as you cum all over again.

By the time Suguru detaches himself from your cunt he looks almost as wrecked as you: hair is matting to the sides of his face, his glasses are clouded with slick and your juices are dripping down his chin.

Although, now that Suguru has had a taste of you he is left craving more. Not letting a single drop of your juices go to waste Suguru is ferally slurping the drippings off your thighs and lowering his head to even zamboni the overflow of your essence off the desk beneath you. Ravenous with thirst for you Suguru is even using his mouth to squeeze out any droplets he could retrieve from your soaked cheer panties.

You on the other hand could only heave as you gasped for breath. Your legs are still twitching in the after shock of your intense orgasm and squirt session. Dizzy and dazed you feel yourself fading out, unsure of how much time has passed or what Suguru was still doing between your legs until the familiar ring of your phone slowly guides you back into the present.

Wiping his face with the back of his hand Suguru stands up and pulls your phone out of his pocket.

The phone is still ringing as he looks down at it and snickers.

“It’s Toru, Y/N. Answer it.”

You give Suguru a frowny pout. You were barely conscious right now, you couldn't handle a drunkenly energetic Satoru.

Seeing you making no attempts to move, Suguru answers it for you and Satoru’s voice overflows through the speakerphone.

“Y/N! Y/N! Where are ya at!? We need the beer pong queen to make her appearance, I need a partner! Nanamin is too good to beat without you!”

Suguru held the phone out to you but you could respond in labored puffs.

“Y/N is taking a study break, a bit tired after her lesson.”

“–Oh it's you Suguru!”

You end up tuning Satoru out as he’s begging Suguru to come to the party with you which you already knew wasn’t going to happen even if he didn’t just make you squirt all over him.

Willing yourself to sit up, your body is immediately revitalized when your eye is drawn to how bricked Suguru currently is in his dark gray sweats.

Suguru arches his brow in amusement as you pull him forward by the band of his joggers. You hurriedly fumble to untie them, pushing them and his boxers down to reveal his hard cock.

The sight of it nearly has you squeeing.

You practically have hearts in your eyes as you gawk at Suguru’s cock, it’s the prettiest you’ve ever seen. The way his girth swayed in front of you as pre marbles on the tip has you openly salivating. To say his length and thickness is above average, was a massive understatement.

You can’t estimate a size but you know he is huge as you eye the a large vein on the underside of his cock that seemed to weigh him down even though fully erect. You squirmed at the thought of that vein scraping inside your pussy as Suguru pounded you.

You need to feel it. Now.

Nevertheless, it isn’t until Suguru snaps his fingers in front of your face did you realize Gojo was now addressing you again through the phone.

“Y/N! You there?! I failed with Sugu! He’s lame! But you’ll be here soon right???”

A sharp contrast to just 30 mins earlier but partying was the last thing on your mind now. You needed to get Satoru off the phone and Suguru’s cock inside you expeditiously.

“Mhm-nh, Toru sorry, I–I really need to get a good grade. I need Sugu to tutor me a bit more. C-Can’t afford to flunk out!”

Although you had teased Suguru earlier about popping his cherry, you didn’t care if he was a virgin now. He had more than proved himself despite his lack of hands-on sexual experience.

You weren’t really paying attention to Satoru any longer as Suguru motions for you to lay back again. Readily, you get in position returning your legs to a stirrup pose.

Suguru rewards your obedience with his cock slapping against your clit.

“Mmmm…FUHH-CK-AH!”

You don’t care that Satoru is still on the line as Suguru is slipping his cock under your cheer panties, rubbing his fat tip along your folds. His cock sandwiched between your messy cunt and the soaked fabric has Suguru groaning at the crazy sensation, he could bust like this for sure.

“Huh? Oh.. OHHHHHH! Haha, I see, I see! Suguru’s lessons are the best, aren’t they Y/N?”

You’re openly moaning now. Barely registering Toru’s words as Suguru grunts, increasing the pace he’s bullying his cockhead across your clit.

“Y-yeah, the besssst-ahhh!”

Satoru, feeling more than a bit left out, starts pouting over the phone.

“Hey, no fair playing with Bunny without me Sugu! Let me join ne–”

Suguru abruptly cuts Satoru’s complaints short, hanging up on him while still rutting his tip over your pussy. His pre leaking out in globs and mixing with your own cum still dripping from you.

He wanted you all to himself, for now at least.

Satoru could fuck off.

“Gawwd Sugu–just fuck m–”

You abruptly stop as your face falls in realization when you feel his warm cum pour over your mound and into your cheer panties.

Suguru is spilling so much of his thick load into you it's even coming out the sides of your cheer panties and running down into the crack of your ass. A few more jerks of his cock through your folds and he is quickly pulling back to tuck his softening length back into his sweats.

“N-no,no no no S-Sugu! Suguru! I-t’s okay you came fast but please— fuck me. I’ll even let you raw me and cum inside puhleaseeee Sugu– need to squirt again all over your cock!”

You don’t know the kind of willpower it takes Suguru to refuse you.

Probably one of the hardest things he’s done in his life, especially as fresh tears trickle from your eyes and he knows you’d be crying just as adorably on his cock. You were too sexy, too perfect and he wanted to fuck you just as badly as he knew you wanted him to.

BUT– more importantly he wanted to enjoy you more than for a quick fuck and if he indulged you now, he couldn’t promise he wouldn’t be relentlessly tearing up your sweet slutty pussy all night.

If you didn’t start studying for real you were definitely going to get kicked out of school and he can’t have that, especially not now after this.

Masking his own lust with a stern instructor voice Suguru chastises you as he ties his hair back onto a bun and begins to give his glasses a proper cleaning before adjusting the books and papers on his desks around you back into their correct piles.

“Absolutely out of the question. Now be a good girl and pull up your panties, Y/N. We have a lot of ground to cover tonight.”

Sticky with Suguru’s cum, frustrated and still horny you groaned loudly but obeyed. You knew Suguru meant business.

You hoped if you listened to him well enough you’d get what you wanted by the end of the night. It would suck for you to suffer through studying but it was the best motivation you had in literal years.

Unfortunately for you, Suguru, focused on the bigger picture, had a larger goal in mind.

“Only smart sluts get dick, Bunny. You’d better get an A on that exam Monday if you really want this cock.”

a/n: I would be willing to write a part 2 (some time in the future) of y/n popping Sugu cherry or even y/n getting double teamed by 'The Boom Bros' as a 'thank you' for taking the fall for them if there was interest. I'm kind of fond of this little college AU.

Reblog for an anatomy lesson from Nerd!Geto but likes and comments are also appreciated as always!

NEXT is back to my own ficcys! Upcoming: The Nursery - Yakuza!Toji x Y/N - teaser/taglist: ╰┈➤here. Delays cause I've been without my adhd meds and getting the first part of the fic beta'd for once but I FINALLY got them today and was able to finish this fic so hopefully I can get back on track! send me good vibes y'all!

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alphabetboyluvr · 3 months

Text

the curious lifespan of migrating monarchs - jjk

THE CURIOUS LIFESPAN OF MIGRATING MONARCHS (& other aurelian affairs)

pairing: streamer!jk x international student!female oc (s2l)

warnings: strangers to lovers, clubbing, foul language, alcohol, vaping lol, jungkook is kinda famous, the oc is oblivious, the oc is also a foreign student who has very recently arrived in Korea!! (pls note - while i've been in korean uni dorms, i've never been in yonsei dorms specifically so don't shout at me if it isn't supeeeerr accurate), jaykay is speaking in eng for like 90% of this!!, i've also never watched a gaming streamer and had to do so for research lmao so there's a lot of guesswork going awwwn <3, the oc has tattoos, they bond over this, cute nicknames (tokki and nabi <3), one bed trope?? kinda, jaykay lives w/ yoongi and tae (they are streamers too (and dj?? (tae is a bit unhinged))), jungkook wears calvins!, a singular appearance of yoongi in his boxers!!, tipsy hookup, fingering, protected sex (woo!), desk sex, oral (m receiving), girliepop swallows <3, brief mentions of jungkook's starry eyes, lots of kisses, bunny ears, (1) mention of cross-fit

wordcount: 13011

note from holly: this was a commission done for the lovely Michelle over on my kofi page!! i don't open commissions often, but when I do I'm very lucky that the requests are so much fun. this actually ended up being way longer than it was supposed to be lol and is also available on wattpad!! also fun facts for you - I imagine the boys apartment (and jks room!) to be same as jk + jimins place in BD, just a little bigger lmao

minors dni // cross posted to wattpad

CLUB SUNDOWN WAUSAN-RO, HONGDAE SATURDAY 02:24

Time ceases to exist after the sun goes down in Seoul. It could be two, or it could be five. The only thing that really clues you in on the actual time is the DJ schedule that lights up behind the decks: 02:00-03:00, Blu-Tae.

It's some guy you've never heard of. Looks no older than you. Probably a student, just like the rest of the crowd.

His hair is as blue as his namesake, which does make you smile, and his choices aren't bad either (even if somewhat questionable). You've never heard a jazz remix of Darude's Sandstorm before, and you doubt you ever will again.

Club Sundown is just as rogue as the rest of the city after the sun goes down. Hidden in the basement—like all the best places in Seoul are—the small room is packed to the absolute brim.

Who cares for views and sunsets offered by rooftop bars when you could lose yourself in the debauchery of an eternal midnight, instead?

Drinks are spilt on strangers, and dances have lost the grandeur of old-fashioned waltzes. It's not like you could dance properly, even if you wanted to. There's just simply no space.

Like Alice, you're down the rabbit hole—and oh, how you prefer it to being in the real world. In the shadows, you can be anyone you like.

If you were sober, you'd know this is also the case for daily life. You're in a new country with no ties to your former self. Who you are is who you choose to be.

But the shadows aren't all that dark. The red lights of the club bleed into the cracks, painting everyone in the same subtle hue of danger.

They shine a little light on the identifiers of you; the thin black lines of your patchwork tattoos. Trailing up your arm, they're memories of your past selves, and an indicator of who you hope to become.

"Down this," you say to your dormmate, Rae, handing back over the drink you've just ordered from the bar. "Cloakroom, then dance."

Still carrying your winter coats, you'd wanted to check the place out before committing to it. Entry is free, but the cloakroom is the same price as a drink. It would only be worth putting your coats away if you knew you wanted to stay—and given the fact the DJ was playing O-Zone's Dragostea Din Tei as you entered, you know it's a no-brainer. While his stage name might make you roll your eyes a little, Blu-Tae certainly does cater to your tastes. When you're drunk, and music vibrates through you, it's empyrean. No place you'd rather be.

"Oh, Jesus," Rae gags as she sips the drink you've just handed her. Despite her disgust, she's laughing. Head to toe in black, dark hair loose around her shoulders, she's been your ride-or-die since you arrived in Seoul. Both international students in the same dorm, there's no one you'd rather get up to no good with. "Vodka?!"

You beam at her like you're from the heavens above, wrongfully relegated to the depths of sin. Pretend like you love vodka. It's totally not like you panicked when you saw the menu was all in Korean.

Vodka-coke is a universally understood delicacy—the easiest thing for you to order without making a tit of yourself or butchering the pronunciation. When the bartender ignored your botched attempt at ordering in Korean and answered in fluent English, you'd wanted to melt into the floor. So embarrassing.

You're here, like most foreign students, for a language course. Semester is yet to start, and as much as you've studied and practised hard, it's always different when putting it into practice.

"I'm sorry," you laugh. "It's fine—you can order next time!"

But Rae has the exact same predicament as you. If anything, your language skills are better than hers, so you really have no hope. It's vodka-cokes for the evening, or maybe highballs. Once your tipsy brain manages to compute hangul cocktail names, you'll be golden, but that won't be for another few weeks, yet.

You'll look back at this time of your life fondly, realising how simple it all was, even if it feels incredibly overwhelming right now.

Funnily enough, hope is exactly what you have: for the semester ahead, for this new life you're forging, for the opportunities that may come your way.

In fact, by the time you're on your third vodka coke, you've managed to convince yourself you actually like it. You also can't taste it, thanks to the bartender freepouring a 60-40 ratio of vodka to coke in the first drink. Your tastebuds were wiped out pretty much instantly.

Coats in the cloakroom, you're glad to be wearing thin layers. The room is stuffy; your skin sweaty. While meeting new friends had been the goal, you keep to yourself. Dance like nobody is watching. Hold Rae's hands to stay close and ward off weirdos. Quickly realise that clubs back home are slightly different. Pay it no mind. Ignore the intrusions of hands on waists, because men, disappointingly, are no different.

Or at least most of them aren't.

But most of them don't look like the man in the corner booth, laughing with his friends.

Though he is tall, he's eclipsed by his demeanour. Shoulders broad, he's in a dark T-shirt and pair of jeans. Nothing special. Nothing that warrants such a perplexed stare from you - but he's familiar. You can't place him, but he's got the kind of face you swear you've seen before.

Rae doesn't notice the change in your poise, nor how you're desperately trying to work out where you know him from. Perhaps you've seen him around your university? It's only been a couple of weeks, but people are steadily moving in. Maybe he works at the convenience store you constantly find yourself in? Or mans the front desk of the noraebang you and Rae visit pretty much every other evening?

Impossible, you think. If you'd seen him before, you wouldn't have forgotten him, or the way he constantly toys with his lip rings. Plural. There are signs up around the place stating bar rules. NO SMOKING is rule number three. You've seen his friends pass him over a vape a handful of times. Anyone else, and you'd think it was cringe. Embarrassing.

But in the midst of his laughter settling, and a fresh toke being inhaled, his eyes flicker towards yours.

Perhaps it's just because you're drunk, but you don't avert your gaze. Show no shame. The smile on his lips sinks into a smirk as he exhales. An acknowledgement. A 'hello, trouble'.

Again, any other man, you'd find the vape smoke repugnant. Nasty. Now? Watching the way he flicks his tongue against his lip rings?

You wanna know how it tastes.

Black ink weaves an intricate outline of who he is up his arms. Where he's been. Who he's been. A map, if you will, of his soul.

Much like your own tattoos, he's got thick black lines, and little else. Simple, you assume. A man of convenience. Efficiency.

You wonder if he does everything in life with the precision to match his tattoos, and as your lips wrap around the straw of your vodka-coke, you decide you'd quite like to find out.

Interrupted by Rae pulling you deeper into the crowd, your night is spent in and out of shadows. Attempt subtlety. Try not to make your occasional glances to the corner booth noticeable, just checking if his eyes are still on you. More often than not, they aren't—but sometimes they are, and that's enough to fuel your little flirt.

It's not until the sign behind the DJ booth changes from 03:00-04:00, GLOSS into some other guy that you notice your staring contest opponent has slipped into the shadows himself. The booth is void of both him and his friends. Gone.

"GLOSS has a set at another club," Rae all but yells in your ear, and even then, you barely hear her. "All the hotties left when he did. Let's go."

"Where to?!" You laugh, empty cup in hand. Admittedly, the new guy who's stepped into the DJ booth is just not doing it for you. Blu-Tae was just the right amount of unhinged with classics, whereas GLOSS was definitely cooler, but still fun. Had the club yelling curse words over trap remixes just for the fun of it. This new guy, whose name you don't care to remember, takes himself too seriously, you think.

"It's, like, two blocks down," she yells back, tugging on your wrist to drag you to the stairwell that leads you back up to the streets of Seoul. The hustle and bustle of people trying to go in different directions in the tight place forces you apart, but you figure you'll catch up with her, or that she'll be waiting at the top.

You don't know the roads well enough yet to make it to whichever club it's at alone, and quickly realise when you nearly tumble into the side of a waiting taxi that you're far drunker than expected. Knew the bartender was freepouring, but didn't realise just how free those pours really were.

"Woah, easy trouble," a deep voice sounds from behind you as you're steadied to a more stable position.

"I'm good, I'm good!" You insist, shaking off the hands of your 'saviour'. Have no interest in being a damsel in distress, or some sober guy trying to take advantage of you.

Looking down to check your laces are tied properly, you check over your shoulder to make sure the guy isn't creepily waiting for a thank you that he can turn into an intrusive game of 21 questions—'are you open-minded?' or 'do you live alone?'—but when you glance in his direction, you regret it. Notice the tattoos immediately. Recognise the eyes. Want to die.

"Oh."

"Oh," he says back with a smile, imitating you. Suddenly, the confidence you'd had earlier when looking at him from afar dissolves into nothingness, just like the alcohol in your bloodstream. You feel rather sober, but your body would definitely disagree. "You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," you nod, suddenly a little stuck for words, desperately trying to play things cool. "Are you okay?"

The pouting of his lips as his tongue runs along the inside of his cheek only serves to make you internally cringe. Men who look like him have no business being on streets like this. Should be in a museum. Strung up on the walls with the other masterpieces. Admired by everyone who looks his way.

In a way you don't yet realise, he is.

Though he's not in galleries, he's often burning into people's laptop screens. Is the background of a fair few thousand lock screens. Indeed, he is admired by everyone who looks his way, just not in the traditional sense.

"I'm not the one who just fell into a car," he reminds you, as if you could forget your embarrassment so quickly.

"Was just seeing if you'd catch me," you bullshit, the confidence you usually have returning tenfold. Was just a momentary blip. He's just a man, after all.

"Oh?" He chirps, decidedly curious. "So you fell for me?"

"Stumbled."

"Semantics."

His fluency, and the fact he just said 'semantics' so casually in conversation, clues you in on the fact he might be a language student, too.

Could be useful study partners for each other, you think, then mentally berate yourself for already masterminding ways to see him again.

"So, where you going?" He asks, not caring to downplay his curiosity. The bartenders were free-pouring his drinks just as severely as they poured yours. The only difference is that his were on the house—'cause you were right. He does have a recognisable face. "Should probably go with you. Make sure you don't fall into the road."

"Stumble," you insist, a little pleased with the boldness of his suggestion, but not wanting to blindly agree. "My friend," you say glancing around, only to find yourself completely alone. "She wanted to go catch the next GLOSS set. So, I guess that's where we're going."

"Just down the road," he says, knowing the schedule like the back of his hand. Bounces from club to club supporting his friends, just like they would for him. If he wanted, he could get a slot up there, too. He doesn't care for it. "I'll walk with you, if you want? My friends are heading there anyway."

It's not a bad offer.

In fact, it's probably the best offer you'll get all night.

"C'mon," he nods his head to the side, encouraging you to follow him. Checks his phone for the time. "Starts in five."

If there's one thing you've indulged in since moving to Seoul, it's how safe you always feel. Security cameras are on every corner, and you've walked home countless times without any issues, even late into the night. While the place isn't perfect, it's far safer than your home country.

Still, you're not a complete idiot.

"It's not wise to follow strange men down dark alleys," you tell him.

He holds out his hand. Waits for you to shake it. Cocks a brow when you hesitate, so introduces himself.

"Jungkook. Nice to meet you. Now, can we please hurry up? I promised I'd be there."

Narrowing your eyes, you don't shake his hand. Arms folded over your chest, there is ice to your exterior, and given how warm his eyes are, you doubt it'll last for very long. May as well keep up this hard-to-get act while you still can.

Walking on past him, you call back, "Alright then. Lead the way."

In the domed mirror meant for reversing cars at the end of a tight alley, you see him laugh. "Wrong way, idiot."

Pausing, you scrunch your face up. Don't turn to face him for at least a second or so—but when you do, you're surprised to see him walking towards you. Hooking his arm around your waist, he carries on walking in the 'wrong' direction, taking you with him.

"Was just fucking with you," he grins. Nods towards a sign by another basement entrance, listing both Blu-Tae and GLOSS.

By the door, Rae is looking around like a mother duck who's just lost some of her ducklings when crossing the road. Breathes a sigh of relief when she spots you.

"C'mon," she grins, then realises who you're with. Says nothing of it, 'cause she doesn't want to be weird, but she recognises him, too. Decides she's just had a little too much to drink. There's no way it's him. Holds out her hand for you.

Reaching out for her, you're let go from Jungkook's grip, ready to get lost in the lights once more.

HAEJANG24 WAUSAN-RO, HONGDAE SATURDAY 05:53

Seoul is a city for the nocturnal. The restaurants and bars are open until the last men are standing. Given how much you've had to drink, you're surprised you still are.

Rae had dipped an hour or so ago. Had hit it off with Mr Blu-Tae himself. Seduced him with the suggestion that their couple name would be Blu-Rae. He'd said they should go to a DVD-bang. Would be fitting. See what Blu-rays were on file.

Naturally, you'd looked on with mild disgust and also admiration for how quickly she'd worked her magic. Everyone knows what goes down in DVD-bangs. Small private rooms, often with projector screens and the world's least comfortable futons, they're somewhere you hope to never end up—but also can't wait to hear all the details the next morning when Rae comes to your room for a debrief.

You'd been left under the surveillance of Jungkook.

"Look after her," Rae had instructed, then narrowed her eyes. "Or I'll destroy your reputation with a single twitter thread, Tokki."

It's a threat he's taken seriously. Knows how the internet works, and even though he's never done anything worthy of a cancellation, he also doesn't intend on starting now. The fact you seem to have no idea who he is during the daylight hours intrigues him. It's a rarity on streets like these.

Even when a few people asked for pictures with him on your walk to the hangover soup place, you didn't clock it as weird. Figured they were friends passing by, wanting to document their chance run-in. Just another memory of the night. The way Jungkook had greeted them was full of warmth, and kindness. Why wouldn't you assume they were mates?

You were also still incredibly drunk at the time, so didn't think to question it. Was keen for food, and Jungkook had insisted on hangover soup, and so that's where you are. Dishes nearly empty, far more of it eaten by him than you, you're laughing about nothing and everything all at once.

"Right," Jungkook declares, deciding he cannot hold in a question that's been tickling at his brain for the entire meal. "What the fuck is that?"

Coat left in the cloakroom, long forgotten about, your tattoos are on full display for him, just like his are for you. Up your arm they trail; a patchwork of teeny tiny identifiers. Latin phrases around skulls, birth flowers of the people you hold close, butterflies and stars. There's an ode to your favourite musician and your favourite Shakespeare quote, too. The fabric of you etched into your skin. There's no reinventing yourself, even half the world away from home.

You know precisely which tattoo Jungkook is asking about. You've asked yourself the same question a few times.

"Fuck off," you laugh.

While most of your tattoos are gorgeous, there's one that was done by a rogue artist on a girlie holiday a few years ago. What was supposed to be a seashell now looks like... well, nothing really. It's just a blob, thanks to the artist being absolutely terrible. The only solace you find in it is that your two best friends have an equally awful permanent reminder of that holiday on their bodies, too.

"It doesn't look how it's supposed to," you explain with a little pout. "I got royally screwed over."

He cocks a brow. You still haven't told him what it is. He isn't gonna ask you twice.

With a grumble, you feebly admit, "A shell."

And then he's laughing. Really laughing. Laughing so hard you think he might piss himself—which you'd actually prefer, because then he could be the embarrassed one, instead.

"I'm calling you Shelly from now on," he says with a broad smile. Has had his fair share of tattoo blunders, and knows you must've developed an affection towards how shitty it is. Would have gotten it covered up, otherwise. "That's incredible."

"You're calling me so such thing," you assure him, but you also can't help but laugh.

"I am," he tells you, then really solidifies it. "Shelly."

"Fuck off," you whine, doubling down. Scanning his arms, you try and pick out anything you can use against him, too. "If I'm Shelly, then you're Mike."

"Mike?!" He protests.

"Yeah," you insist, pointing towards the microphone on his forearm. "Mike."

"You are not calling me Mike. Do I look like a Mike?!"

"Do I look like a Shelly?!"

You've got a point. It's not the name he would have first associated with you - but it is cute, he thinks. Cute how mortified you seem. Cute how you can't help but smile.

After a little bit of back and forth, it's decided that neither of you look like your namesakes.

"Y'know, we kinda have matching tattoos," he says, holding out his arm for you to study. "Or at least, the placements."

And sure enough, below his elbow lives the outline of a bunny sitting on a crescent moon. Holding your own arm out next to his, below your elbow is a butterfly. Above it, is a teeny tiny moon.

Like Jungkook's moon, it's a crescent. Was supposed to symbolise new beginnings. You wonder what his means, but don't ask. Instead, you marvel at the coincidence of it all.

He presses his index finger against the butterfly on the inside of your forearm. The echoing chatter of the restaurant fades softly into nothingness as he says, "Nabi."

You nod. Even if you have spoken with him in English this entire time, it's nice to hear him speak in his mother tongue, no matter how minimal - so you reciprocate. Press your index finger against his bunny. Smile. Say, "Tokki."

It further confirms to Jungkook that you have no idea who he is. Has been a while since he's met a girl in a circumstance like this where that's the case. Likes the anonymity of it all. Is hiding his identity from you, and yet hasn't felt such vulnerability for years.

"Daltokki, right?" You continue, not wanting the silence to linger for too long. "The rabbit in the moon?"

You're not wrong, but you're also not entirely right.

"Yeah," he smiles regardless. "That's it."

JUNGKOOK'S APARTMENT ITAEWON-DONG, YONGSAN-GU SATURDAY 07:12

"Shhh," Jungkook quietly laughs.

His hand is over your mouth and the other is on your hip as he guides you into his apartment. With your back to his chest, you've both been giggling for the entire ride to his place.

He had insisted that he should walk you home, and was surprised by the offense you seemed to have taken by this. You then told him that he absolutely could not seduce you, and that it was very gender-role-conforming for him to think that you were incapable of getting home by yourself.

"Maybe I should be the one to make sure you get home safely," you had said with a false sense of concern, which had made him laugh quite considerably.

In all reality, you didn't mind him offering to get you home. You just hadn't tidied your room. Didn't really expect to be taking a boy back to your place, much less one that looks like him.

Together, you'd caught the early morning bus over to Itaewon instead of a taxi, 'cause you're still on a student budget and Jungkook wasn't quite ready to blow his cover just yet.

You've been teasing him—questioning his status as a potential International Super Spy—ever since he took your hand and guided you into one of the flashiest apartment complexes you've ever been in. There was security. Doormen. A passcode for the elevator—not to mention that he was heading up to the seventh floor once you were in it. Might not sound like much, but when there are only seven floors to the entire building, it makes it the penthouse by default.

"It's not a penthouse," he'd insisted. "Plus, I live with friends. Only pay a third of the rent."

But a third of his rent is more money than you'll probably see in three months of post-grad work. You're drunk, but you're not stupid. You also know that the rental market here differs significantly from your home country. Monthly rent is cheap, but the deposits are extortionate. Sure, he'll get it back when he leaves, but to have the initial money needed for a place like this? He's not a regular student, if one at all, that much is sure.

"Not sure who's home," Jungkook whispers as you both kick your shoes off in the entryway. Given the looks of the other shoes, it's clear that this is a guys-only living situation. You're proven right when he continues, "Betcha Tae's still in that damn DVD-bang, but Yoongi might be back."

"Yoongi?" You question.

"GLOSS," Jungkook says, remembering how oblivious you are to who he is. Reaching down to grab your shoes, he isn't gonna leave them by the door. Will take them to his room. Doesn't want the boys asking questions, if they are in. Knows they'll just use it as an excuse to publicly roast him whenever they're next online together.

Given that a stream is scheduled for Sunday night, he doesn't want to tempt fate.

Their current choice of wind-up, which the viewers have been eating up, is the joke that Jungkook is a virgin. He's not, but he never knows how to defend himself without sounding like a tool, so always gets a little awkward. A lot of their viewers love it. Join in on the joke. Some take it seriously. He doesn't care.

Next month, Taehyung will do something dumb, and he'll become the favourite joke for a while. Maybe Yoongi. But for now, it's Jungkook.

None of them take it to heart. They're just a group of friends who share their gaming hangouts online, and accidentally made it to the top of the ranks.

They aren't particularly good at gaming, but that's part of the charm. Crescent Collective is how they're known: Blu-Tae, GLOSS and Tokki.

After a bet went wrong, and they all lost, they ended up with moon tattoos and their respective 'symbols'. Jungkook's is a rabbit, Tae's is a blu-ray DVD disk (because he really is committed to the bit), and Yoongi's is stars to symbolise the shine of fresh gloss. Jungkook's makes the most sense. Yoongi's is pretty decent. Taehyung's is just... Well, it's very him.

Sliding open the door into the main living area, Jungkook has to cover your mouth again when you gasp at the sheer size of the place.

"I thought butterflies were supposed to be silent?" He teases. "Quiet for me, Nabi."

His place is bigger than your family home, you think. Hushing you again, he's laughing—and then he's cursing at the sight of a half-naked Yoongi by the kitchen counter.

In his boxers, with half a clementine slice hanging from his lips, he's just as shocked to see Jungkook with you. Gets over it pretty quickly.

"Don't mind me," he says, chewing down on the fruit with a smirk. Looks towards you. "Apologies for the lack of clothes."

With your shoes hooked on his fingers, Jungkook's other large hand is still over your mouth. You're not sure you can form any words as it is, but you do notice the crescent moon and stars on Yoongi's ribs.

"Not a word to Tae," is all Jungkook says. Knows that he'll be in for a world of teasing tomorrow if he gets wind of it. "I mean it."

Holding his hands up, Yoongi's still smirking, but he is backing away into a room just off the kitchen. "My lips are sealed."

Watching as he closes the door, you wonder how much truth is in his words. Jungkook knows it's absolute bullshit. Chooses not to dwell on it. Loosens his grip on you and heads towards his own room. Turns back to check you're following him, and can't help but smile when he knows that you are.

Tossing your shoes just inside the door, Jungkook is quick to pick up a pair of jeans he'd left on the floor, before chucking them over his desk chair. He tweaks his bedding. Straightens it out. Looks a little shy as he turns to face you.

"Made it home safe," he says quietly, as you close the door behind you.

You nod. Keep a little distance. Say, "It's dangerous to sleep after drinking. Make sure you build a tower of pillows in the middle of your bed so you don't roll onto your back."

Both of you are far more sober than you were earlier. There's no need to worry about anything like that.

And yet he nods, now. Says, "You're probably right. You can always stay, though. Just to check I don't die in my sleep, or whatever."

"It'd be the responsible thing to do," you nod, wondering if he can tell just how fast your heart is beating. "But I don't have any pyjamas."

Jungkook swallows. The way he looks at you now is entirely different to how he'd looked at you in the club. Back then, he'd been bold. Flirtatious.

Now, he seems vulnerable. Needy.

"I sleep in my underwear," he tells you, unsure if you'll actually be sleeping. While he likes the idea of fucking you, part of him doesn't want to. Fears it'll ruin the magic of the unknown. The way he throbs at the mere thought of it would suggest that his hopes outweigh his fears. "I don't mind, if you don't."

The clothes Jungkook's wearing are baggy. You've seen nothing of his figure.

Reaching for the nape of his neck, he tugs on the fabric of his T-shirt. Pulls it over his head and discards it in one swift movement. The sound of it crumpling on the floor is abrasive in how it makes you feel. Raw. Unrefined. You suppose it's just a natural consequence of seeing the toned muscles of his chest. How his waist defies what you thought was possible for masculine builds, and how broad his chest is. The indent of his collarbones, and the lines of his pelvis that draw your eyes downwards.

A pair of Calvins peek just above the waistband of his jeans, and a silver chain rests around his neck. Light from the city filters in, and LED lights around his impressive computer set-up paint him in a hue of violet.

"No," you manage to reply, which is a miracle, you think. "I don't mind."

And then you reciprocate. Reach for the hem of your shirt and pull it over your head, letting the fabric fall to the floor. Seeing him swallow back his nerves, or maybe his desires, makes you feel far bolder than you should.

"It's really uncomfortable to sleep in jeans," you tell him.

He nods. Agrees. Threads the button of his trousers through its loop. Doesn't take them off yet. Waits for you to do the same. Keeps his eyes firmly locked on yours. Doesn't let his gaze wander, no matter how much he has to fight all his instincts not to fully take you in. Is still pretending like he doesn't want you in the most indecent of ways.

The room you're in right now is known worldwide.

People set it as their zoom backgrounds. It's on Pinterest. There are YouTube videos attempting to recreate the set-up. If he were to power up his computer—which, in all fairness, is only on standby—and go live, there'd be a thousand viewers within minutes. Doesn't matter what he plays, or who he's with. He doesn't give it much thought anymore. Is just life.

Sometimes, he regrets not being a faceless streamer, but he also knows that it's part of the appeal. Connection, and the fantasy that comes with this almost dystopian, parasocial idea of it.

After all, the meeting of his eyes with yours across a busy club led you to this point. Human connection in the simplest of ways, that he thinks could culminate in the most complex of ways, too.

"Okay," he says. "So take them off."

"You want me to?" You ask just to tease a little bit, and when a smile flickers onto his seemingly nervous lips, you're glad you did.

"You think we'd be here right now if I didn't?" He says with a tweak of his brows.

"You've got a point."

With that, you push your jeans down and reveal the matching set of black underwear you're in. It's nothing special. In fact, it's not really a set, but it's close enough that it'd fool anyone who didn't know.

Jungkook, in this moment, is indeed a beautiful fool.

There's a lopsided grin on his face as he lets his eyes rake down your body. Is shameless as he indulges in you. Nods, as he bites down on his bottom lip.

"It's cold," you tell him, urging him along a little bit.

"Shit," he says without much thought. "Sorry. Was just... Yeah. Shit."

It's both endearing and wholly confusing how Jungkook flips from confident to cute. A man of duality. It makes you giggle, and then you're the one biting down on your bottom lip. Are both a little bashful. A little shy.

"I'm only here to make sure you don't die in your sleep," you remind him before it goes any further.

Looking at him now, knowing you want him in the worst of ways, it's testing all of your willpower not to just cut to the chase.

Thing is, you liked his company tonight. Want it again. Want to give him a reason to seek you out once more. Want him thinking about you in clubs, and looking for you in crowded bars. Pining. Yearning. Needy.

"It's already gone seven," he tells you, walking towards his bed. Knocks his head to the side. Silently tells you to follow suit. "Will probably only get a couple hours in."

"Better than nothing. Plus, you're actually really irritating," you bullshit as you get into bed with him. Are adamant you won't fuck him, but you do let him pull you in closer.

"Oh, yeah?" He grins.

"Mhmm," you nod, pretending as if you aren't looking at his lips. "You'll be less annoying when you're asleep."

"I'm never gonna sleep again," he assures you. "Will annoy you forever."

"I know where the front door is," you say as you stroke a few of his loose, wavy hairs back behind his ears. They fall freely almost right away, but it just gives you another excuse to play with it "I can just leave. I'm only here to make sure you don't die in your sleep. Pointless if you're awake."

"So I have to be asleep for you to stay?"

"Mhmm," you hum.

He immediately loosens his grip on you and flops into an overdramatic sleeping position. Fake snores. Gets you giggling. Can't hide his smile, either. Laughs through the god-awful noises he's making.

But it is late, and you're both tired. As much as he'd like to stay awake with you, the pull of sleep is just too tempting now that you're beneath his sheets. It's not like he doesn't wanna fuck you. His semi is very much present, but neither of you mention it.

"Y'know what's sad about butterflies?" Jungkook mumbles after the laughter dies down. He carefully begins to trace the lines of your tattoo, eyes entirely focused on the tip of his finger.

You purr a response before you fully vocalise one. "Tell me."

He glances up at you only very momentarily. Looks back down. Is quiet when he says, "How quickly they die. Spend over half their lifespan growing into these beautiful creatures, and then they have, what—A week? Two? Three, tops—and then they're gone. It's like the cherry blossoms in spring. Beautiful, and then—" He clicks his fingers. "—gone."

Stroking back some loose strands of his hair, you wonder if he's thinking about you. About this chance encounter. Beautiful, then gone.

"Just means you have to appreciate them while they're still around," you say softly. "Cherish them, because you know you only have them for a moment."

His gaze lifts to meet yours. The reflection of his LED lights makes it seem like butterflies are floating around in his deep, dark eyes, too.

There are stories he could tell you of ancient folklore; about human souls taking the form of butterflies. Of justice, and peace, and spirits. Of back in time, when tigers still smoked. He could tell you of his favourite butterflies. Of the black butterflies that are as large as his hands in the summer. Of the huge display in a museum downtown that would transfix him as a child.

Instead, he gently presses his lips against the lines of your butterfly tattoo.

The rate at which your heart is beating multiplies. Like a swarm of butterflies chasing through your veins, you've no control over the way you're feeling. He's brought your artwork to life; set the souls inside of your butterfly free, only for it to be apparent that the souls belonged to the both of you, anyway.

You know that this is one of those moments; a butterfly passing on by through your lives. Here, and then gone. Beautiful, but fleeting.

There's a shyness to Jungkook now, as he rolls onto his back. A reluctance to get things wrong. He doesn't look at you, just nibbles on his bottom lip and pretends as if the empty white ceiling ahead of him is the most interesting thing he's seen all night.

It's not.

You are.

You, and those eyes that make him feel like the butterfly on your arm is tickling at his tummy. He finds himself jealous when he faces you again and begins tracing the thin lines of your butterfly once more. Wants to embed himself into you like the ink that's carved out a home in your skin.

"Sorry," he mumbles, seemingly regretful of the tender kiss he'd pressed against your arm just a short moment ago. "Don't know why I did that."

"It's okay," you reply without much thought. Like him, you're letting the way you feel dictate the words you say. Care not for playing coy. "I liked it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Jungkook wants to stop his mouth from letting his desires escape. The issue is, he drank a little too much tonight and his lips are a little too loose. Too bad. Can't help himself from asking, "Can I do it again?"

You're just as bad.

"Yeah," you whisper. "Please."

The way his lashes splay against his cheeks as he presses another kiss to your arm is nothing short of celestial. Like that damn moon on his arm, he's got a beauty about him that's hard to capture in words. Ethereal feels too fantastical, but gorgeous feels too dense. He resides in a realm somewhere between the two. Somewhere you'd like to stay forever.

Forever, sadly, only lasts a few hours. You've brunch plans with new friends you can't bail on yet for fear of running a friendship before it's even begun.

You see yourself out. Jungkook's still asleep. Not quite 10AM, you've a dozen missed calls from Rae, and a cold can of coke waiting for you in your fridge. Funnily enough, though, you don't really feel hungover. Must have gotten it all out of your system the night before.

It's only fitting, when you think about Jungkook on the subway home, and how soberingly drunk the idea of him makes you feel.

YONSEI UNIVERSITY DORMS DAESIN-DONG, SEODAEMUN-GU SUNDAY 21:39

Brunch had, predictably, been a yawn-fest.

The people were perfectly nice, but you spent the entire time thinking about Jungkook; how you'd left him in a pretty slumber, the LEDs behind his computer still glowing, with not even so much as a note to say thank you.

It's not like he had any paper on his desk, and you weren't about to start rummaging around his room. You also didn't want to wake him. Part of it was because you knew you'd be saying goodbye, and the concept of that was one that you didn't like all that much.

And so your subway ride back to your dorm had been spent searching his name. He didn't take long to find.

From the club's Instagram, you found GLOSS and quickly discovered that there was far more to both him and Blu-Tae than just being DJs. Their follower counts were wild. Numbers you know you'll never see on your own account. Verification check marks accented their display names.

Who are you? You'd thought to yourself, incredibly perplexed by it all.

Jungkook was littered all over their pages, and yet it still took a while for you to click through to his account. You're not sure why, but think that perhaps the unknown was a nice place to reside within. Safer.

CR3SC3NT_T0KK1 was his username—and curiously, Tokki was also his display name. Brows furrowed, you'd almost dropped your phone when you saw his follower count. It eclipsed both of his friends.

Filled with gaming set-ups, merch drops, and general life dumps, it was pretty clear that whoever Jungkook had made himself out to be the night before was not who he was in real life.

Equal parts offended and intrigued, you were only more confused when you saw that Rae was already following him—but not following Taehyung.

"What?" she'd beamed when you'd asked her about it after you'd arrived home from brunch, a scoop of hangover ice cream being waved around in the air with her flamboyant gestures. "He's, like, one of the biggest streamers in the country—and if I want to keep Tae obsessed with me, we need as many connections as possible. Jungkook's a frog to me, baby, not a prince. Don't you worry your little cotton socks. I'm not after him."

"I wouldn't care if you were," you'd blatantly lied in response, and then you'd giggled together at how ridiculous you were both being over boys you didn't really know.

Hovering over the bright purple 'JOIN STREAM' button later that evening, part of you holds back. Think it'd be weird. Strange. That he'd somehow know it was you.

Dipping your mouse, you tick the checkbox to join as an anonymous viewer. Take a breath. Think fuck it. Watch with bated breath as the loading wheel turns—and then he's there.

Jeon Jungkook has the kind of beauty that transcends shitty quality streams. Smiling as he jokes with one of his friends through a headset with a pair of black bunny ears affixed to the top of them, you hear a voice you almost recognise. Notice the friend he's streaming with in the top corner. Realise you do know him, too.

Hair as blue as the trees are green, Tae has just as much boyish charm as Jungkook, but also an incredibly large hickey that seems to match the ones on Rae's neck.

"Nah, can we get an L in the chat for Kook," he's teasing. Sure enough, the chat begins to explode with the letter, and Jungkook looks so pretty when he protests.

"It's not an L!"

"It is!" Tae insists. "Should have seen him, guys. Was following this girl around like a lovesick puppy—"

"No, I wasn't!"

"And she didn't even give him her number. Not even her name!"

"That's not true!" Jungkook whines. He switches between Korean and English with ease, sometimes just single words, other times whole sentences. "I have a name."

"What is it?"

"Not telling you."

"Cause you don't have one!"

"No, because you'll all make my life a living hell," Jungkook laughs—and then notices a bright blue comment lighting up in the chat. His eyes widen. "Fuck."

GLOSS: Was calling her Nabi when he got home last night Almost shit his pants when he saw me

"Yoongi, I'm gonna shave your eyebrows off in your sleep," Jungkook growls—only for the chat to start spamming butterfly emojis. Closing his eyes, he leans back in his chair, the still paused video game long forgotten about, now. Thousands of people are in their chat, and even more are watching the stream.

"Guys, get it trending," Taehyung goads. "Tweet, I dunno, bunny and butterfly emojis."

"Don't do that!"

"Hashtag find Jungkook's butterfly."

"Do NOT do that!"

"I'm like a modern-day cupid," Taehyung beams.

"I'm shaving your eyebrows, too."

Closing the stream, you sit for a moment, mouth ajar, unable to process what on earth you've just witnessed. Part of you feels as if it must have an incredibly vivid daydream; a projection of your heart's desire.

And you know you shouldn't, but when you get home from running errands the following day, you join the stream again. Blush when you notice the chat is still teasing Jungkook.

"I'm gonna block you all," he threatens them with a grin, which only encourages them to send even��more butterfly emojis.

The next day is no different, nor the day after that.

He is, though. Has been letting it all play on his mind. Doesn't have much of a filter when it comes to streaming.

"What if she didn't even like me, guys," he whines to the chat. "And sees this and is like... mortified. I think I'd punch myself in the face if she ever saw any of this."

You toy with the idea of sending a comment into the chat. Something that only he'd realise was you. Thing is, you feel bad for intruding. As if you shouldn't be prying. As if you're eavesdropping on him chatting with friends, and not on the stream he's broadcasting live around the world.

Typing out a message, you deliberate your choice.

Punch urself in the face pls, tokki x the message reads.

Simple. Effective. To the point.

But everyone calls him that, you stupidly realise, now.

And so you change the name to 'Mike'.

Before you can even really realise what you've done, you've pressed send.

The message flitters into the chat feed. He's about to resume his game. Doesn't notice it at first.

Gives the chat one final glance, and then his eyes widen. He sits up taller. Straighter. "Mike?"

You close the lid of your laptop immediately.

"Fuck."

THE STREETS WAUSAN-RO, HONGDAE FRIDAY 23:51

"Tae is on in five," Rae squeals, dragging you down the road at lightning speed.

You'd spent far too long at dinner, and also had far too much to drink with your food, so have been forced to make an undignified sprint to the club in an attempt to make it in before the place reaches capacity.

There's already a queue. You can see it from a mile away.

Realistically, Rae could have gotten Taehyung to add her to the guest list. He'd offered. She didn't wanna look needy, so had played it coy about her plans for the evening.

After a single beer and soju, she'd decided that the idea of him hooking up with anyone but her simply wouldn't do.

"Shit," she sighs in defeat, looking at the queue. The direction you've come from means that you reach the entrance before you reach the queue, but even then, you can tell it goes around the block. "Are there no other clubs these people can go to?!"

There are—but this club is rammed tonight for the same reason Club Sundown was rammed the week before. People want to see the Crescent Collective.

You didn't realise it at the time, but you'd bypassed the queue of the second club last weekend because Jungkook had been with you.

And as if by a stroke of luck, or perhaps a twist of fate, the same tattooed hand that had held you as you slept last weekend is now putting out a cigarette just a few steps away.

Eyes landing on yours, he looks away again, almost immediately. Feels embarrassed. Stupid. For the way you left him, and also for the way he knows you must know who he is, now.

Behind a red rope, he's away from the general crowd. It's sort of obnoxious, you think—but also know Jungkook is anything but.

"They're with me," Jungkook says to the bouncer, not really looking at you, but nodding in your general direction. Is deliberately keeping a little distance. Instead, he says to Rae, "Tae wouldn't want you waiting in line."

Nodding, the security guard makes way for you, stamping the backs of your hands with UV-activated ink as you walk past.

"Thank you!" Rae beams.

"No worries," Jungkook smiles right back. "He's about to start. Was just getting air. You're lucky you arrived when you did."

"Angel," she praises. "I'll get you a drink while we're in there."

You know her well enough now to know that she absolutely will not, but you don't say anything. Instead, you fold your arms over your chest as you walk, suddenly feeling all awkward in Jungkook's presence.

"Nabi," he curtly greets you as you head down the stairs.

"Tokki," you greet him back just as formally. Consider calling him 'Mike' instead, but you chicken out.

Face scrunching up, Jungkook tries his best not to cringe at himself. Doesn't know if you're addressing him by his tattoo moniker, or just calling him Tokki because you know it's his identifier online.

"How have you been?" He asks, not wanting to let it simmer.

"Alright," you say, aware of how awkward this all feels, as you descend the stairs and into the club. The music is getting louder, and soon you won't be able to hear him talk unless you're in each other's ears. "And you?"

"Alright."

Just as quickly as he appeared, Jungkook is lost to the crowd.

He doesn't care to stick around if he's just going to be hung out to dry by you again. He tells himself that he only made sure you got in to keep Rae happy for Taehyung's sake—yet as he rejoins his friends in their booth, he finds himself desperately seeking you out again.

It takes him a while, but he eventually spots you by the bar in conversation with Rae. He can't make out what you're saying, but notices how your eyes are flickering around the room. Seems as if you're hunting for something.

Deep down, even if he pretends like he doesn't, he hopes it's for him.

Pulled away from your search by the bartender passing over drinks to the pair of you, Jungkook feels bad. Knows the drinks are pricey in this place. Also knows, from the conversations you've already had, that you're on a tight budget. Had said that once the semester starts, you'll stop going to parties. Are seemingly unaware of the fact the parties never stop in this city. You'll learn.

When your eyes finally land on his a little while later, you're surprised by his intense gaze—intrigued by his lack of shame for being caught out. He doesn't look away or appear embarrassed. If anything, it's quite the opposite.

Girls are vying for his attention all around him, yet you receive all of it. Half the room away, hundreds of people create a sea between you both. Jungkook thinks he'd swim through it, no matter how choppy the water, if it meant he could have you right now.

You're the one who left, though.

It's up to you to come back.

Part of you doesn't want to, but then you see another girl making advances, and Rae's horror over other girls trying it on with Taehyung seems to have rubbed off on you. The idea of it makes your skin crawl. You're drunk, and a little reactive, but Jungkook likes playing with fire.

As you work your way through the crowd towards him, he tries his best not to grin. Finds himself vindicated in his desire to be close to you, 'cause it seems like you want it, too.

Sliding in between Jungkook and the girl, you turn and apologise.

"Just need to borrow him for a second," you smile, clutching at his shirt and pulling him away from the booth before she even has a chance to protest.

With an ever-so-satisfied smirk, Jungkook shrugs towards the other girl, and lets you drag him wherever you want. He's putty in your hands, a little tipsy and desperately in need of attention from you.

For the past week, he's played scenario over scenario over scenario in his head about this moment, and now that it's happening, he's glad he let you seek him out. Is so pleased that you actively want him just as much as he wants you.

In the middle of the crowd, you're hidden from prying eyes. It's too dark to notice any discerning features of the people around you, yet somehow, Jungkook seems like a vibrant golden light to you. Impossible to miss. Unable to ignore.

You wanna talk. Ask him about who the fuck he is. Explain that you didn't mean to leave so heartlessly.

Taehyung's set is so overwhelmingly loud, though. Can barely even hear yourself think.

As soon as he'd spotted Rae in the crowd, Taehyung had sent the bar coordinator to go and get her. She's sitting pretty up in the DJ booth, incredibly pleased with herself. Notices you and Jungkook almost immediately. Knows it'll be on Twitter in the next few hours, especially if that damn butterfly tattoo of yours is noticed.

Bunnies and butterflies have been trending for days.

Jungkook speaks, but you can't hear him.

"Huh?" You ask, getting on your tippy toes, but it's fruitless. Even as his hand drops to your waist to steady you and keep you in place, you can barely make out his words. "I can't hear you!"

He can't hear jack shit, either. Frowns. Looks around. Spots Yoongi by the booth and gestures towards the side of the room. When Yoongi nods back, it's Jungkook who drags you through the crowd, now. Just beyond the DJ booth is a little black door that Yoongi meets you by. Taps in the code. Nods in your direction.

"A pleasure," he says with a knowing smirk. Miraculously, you can hear him, but ultimately, it's because you're not in the direct line of the speakers now.

You don't get a chance to respond before Jungkook gets you into what can only described as a dark hole as quickly as he can. Romance, you think to yourself, but you also are very aware of the fact Jungkook doesn't let go of your hand, even when he's searching for the light switch. It takes him a second, but he manages to recall the approximate location quickly enough.

Dingy yellow light floods into the room. Small and boxy, it's a 3-in-1 storage room, bathroom, and dressing room for 'talent'. It's why Yoongi had the code, but you can't imagine anyone with any shred of self-respect actually using this place. The walls are the same grey tiles as the floor, and the light bulb hangs from a wire without a shade. The tap on the sink drips, and you're pretty sure there's a leak in the far corner by the mirror.

None of that matters, though. All you can focus on is the man in front of you. Though not soundproof, the room does offer a far more muted version of Taehyung's set. More importantly, it provides you with privacy.

It's been a week since you last saw him, face to face.

Though you have, admittedly, seen him what feels like a million times on low-quality streams from his bedroom.

Realistically, it's been about three times, but you think about it almost constantly.

"You left," is all he says, a little pout on his lips.

It's cute, you think, that he is so outwardly offended by such an act. You would have thought that a man of his position would have a habit of leaving, himself. Then again, you didn't know of his status when you left him in bed that morning.

"And you didn't die," you reply with a teasing smile, trying not to make it sound so severe. "You were fine without me."

"I'm not joking," he says, even if he can't help but smile at the recollection of how stupid the conversation before bed had been. "You left. It was rude."

"I had brunch plans," you tell him, reaching your hands out for his. He wants to resist. Fails. Lets you pull him closer. Incredibly close, in fact. So close that you begin to notice all sorts of things. His freckles. A small scar on his cheek. A tiny fleck of glitter on his skin, no doubt from one of the girls who had been desperate for his attention earlier. "You'd only had a few hours sleep. I didn't want to disturb you."

"Could have left a note," he says, still pouty but far quieter. You can smell the Jack on his breath. Have always hated the taste, but think you could grow to like it. "Your number. Something, at least."

"I could've," you admit, edging even closer. Closing the gap. Nudging your nose against his. But then you smile. Pull back. Tease, "And you could have warned me that I'd become a trending topic on Twitter."

Just like that, Jungkook's pout snaps into the prettiest smile. His face scrunches up, lines creasing on his nose. Beneath his closed eyes reside the sweetest little puffs. He's got the kind of face that is impossible not to like.

"Ah," he cringes.

"Yeah," you laugh at the stupidity of it all. What did he expect? That you wouldn't find out? "Ah."

"In my defence," he holds his hands up, eyes wide and innocent. "You called me Tokki. How was I to know you didn't know?"

"Oh, give over," you laugh, as he reaches for your hands once again. Pulls you closer. "You know I didn't know."

Truthfully, he does know this, but it was nice to be unknown for a little while. Nice to not second guess your intentions. Even now, knowing that you know, he feels like none of it matters.

"Look," he begins, toying with the hem of your cropped shirt. Lets his fingertips graze your bare skin. Tries his best not to think about what you look like half-naked. Fails. "I only came out tonight 'cause I hoped I'd see you. I don't care about staying out till ass-o'clock, again."

"Think I've only just caught up on sleep," you hum, angling your chin up and giving him the perfect opportunity to make a move that goes beyond flirtatious touches.

"Exactly," he smiles, letting his hand squeeze the side of your waist. Pulls you closer. "And I've not drunk half as much tonight, but I think I could do with you making sure I don't die, again."

"Yeah?"

Nodding as he nudges his nose against yours, Jungkook is all smiles. Lets his lips line up against your pout.

"Yeah," he mumbles—then lets the word get lost in your lips.

Sinking into what it feels like to kiss you, Jungkook can't help but feel satisfaction. Has finally caught the damn butterfly he's been after all week.

He's played a lot of games. Won a lot of battles.

And yet victory has never tasted so sweet.

JUNGKOOK'S APARTMENT ITAEWON-DONG, YONGSAN-GU SATURDAY 02:07

You retrace your steps. Get a taxi to his place, 'cause there's no point pretending like he can't afford it. Not anymore.

You're not giggling like you were the first time you were in his elevator, but it's kind of impossible to do so when your back is to the wall and Jungkook's tongue is in your mouth.

Your hands roam his body—waist, ass. If you can squeeze it, you will. Just makes him deepen the kisses. If his large hands weren't cupping your jaw, keeping you close, they'd be doing the exact same thing as yours.

The ding of the elevator pulls you apart just for a second, and then you're the one pulling him down to the corridor to his place.

He doesn't open the door. Just kisses you again.

Finally understands what it means to get butterflies, 'cause he's got you, now, and he never wants to lose it.

Hooking his hands beneath your ass, he hoists you up. Gets your legs wrapped around him. Could go in, but where's the fun in that? There's a slight danger of getting caught. He knows the hallway security cameras will definitely pick this up. The threat that it could get leaked online, and the simple fact that he couldn't give a shit if it does, is kind of hot.

"I'm not fucking you out here," you tell him through a hushed giggle, when he rests his forehead against yours.

"Woah," he jokes. "Who said anything about fucking?"

"I can literally feel your boner, Jungkook."

"Touché."

He doesn't even attempt to downplay it. He puts you down. Gets you through the threshold of his apartment. Shoes off by the door, there's no need to be quiet. Yoongi and Taehyung are still out, and will be for hours. He could take his time if he really wanted.

But what he wants is you. Doesn't waste time. Gets you in his room. Kinda feels like you never left. Jungkook still wishes you hadn't, but doesn't mind the idea of you making it up to him now.

"So," you hum, trailing your fingertips across his desk. "This is where the magic happens?"

He smiles a little bashfully, head dropping for a moment before his eyes are on yours again. "Yeah. You could say that."

Now that you're back in his space, it's a little embarrassing just how many clues there were. A headset rests on the desk—black, robust, with his signature bunny ears secured on top—and a mic is hooked up by the monitor. The webcam doesn't look special, but the keyboard subtly glows in his darkened room. Violet, like the LEDs behind his screen.

A laptop covered in vinyl stickers is closed next to the set-up. He uses it when he's not streaming on his desktop. At least three of the stickers are of the Crescent Collective's logo.

Turning to fully face him, you rest your palms behind yourself and perch on the edge of the desk.

He gets a little kick out of seeing you so flippantly disregard the domain in which he dominates. Gives him a point to prove. Gets him closing the space between you, hands on your waist, dipping to your ass to leverage further back on his desk. Knows it's sturdy, 'cause he built it himself, but has never tested out quite how strong it really is. Thinks now's as good a time as any to find out.

Your legs wrap around his body with no thought, just the innate understanding that you want him in a way you're sure thousands of people have only dreamt of: in his room, on his desk, that damn 'Go Live' button just a few short clicks away.

Reaching beside you, there's a smirk on your lips as you retrieve his headset. Put it on him. Say, "The ears are cute, Tokki."

He rolls his eyes. Is fighting a smile, and currently losing. He's seen some lewd shit during his time on the internet and is well aware of the fanart that includes the ears and little else. Always found it kinda funny, before.

Now? He's so hard it almost hurts, and he thinks he could grow to like it.

As your arms drape over his shoulders, he takes them off. Puts them on you, instead. Adjusts the sizing. Gets them just right for you. Is attentive, like that. Pulls his head back a little, and then realises what a problem you're gonna be for him.

It's not so much the addition of animal ears that's getting him insatiable, but seeing you adorned with a crown that is so inherently his that does it.

Jungkook's no saint. He's had his fair share of one-nighters. A couple hours of fun never to be spoken of again. Since the group of them signed to their management agency, they've been repeatedly told how important it is to get NDA's signed. Something about it always feels so icky to Jungkook. Cruel, almost. Has only had a couple hook-ups since then, both with flings he's known for a good couple of years, with no fear of them spilling the beans on how prettily he whines when he cums.

You're the first new girl in a long time. He knows he should really pause things before you cut to the chase—but then your hand is trailing down his thick forearm, delicately stroking his rabbit moon with a curious smile. Decides he doesn't care.

"The ears are cute," he replies. Teasingly adds, "Nabi."

The position of your arms over his shoulders ensures the tattoos he'd traced the week before are fully displayed for him. As his eyes drop to your butterfly, you're curiously smitten by the way his lips move to press a kiss against it again.

"Suit me?"

"Mhmm," he hums, eyes flickering back up to yours. "Should also get you a pair of butterfly wings, or something."

"I'd make you wear them," you tell him with a cheeky glint in your eye. "Turn you into a butterfly, yourself. Your girlies in the chat would love that."

Jungkook knows without a shadow of a doubt he'd let you. Not for the girlies in the chat, but for you.

Ghosting his lips against yours, he's waiting for you to press down. Is letting you take the lead.

Your kisses are sweet. Tepid. Reserved.

You're feeling; his hands on your waist, the pressure of his lip rings, the presence of his nose.

And then he's feeling; your bare skin as his large hands slip beneath the fabric of your shirt, the way your legs wrap around him, the vibration of a small groan against his lips.

The skirt you're in is bunched around your hips, and the positioning is just right for you to feel how hard he is against your underwear. It's a little undignified, you'll admit, but you're impatient, so you take control. Reposition his hand between your legs. Encourage him to take things further.

"Yeah?" He checks.

Nodding into a needy kiss, you mumble, "Please."

It might've been a while, but Jungkook's muscle memory is enviable. He's the best player on the team for that very reason.

As he hooks your underwear to the side, he's pleased to be greeted with indications of your arousal. Smirks into the kisses he's giving you, as his fingertips graze against your clit. Trails his lips to your neck. Wants to hear the way you gasp as he pushes his thick middle finger inside you.

"Fuck," you sigh at the welcome intrusion. Nod, as he curls his finger almost immediately. He's got a lot to thank those damn video games for, that's for sure.

Softly moaning, just how he hoped you would, there's an arch to your back as he picks up a pace. The need to perform, almost.

Head tipping back as Jungkook fucks another finger into you, you're unable to think too cognitively. Can only think about the way he feels. The smell of his hair as he presses kisses against your neck, and how prominent his collarbones are as your nails trail up his toned torso.

"Feels so good," you tell him. Move the hand of yours that's been resting on his shoulder to his hair. Tug on it a little. Elicit the prettiest of whines from him.

There's something to be said for making a man—especially one of such strength, stature, status—so weak. Gets you all giggly. Jungkook can feel the satisfaction ripple through your entire body, and it just makes him groan against your neck even more.

"You're so wet," he praises, pulling back to study your face as he plays with you. Lets his thumb stroke up against your clit ever so gently. Revels in the way you get a little shaky. Twitchy. With those damn bunny ears, you really are like a little rabbit. Jungkook finally understands why the fan artists choose to draw him in such a way. It is hot. "You're making me so fuckin' hard."

And then you're giggling again.

"Is it a joke to you, huh?" He smirks. Looks down at your pussy, all swollen and sopping wet for him, in the hazy violet light of his room. Knows that his throbbing cock is gonna stuff you so fuckin' full that laughing won't be an option. Is desperate for it. "How badly I want you is just a big joke to you, huh, bunny?"

The way he groups you in with his moniker is too damn hot.

"Dunno," you rasp, desperately trying to hold off the orgasm that's building inside you. "Fuck me and find out."

Reaching for the button of his trousers, you're quick as you wrestle his jeans down over his ass. Don't bother pushing them down entirely. Just enough to get his boxers exposed, and in turn, his thick cock. Hard and engorged, his desperation for you is evident. A small patch of precum seeps through the fabric of his boxers. He curses as your thumb strokes against it.

"Condom?" You ask, knowing you've got none on you.

"Hold that thought," he says, regretfully pulling away from you.

Watching on as he pushes down his jeans, and strips himself of his shirt, you're at a loss for words. You've seen him like this before, but it's so much hotter knowing that he's gonna be fucking himself into you as soon as he possibly can.

Jungkook could very easily lead you to his bed. Get you comfy. Reach to his bedside cabinet for a condom. Fuck you how he likes—doggy-style, minimal face-to-face contact—and be done with it all very quickly.

Instead, he says, "Stay here."

Doing as you're told, you watch on as he walks to the cabinet, and retrieves a condom. Admire his back, and his broad shoulders. The valley of his spine, and the hard work he's put into crafting his physique. Smirk to yourself as he dips into his boxers. Strokes himself. Once, twice. Tears the packet open with his teeth, just like you were always taught not to do, and rolls the latex down his thick shaft.

"What?" he smirks as he walks back, realising your eyes are transfixed on his cock.

You say nothing. Smile. Hold your hands out for Jungkook to take, just so you can pull him back even quicker.

Lips pressing into yours as he closes the gap, Jungkook is all smiles. Rubs the head of his cock against your pussy, gathering up your arousal all over his tip. Lines himself up with your entrance. Waits for you to give him the go-ahead.

Hand on his ass, you pull him closer. Edge the crown of his cock into you. Whimper. Beg. "Please."

Sinking into you with a laboured grunt, he's surprised with how much tighter you are around his cock than you were with his fingers. Wet and warm, there's an undeniable pleasure that sparks through his body as he gets familiar with the way you feel.

Slowly, his hips begin to pick up a pace. As his tongue strokes into your mouth, there's no dignity to the way he's taking you. The increased pace means heightened moans, and it's not just you—it's him, too.

"Shit, yeah," he grits. "So fuckin' tight, aren't you?"

Whining, you nod into his kisses. Are at his entire disposal as he grips your waist, proving exactly why Tokki is the perfect nickname for him.

As much as he likes the ears, he's a little worried that he might fuck you so hard they fall off. Doesn't wanna break them, and definitely doesn't wanna think about the story the boys would make up when they go live tomorrow to tease him—but also really wants to fuck you harder.

Which is funny, cause the way he tugs them off with such desperation and tosses them down, you'd be forgiven for thinking he couldn't care less about breaking them. Doesn't give you a chance to say anything, 'cause his big hands are cradling your face, bringing you in for desperate kisses once more.

There's a lewdness to the sounds you make together, but Jungkook knows that if he was an entirely different kind of streamer, you'd make bank together. Wonders about the way it would look on camera. Worries. Pauses.

"You good?" You check a little breathlessly as he reaches behind you, just to tug the wire to his webcam from the plus.

"Yeah," he nods, still fiddling around behind you. Smiles in the hedonistic haze as your lips find a new home on his neck. Strokes your hair gently, and presses a kiss to the side of your head. Quietly says, "Just making sure there's no way in hell I accidentally start streaming."

You hum, all purry and pliant. "People would pay good money to see it."

While he agrees, and has had the same thought process, he doesn't care. "You saying I should be charging you for this?"

"Oh, no," you say all very sweetly. "You should be paying me."

"I'll pay you with orgasms," he promises, knowing that it's a rare currency for one-night strands.

You smirk. Pat the top of his head. "Sure you will."

If there's one thing Jungkook loves, it's a challenge.

Pulling back, he turns you around. Gets you bent over his desk with zero opposition from you. Rubs himself against your soaked cunt, then asks, "Yeah?"

"Yeah," you smirk, and then settle into a sigh as he pushes into you. The feeling of fullness from Jungkook is one that's hard to compare. So thick, and fat, and heavy, his cock really is just as impressive as he is.

With one hand hooked at the crease of your thigh, the other holds the top of your shoulder. Gets you pushed down onto his cock as far as you possibly can be. There's a slight reflection in his streaming plaque beside the monitor, and you're pleased to see just how intensely focused he is on you, brows furrowed, pretty pink lips resting ajar. The silver of his lip rings and chain catch in the light, and you find you can't look at him for too long. He's too hot.

But then he's reaching down for your clit as he fucks into you. Has your legs shaking. The waves of a familiar sensation begin to lap against the shores of your pleasure.

"Fuck," you whine. "Feels good. Keep it like that."

Jungkook knows better than to ignore your requests. Does as he's told, the pressure of his fingers on your clit only deepening. Rubbing calculated circles against you, he knows just how to work you up. Gets you whining. Mewling. Moaning.

"Gonna cum, aren't you?" he smirks, as his own high builds.

"Fuck—"

"C'mon," he husks, feeling your walls tighten around him. He doesn't stop his relentless chase. Will win your orgasms fair and square. Continues pounding into you. Pace fast, strokes deep, he's everything you could ever want and more—and then he's slowing. Keeping you plugged, nice and deep, but focusing on the way he's toying with your clit. "You know you wanna cream for me. All over my cock, pretty Nabi. C'mon—"

"I'm close," you all but whimper. "So—fuck. So close."

"Yeah, you are," he tells you—and then your legs are shaking, pussy tightly clamping around his cock, one hand tense against his desk while the other grabs at his wrist. Uncontrollable, is the way you whine for him. It's so needy—so desperate and pathetic—that it's almost a sob. Jungkook doesn't ease up. In fact, his hips gain a little pace again as your orgasm shatters around you both. He's breathless, but manages to choke out, "Flithy fuckin' cunt. Feels so fuckin' good. Fuck."

The frail limpness of your body as the orgasm smokes away is cute. Jungkook loves it. You're so weak for him. He fucks into you still, chasing his own high, and your whines only get louder. It's overwhelming, but you never want to lose the feeling.

It doesn't take much. Just a minute or so of your tight cunt, and Jungkook is pulling out. Even though he doesn't ask you to, you get to your knees as he tears the condom off.

"In my mouth," you beg, and who is he to reject such an offer?

Jerking himself to completion, Jungkook is all pretty and pathetic when he cums, too. Looks at you with eyes so starry you'd been forgiven for thinking he was a descendant of the constellations.

He milks the final few spurts of himself onto your wet tongue, and curses when you press dainty kisses to his tip. Stroking your tongue against him, you don't want to waste a drop. Look up at him and find that his eyes are resting shut from the pleasure of it all.

Silence surrounds you both, just your beating hearts and laboured breaths filling to the room. He helps you up. Holds you tight. Hugs you for a little while, then presses a kiss to the side of your head. "Thanks."

"My pleasure," you giggle - and then he's smiling, too. Feels vindicated by his irrational thoughts about you over the last few days. He pays no mind to the fact you're still technically dressed, and he's basically naked.

As he sorts himself out, you perch back up on his desk and languidly swing your legs. Enjoy the thought of memories plaguing him whenever he tried to play his little games over the next few days.

"You wanna grab a shower?" he offers. "Food, too? Dunno about you, but I'm fuckin' starving."

"Same," you nod, biting down on your bottom lip. "I'll go wash up, you sort food? Are places still open for delivery?"

Checking his phone for the time, Jungkook is surprised that it's closer to midnight than it is to his morning alarm. Only a handful of places will offer delivery at this time, but that's enough.

"Works for me," he says with a yawn, then opens what you had assumed was the closet door. Reveals an en-suite and knocks his head to the side. "Get your shower. Gimmie a shout if you need anything."

Tiles large and grey, it's the perfect counterpart to his bedroom. A little dark, but it's only because Jungkook hates using the big light. Always flicks the small light switches instead. There's a window overlooking the city, and even though you're only seven floors up, the hills of Yongsan-gu mean that he's got a view you could only dream of.

You're about to start the shower up when he calls through. "Is pizza good?"

"Pizza's good," you call back with a smile. Look yourself in the mirror and wonder how the fuck you ended up in the bathroom of arguably the most famous person you've ever met. Decide it's better not to question it.

The shower begins to cascade down, even if your sins are washed way, you know you won't be able to forget the feeling of Jungkook so easily.

Truth be told, you won't even try.

YONSEI UNIVERSITY DORMS DAESIN-DONG, SEODAEMUN-GU SUNDAY 21:13

"L in the chat," booms the voice of Taehyung through your laptop speakers. His trademark grin rests on his face as he teases Jungkook.

You've only just opened the stream. Instantly, you focus on the prettily lopsided smirk of Jungkook's lips. You've learned it's an almost permanent fixture on his boyish face. Shaking his head, he's adjusting his headset. Making it a little looser so that it'll fit him properly.

No one is questioning it.

What they are questioning, is where the fuck that pretty purple bruise on his neck has come from.

"Cross-fit," Jungkook just shrugs, knowing that it's the colloquial term for suspicious bruises after some idol used the same excuse. Blatant horseshit. Jungkook doesn't care.

"I've never done cross-fit, but I know you're bullshitting," Taehyung snorts.

The chat seems to agree with him.

"Thought I was a virgin?" Jungkook states a little cheekily, making reference to Taehyung's usual banter. "How else would I get one?"

Taehyung knows better than the retort. Knows that Jungkook could very easily slip something about Rae into the conversation.

Virgin? You type through a message on a private discord chat with Jungkook. He'd set it up the day before. Has already sent you, like, a thousand messages. Is what can only be described as obsessed—but it's mutual. Could have fooled me.

As his eyes glance down to his laptop screen, he fails to hide his smile. Had opened your chat on there, cause he didn't wanna accidentally broadcast the messages onto his stream. Despite this, he doesn't care that there are nearly 10,000 people in his stream merely minutes into it. Is far more interested in his chat thread with you. Replies immediately.

Stop distracting meI'm working</3

Giggling as the message pings through to you, there's a giddy quality to the way Jungkook makes you feel.

He'd spent the day in bed with you after your night together. Had wanted you to stay when he started streaming that evening. Said he'd only be an hour or so, and was incredibly pouty when you did leave.

It had just been him on last night's stream—headset off 'cause he didn't wanna adjust it back yet, hoodie on to hide his neck. The other boys were nursing hangovers, so he could do what he liked.

What he did do had you incredibly curious. Was just chatting. Talking to the comment section. Sleepily reeling off facts he'd recently learned about butterflies. Debating over their lifespan.

You're not naive to the fact that Jungkook does this streaming stuff as a profession, and are aware that the more people talking about his stream on other platforms, the more viewers he'll get.

Made sense for him to add fuel to the butterfly-related fire by talking about them.

Had sent you a message earlier that evening to ask what kind of butterfly you had on your skin.

A Monarch, you'd told him.

"See, the thing is," Jungkook had rambled to his viewers a little later on. "Most butterflies have super short lifespans—Monarch's included."

Eyes all starry, lights in his bedroom purple as per usual, he'd looked cosy. You wished you'd have stayed.

"But there's a specific kind. Migrating Monarchs. They're the last of their generation—the final butterflies of the year," he marvelled at the magic of it all.

His facts were a little hazy, but he knew enough. Had been down a you-shaped rabbit hole all afternoon.

"And they migrate, right? Move away from home—somewhere warmer—and then it just extends their lifespan. 180 days. Not 30. That's six months. Six months. It's a long time. It's not fleeting. Not in the slightest."

It's also, curiously, exactly how long you're scheduled to stay in Korea for.

"I dunno," Jungkook had just sighed, a little forlorn, trying to make sense of his thoughts.

He bit down on his bottom lip, stroking his thumb against the hard plastic ears of his headset, then focused on the camera again. Wondered if you were watching.

He simply shrugged. Said, "Counts for something, though, right?"

#byholly #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook ff #jk ff #jungkook x reader #jungkook imagine #bangtan fic #jungkook fluff #streamer!jungkook #non idol au #bts fanfic #bangtan ff #jungkook fic #jeon jungkook x reader

1K notes · View notes

hellishjoel · 1 month

Text

chokehold

1.6k / pairing: tattoo artist daddy dom!joel miller x sub f!reader

series masterlist | main masterlist | notifications blog | ko-fi

chapter summary: Joel teaches you how to face fuck.

chapter warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), no outbreak, unspecified age gap, established relationship, reader is described to have hair and is able-bodied (but otherwise, unspecified), swearing, dirty talk, smut, lots of pet names (sweetheart, angel, little bunny, etc.), dacryphilia (kink = getting aroused by tears), dom/sub dynamics, innocence kink, praise kink, degradation kink, daddy kink, face fucking/oral (m!receiving), size kink

A/N: very lightly edited, but I wanted to give a little love to joel and little bunny since the third chapter is taking me some extra time! divider is by @firefly-graphics! and always a thank you to @thetriumphantpanda for reading this over and endless encouragement <3

Joel’s eyes roll to the back of his head, slow and steady, because that’s just the pace you’re taking him.

Facefucking is still experimental to you. He’s your first partner, and you’re nervous to impress.

What you don’t know is that Joel would never judge your inexperience. All sexual pleasures involve trust, praise, and a little direction.

Joel stokes your hair affectionately, growing more possessive as he gently guides your mouth up and down his thick length.

You can feel the power shift as your knees dig into the floor, eyes hesitantly meeting his while you try to take more of his shaft. You want more, you’re willing to push your limits.

Joel seems to sense your loss of inhibitions, your twinkling eyes meeting his whiskey ones.

“Want me to use that pretty little mouth of yours?” Joel’s words vibrate through the room. He pulls his cock from your lips, smearing his tip from one corner of your mouth to the other as you catch a breath. His warm pre-cum slips onto your tongue, and all you crave is more.

Watching you desperately try to get him past your parted lips again is enough to force out a dark, low chuckle.

“Wanna hear y’say it, baby.”

Your impatient whine and eager hands on the back of his thighs make you beg, “Please, Joel,” in that wrecked voice that he loves so much.

Joel presses his hips forward once more, watching his tip slip past your puckered lips and back into the hot heat of your mouth. “Yeah, right where I belong, huh, baby? Right where that cock belongs.” Joel’s hand comes to cradle your face, tracing the bulge of his length against your cheek with a sinister smirk.

The further he pushes on, your tells start to show. He admires the way your eyelashes flutter, gagging and coughing around him but insistent not to let yourself off. A stray tear slips down your cheek. He collects it with his thumb and brings it past his lips, tasting what you give him.

“Even your tears taste pretty, sweetheart,” he mutters predatorily, watching as your eyes blow wide, shyly moaning against his length.

“When it gets to be too much, try to stay on. Swallow around me,” Joel gently nods his head. “Go on.”

You obey, swallowing around the thick trunk of his cock, throat feeling a little looser now. You’re oh so willing to take on the discomfort just to please him. Anything for Joel, because he’d do anything for you.

As his hips pick up a lazy pace, Joel encourages you to drop your hands from the safety blanket of his thighs. Like the good girl you are, you ease them to the base of your spine and lay one wrist over the other. He’s tied you up in that position more times than he can count, allowing Joel to take control and use you as he pleases. Such a good fucking girl.

Tears pool along the top of your cheeks, the sight of glassy eyes igniting a fire deep in his belly. The overflow of saliva trickles out along the corners of your mouth, pooling down to his length and soaking the coarse hair on his balls.

Joel watches as you shift anxiously on your knees, eyes pleading because somehow you want more.

“Oh, honey,” he drapes in a degrading tone, stroking your hair away from your wet face and letting you catch a breath as his hips halt. “Need more, don’t’cha, doll?” He drawls, cooing softly as you lay your head against his thigh. Your orbs lazily look to him and nod weakly, still measly sucking on his tip.

You bravely flick your tongue along his tip’s sensitive slit, toying at the idea of getting a rise out of Joel.

A hiss is released past his clenched teeth, his whiskey eyes turning wild. And then you do it again.

Joel’s hips jerk like that of a bucking bull. His hand in your hair turns to a fist, causing you to clench your eyes closed at the scorching prickle along your scalp. Joel scoffs as you fucking moan against him.

His grin turns wicked, twisted at the thought of you enjoying some rough love.

“Fuckin’ naughty, aren’t ya, little bunny? Yeah, bein’ a damn brat,” he chastises, watching as you frown around his tip and sucking it insistently. “Think m’gonna have t’finish deep down that pretty throat of yours, make ya choke on it,” he remarks as he repositions your head with a newfound need to punish.

Joel gathers your hair into two sets of pigtails, fisting them between his large palms. He watches you struggle to stay upright and drags you into position. “Keep that cock in your mouth, don’t let it go, sweetheart,” he gripes as you struggle to maintain him. It almost feels like a twisted game the way he nearly slips loose from your heat.

Your mouth was full, jaw aching for a break that was nowhere in sight. Your fingers intertwine to keep them locked at the very base of your spine, whining nonsense against his cock. Soaking wet and dripping onto the hardwood, your pussy clenches around the ghost of what is currently occupying your mouth.

You wanted to touch yourself so fucking bad. The self-discipline it took to keep your hands together makes your stomach churn. Your pearl twitches with enthusiasm, drenched in your own arousal.

The muscles in your thighs are tight, your chest heaving and causing your bare breasts to rise and fall at a quickened rate. The overflowing spit that drips down from his balls lands on your chest. Joel can’t seem to stop staring at the gleam.

Your nose brushes against his thick pubic hair as he buries your face against the base of his stomach, and you sputter up a cough. Lungs squeezing, throat tightening, you will yourself to swallow around him and stay right where you are. I’m yours, Joel. Please, take me, use me.

“Fuck,’ he growls upon yanking you off his cock, smirking widely as you gasp for lost breaths. “Love that goddamn throat,” Joel mutters before reaching past you and pulling your hands to the front of his thighs, which quickly form a home for you. It’s grounding, to feel him, to feel his blood pumping through his body, and etch mine on the inside of his upper thigh mindlessly.

“Got me so close, honey,” he starts, and you’re already eagerly nodding. Joel brings his thumb to your throat and slowly circles one spot against the column of your flesh. “Wanna feel myself right here, think you can do that, sweetheart?”

Your eyes soften at the depth he wishes to go, but you’d do anything for him. You nod shyly and drop your jaw, flattening your tongue just for him. Always for him.

Joel’s pace is gentle at first, working up a rhythm that has your throat molding perfectly around him. You gag each time he thrusts all the way, knowing when to swallow and when to breathe, Joel has taught you this new erotic art.

The saliva dripping down to the base of his cock greets your chin repeatedly. You hollow your cheeks around him, and he moans naughty filth.

“Such a pretty slut for this cock, make me feel so fuckin’ good- god damn,” Joel pauses with his length fully down your tight throat, grinding himself against your mouth as you clench your eyes close and gag. Joel places his thumb on that sacred spot against your neck, and he can feel his tip bulging against the column of your throat. You’re so fucking full of him, and it’s enough to make him spill.

The hold he has on your hair tightens, scalp prickling as you cry out along his length. Salt bitters your tongue, weakly swallowing back load after load of his warm, thick finish. You swallow around his length and moan lowly, all muffled and messy for him as he crashes harshly through his own concocted orgasm.

Your nails etch half-moon shapes into the back of his thighs, keeping him there, pushing for him to cross the finish line. And it was all for you.

Tears of happiness stream down your face as you let him finish painting your throat, releasing with a dramatic pop as you do your best to swallow every last dribble. You’re careful as you give his sensitive tip a few sweet kitten licks. His hands are at the ready in your hair as he hisses harshly, ready to control you if it’s too much overstimulation for your poor old Daddy.

Sponging kisses down his softening length, you lay your head against his thigh, and he cards his fingers through your hair. A soothing hum leaves your throat, fluttering your eyes closed as his thumb comes along to brush away the stray tears.

It’s easier to ignore the throbbing between your legs now that Joel has found peace. Your heart pounds in your ears, and you listen only slightly as he begins to coo gentle affirmations for you.

Joel holds your hands and helps you stand, your arms already tiredly linking around his neck as you lay your head on his shoulder.

“Such a sweet girl,” he whispers, “always make Daddy so happy, you know that?” Your head bobbles loosely. His sweet remarks make your muscles even more pliant in his arms as he easily sweeps you off your feet and moves you to lie across the bed.

Joel takes all of you in. Sweat glistening along your temple, parted lips lacquered in spit, the extra effort it takes you to swallow, how perky your nipples are, and the slick that’s all but made a mess down your thighs.

“Shit, she’s so pretty f’me,” Joel whispers as you grin weakly.

“My turn now?” Your wrecked voice squeaks, to which Joel slowly nods, helping you pitch your legs up on the edge of the bed.

“Your turn now, little bunny.”

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dollfacefantasy · 6 months

Text

Baby Bunny

pairing: leon kennedy x fem!bunny-hybrid!reader

summary: leon helps his sweet baby bunny through her heat.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, masturbation, breeding kink, daddy kink

word count: 3.8k

a/n: i'm not sure how i feel about this one, but let's go with it. again, thank you everyone for reblogging and commenting, it means the world to me <3

tags: @sleepyluxe @kaitkatme @tosuckmyweenis @pupthepokemonenthusiast @bizzarethirst @death-paint @petitecolibri @iron-toxinz @wildest-dreams-at-midnight @nexysworld

In his personal life, Leon never wanted to be depended on. That was his job. He didn’t want that stuff following him home. He didn’t want to be tied down, to be responsible for someone like that. People depended on him in Raccoon city and look how that turned out. Every mission he’s been on for the last few years, he’s responsible for someone. It’s exhausting.

But as he nears 30, he starts to look at it differently. An aching sense of isolation grows in his heart. He starts to think about what it would be like having someone, having a companion of some sort. Suddenly, he’s not looking at being relied on as a detriment. Being depended on means having someone to care for, someone to love. There would be someone at the end of long days and the starts of his currently lonesome nights.

That’s how he finds himself with you scampering around his house. The sweetest little thing he’d ever seen. Your long floppy ears, cute little cottontail, those big sweet eyes. From the moment he saw you, he was a sucker for all of it.

A while back he had briefly heard of human-animal hybrids, but he didn’t think much about it. It didn’t really apply to him. If anything, the idea weirded him out a bit.

That was until he started thinking more about his dilemma. It seemed like one of them might be a good solution. He talked to a few people and did some online research and decided to at least look into it. It couldn’t hurt to visit an adoption center right?

He visited the place and was still a little freaked by the whole concept. He walked through the rooms, watching different hybrids move about and mess around. The lady guiding him throughout asked him different questions, trying to decipher what type of hybrid would best fit his needs. But all of her questions were irrelevant as soon as he spotted you.

You were undoubtedly the one. His baby bunny. Not only did he not want any other hybrid, but he didn’t think he could physically leave that place without talking to you at the very least.

He walked over to you cautiously. You kept to yourself, and he could tell from your body language alone how timid you were. He spoke with the softest, most soothing tone he could manage, but you were still so shy.

You’d told him your name so quietly he could barely hear. He didn’t touch you at all, fearing you may cry at something that personal. But he kept talking to you because while others may have found it challenging, he could see you fitting right in with him.

You’d be dependent, sure, but clearly you wouldn’t be overly needy for affection. It would be a good way for him to transition from being alone into having someone.

He kept getting to know you and trying to get through some of your walls. He talked with you about all sorts of things and let you ask your own questions so you could get to know him. By the end of the day, you hesitantly allowed him to stroke your ears.

It was that exact day he told you that he was interested in you coming to live with him. You were still very reserved, but you seemed receptive. You did a little trial run over the course of a week, and just as Leon thought, you were a great fit.

You had grown more comfortable with him in the months since that week even though your core personality hadn’t changed. You were still generally quiet, never asking for much and being appreciative of whatever he gave you. You’d talk with him openly now, mostly responding to him rather than starting conversations but speaking nevertheless. You slept in your own room, but as soon as you woke up, you’d come find him to hang out. It was a nice balance with you.

But Leon still wanted a little more. He would never push it on you, knowing it would make you withdraw again, but he always cherished the moments of progress with you. You warmed up enough that you came around to enjoy cuddling. Leon couldn’t believe how soft he’d become when you curled up to his side and tucked yourself under his arm. The first time you fell asleep in his embrace, he loved it so much he felt chest pains. Once or twice, he’d gotten you to fully sit on his lap, and he couldn’t stop beaming.

He could give you little kisses on your face now, and you’d give him a sweet smile in return that he couldn’t get enough of. You’d never kissed him yourself, but you would nuzzle his cheek in return which was enough to make him happy.

You were just such a sweetheart, a perfect companion for him. You didn’t complain when he had to go to work, but it wasn’t like you didn’t miss him. He could see the way your ears would slump and your eyes would dim as he gathered his stuff and headed for the door. But you also got so happy when he came back. You tried to seem as subdued as possible, but the way you lit up again in his presence was obvious.

The only thing you were still completely closed off about was when you went into heat. Leon understood what it was, he had been nervous about it since bringing you home, but he had no clue about how you dealt with it at all. Every time it happened, you’d shut yourself up in your room for however many days it took, and then return to him as if nothing had happened.

For your sake, he played along. He got the sense it was a touchy subject after bringing up the possibility of getting you some more toys for it and having you immediately shut it down. Your voice had become higher pitched with defensiveness, and your eyes wouldn’t meet his for the next few hours.

He had only wanted to help, but he couldn’t tell you why. Couldn’t tell you that your desperate moans kept him up at night when they echoed down the hall. Those broken whimpers that made it sound like you were crying, so worked up and in need of release that it brought you to tears.

He also couldn’t share how it made his cock rise to attention. How those pretty little noises had him fucking his fist, other palm covering his mouth to muffle his grunts, searching for relief of his own. His precious baby bunny didn’t need to know all of that.

Today had been a long day. He was tired after dealing with all the bullshit that came with his job. Although, unlike in months prior, he wasn’t all doom and gloom driving home. The thought of his sweet girl at home waiting for him by the door kept his spirits somewhat up as he made the commute back.

To his surprise, you weren’t in the living room like normal. He walked through the room cautiously, a little on edge from the disruption to his routine. He goes into the kitchen and still doesn’t find you. He starts to walk to the back of the home and that’s when he hears something. Those soft, needy sounds of pleasure.

His eyebrows raise, but he continues walking. As he gets closer, he realizes something that adds another level of shock to this situation. The noises were coming from his room.

At this point, he was more concerned than anything else. He makes his way down the hallway to his room and slowly opens the door, cracking it open to peek inside.

His eyes widen as he sees you on his bed. You’re kneeling, doubled over though so your face is in the blankets, his pillow between your legs, and your hips rocking back and forth violently. You’re nude from the waist down, only wearing a shirt of his. One of your fists is clutching the blankets while you keep your face shoved against them in a weak attempt to muffle those cute noises.

His jaw goes slack at the sight. He wills himself to remain calm and not succumb to some of his own primal urges. He carefully steps into the room, trying to be quiet even though he couldn’t see a way to not startle you with his presence.

“Baby…” he says, using the most gentle voice he could manage.

You shoot up in bed, now kneeling vertically. Your eyes are wide like you’ve had the fright of your life, your expression clearly horrified that he’d caught you like this. And even though he tries not to look, he can’t help but notice that despite your reaction, your hips don’t stop rutting against the pillow.

“Daddy!” you gasp.

That short circuits his brain. He pauses for a good five seconds to grapple with what you just said. You’d never called him that before. Not that he minded necessarily… but it still gave him whiplash.

His reaction seems to cause you to realize what you had just blurted out. In the blink of an eye, you go from visibly horrified to completely mortified. Your eyes fill with tears as you whimper out “I’m so sorry, Daddy.”

Oh god, and now you’re crying. Leon was still silent as he tried to keep his composure, force the heat building inside of him to cool off before he approached you. Looking at you though, that sweet face with tears leaking down those round cheeks… It made him want to bounce you on his lap till you were crying for a whole other reason.

“It’s ok, sweetheart. It’s alright,” he reassures you as he walks to the bed. He sits on the edge, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on your face. “Is it… Are you in heat?”

“Yes,” you say, tone dripping with shame. You bite your lip and try to restrain any further whimpers. Your hips were slowing down but still moving. After a few moments though, another wave of choked cries erupt from your throat and more hot tears of humiliation slide down your skin. Your hands fly up to cover your face. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. I-”

“Hey, hey, hey. Calm down. It’s ok,” he says softly. He cautiously takes your wrists and pulls them away from your face. He takes one of your hands in his, soothingly rubbing the back of your palm. You whimper at the touch, but he doesn’t say anything. “It’s ok, honey. I’m not mad. You can’t help it. I just want to make sure you’re ok.”

You look into his eyes with your tearful gaze. Your breathing was a little ragged from crying, but it seemed like he was calming you down slowly. You nod with uncertainty, waiting for him to make the next move.

He was also unsure of what to do. This was so unlike you, he’d never seen you this emotional for one, but he’d also never expected to see you in this position. And the entire time your hips were still grinding on that pillow, back and forth like a pendulum.

“Is it more intense this time?” he asks, keeping his tone gentle to not upset you again.

“I guess,” you whimper, “I just… I wanted you.”

It pained him to see you so uncomfortable and stressed out. He wanted you to be able to come to him with these types of things, to trust him with yourself when you’re in your most vulnerable state. It was clear that you desired that too, to some degree. You were in his room, humping his pillow, wearing his shirt.

“Well… I’m right here, baby. I want to help if I can. If you want me to,” he says.

Your skepticism is written all over your face. But you needed this even if you were a little nervous. He pats his lap encouragingly, and that’s the final push you need to let go of the pillow and crawl into his lap.

“There’s my baby bunny. Sweet girl,” he says softly as he gets you situated. He peppers a few tender kisses on your head and strokes your back.

You had only been there for a few seconds, but your hips were already squirming.

“What do you need, baby? Just tell Daddy, and you can have it,” he whispers. The title rolls off his tongue as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. It had caught him off guard when you said it, but after it rattled around in his head for a bit, it took root. Now, he just wanted to hear you say it again.

You whimper, looking at him through your lashes with those sweet eyes. At this point, you were all but riding his thigh. There’s a pause as you decide how to articulate your desire.

“I need… I need you,” you offer timidly.

“I know that, sweetheart,” he chuckles, “Try to be more specific for me. Daddy only wants to know so he can help you. Give you exactly what you need.”

He reaches up and cradles the back of your head, bringing you in to rest it on his shoulder. His other arm wraps around you and rubs your back. He holds you as close as he can to give you that physical reassurance he knew you longed for in your condition.

You still hesitate, obviously working up your will to explicitly state your cravings.

“I want Daddy inside, wanna be bred,” you whimper, turning your face against his shoulder to hide your eyes. Your whole head felt hot with the weight of what you said. It was almost dizzying, but he swoops in with his cooing voice and gentle praises to keep you together.

“Poor baby,” he croons, “I don’t know how you handled this alone for so long, honey. That’s so unfair to you, all these big feelings you had to work through by yourself. So frustrating.”

You knew he was being excessively caring now, but you had no complaints. The loving cadence of his voice made your mind melt. All you could do is whimper and nod against his shoulder.

“You could’ve come to Daddy anytime you wanted. I could never say no to my sweet baby bunny, especially not about this,” he says, kissing your head and giving your ears a few loving strokes.

“I know. I’m sorry,” you say.

“Nothing to be sorry about, sweet girl. I’m here now. We’re gonna fix it. Daddy’s gonna make it all better,” he says.

He shifts you around a little so he can slide his pants down and free his hard cock. Your curious eyes dart back to his face after a quick look at the flushed tip and the veins spanning the shaft.

“You ready?” he asks softly.

“Mhm, need it,” you whimper in return, helping him get your hips into position.

He lowers you on to his cock. Both of you let out hushed noises of pleasure as the sensation strikes pleasure within you. His fingers are digging into the flesh of your hips as he slides further into you. Your arms tighten around him and your eyes already start to flutter at the snug fit.

You whine and babble out some nonsense when you’re finally flush against him. His cock twitches inside of you.

“I know, baby, I know,” he hushes you. You could hear the tension in his own voice from exerting so much restraint. “You feeling any better?”

“Little bit, need more Daddy,” you mewl.

“Just give yourself a second to adjust, angel,” he grunts. You were pulsing around him, making it harder for him to not let go.

But it seems you’re feeling the same way. You shake your head in response to his words and start haphazardly squirming around, trying to move up and down while still in his hold.

“Need it Daddy,” you whine, “Can’t wait. Pretty please.”

Like he’d said, he couldn’t say no.

“If you’re sure, honey,” he says and loosens his grip, “Be a good bunny and bounce for Daddy.”

That’s all you need to hear before you’re bouncing up and down. Wet noises fill the room as your slick pussy takes him in and out. You close your eyes and tilt your head back, letting the embarrassment fade and just feeling the pleasure running through you.

Leon focuses on helping you keep your balance as you ride him. His own belly was twisting with ecstasy as your heat engulfs him over and over.

“That’s it, good baby,” he grunts, “Keep going, honey. Get it all out.”

You whine and continue on, up and down, up and down. More cute noises spill from your mouth as the head of his cock nudges all the right places. You ramble on, mumbling things like “love my daddy” over and over.

“Daddy loves you too, sweet girl,” he says softly.

He notices you starting to cling and whimper more. You were still riding, but your rhythm was becoming more awkward. You seemed more desperate even though you literally had him as close and as deep as physically possible.

He tries to help and do more of the work. He pulls you in close again and holds you against his body. Your face is pressed to his neck while he rubs the back of your head. His hips start to do the majority of the thrusting, bucking up into you fervently.

More incoherent strings of words escape you as you melt into his chest. You press a few sloppy kisses to the base of his neck. Despite him taking over, you were still being whiny and squirmy. He knew you were in discomfort, but it should be getting better, right?

“What is it, babydoll? What else do you need?” he coos.

Your head falls back and a sound of general pent up frustration escapes you. Your hips roll into his thrusts in large, needy movements.

“It’s not enough,” you cry, almost near tears from the ache between your thighs, “Need you more. Closer. Need it.”

You tug at his arms trying to get him to wrap them tighter. There wasn’t much Leon could do though. You were already as close as possible, any closer and you wouldn’t be able to move, which he was sure wouldn’t go over well with you. He felt so bad for you though. His sweet baby bunny suffering like this.

He watches you, your weak attempts at getting yourself off by rising and falling on his lap. He can’t take watching you struggle like this. Doing the only thing that could think of, he boosts you up and quickly flips you over.

You’re now pinned beneath him. His toned body is all over yours, heated skin pressed to you in every way. He spreads your arms out and holds your wrists down. His hips are against yours. He’s just grinding into you now, not even pulling out with his thrusts. He was as deep as possible. If this wasn’t enough, he didn’t know what else to do.

“How’s that, pretty girl? Is that how my baby bunny wants it? Wants Daddy nice and deep, ready to spill his cum and breed her cute pussy,” he breathes.

You nod eagerly, eyes rolling back at the relief you felt. This is what you needed. Feeling his weight on top of you, unable to move anywhere else.

“Mhm, this is what you need, sweet baby. You’re gonna take every last drop. Gonna keep it all in to make sure it takes too. If any leaks out, that just means I’ll have to fuck it back in. We’ll just have to go as many times as we need to,” he groans.

“Yes Daddy. Wanna take it all. Gonna be full of your cum for days,” you whimper.

“Yeah you will be. I think that’s what I’ll do from now on. Whenever my baby bunny goes into heat, I’ll have to stay home, make sure to keep you in bed, keep you plugged up full of Daddy at all times. That pretty little head won’t have to think about anything but being bred,” he says.

You just nod again, unable to get proper words out at the minute.

“I feel you squeezing, sweetheart. You getting ready to cum for Daddy?” he coos and reaches up to stroke your ears. He hikes your thighs up more, giving him a deeper angle to drive into you with. You gasp from the change, and your noises get higher as he rams in as much as he can without it being painful.

“Daddy!” you cry out. It’s all you can say. You had more, but it could only come out in the form of that one word right now. He’s all that was on your mind. Daddy daddy daddy.

“Yes, baby. Yes. Daddy’s here. Gonna fill you full of cum and then love on you for the rest of the night,” he purrs, “My baby was so brave, dealing with this all by yourself. But doesn’t it feel so much better when Daddy takes care of you?”

“Mhm, mhm,” you agree quickly.

Your hips start bucking while your body spasms. Leon knew this was it.

“Good girl, baby. Cum whenever you want. Let it feel good baby, get perfect and tight,” he says.

You do just that. You let the release wash over you. You shudder and dig your fingers into his muscles as the feelings bubble over.

“My perfect little bunny,” he praises softly while watching you let go.

It’s not much longer until his cock his pulsing violently within you. He thrusts as hard and as deep as possible before letting out a loud groan and burying his face in your neck.

“Fuck, baby, baby, baby,” he mumbles.

He spills it all inside you, hips twitching and arms locking around you. In the end, you’re both panting. He pulls back a little to kiss your forehead again. He looks down into your eyes.

“How’re you feeling now, sweet girl?” he asks softly.

“Better for now,” you answer. Your head starts to clear and return to its normal state.

He nods and kisses your head again. He rolls over onto his back, scooping you up against his chest while staying inside you. He rubs your back gently.

“You did so good, baby,” he whispers, “Now you see you don’t have to do that alone. You can trust me, sweetheart. I only want to help you. Keep you happy.”

You nod and look up at him lovingly.

“If this is what you need, this is what you need. We can get through it together,” he says softly.

“Together,” you agree softly and scoot up slightly, kissing him gently on the lips.

He smiles big and holds you closer somehow. He leans in for another kiss and another. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to get enough.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #resident evil imagines #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy imagine #resident evil smut #smut

3K notes · View notes

astayinwonderland · 6 months

Text

“So this makes us what?” | fwb lee minho

pairings: lee know x f.reader

genre: smut | fwb trope | +18 minors DNI

requested by @kyungpenguin33 ˜ sorry this took forever to write, darling. i hope you like it <3

summary: you and minho had been friends for a while, but it all changes one rainy afternoon. now someone is jealous and can't really stand just being friends with benefits (college!au)

word count: 1.7k

warnings: biting, marking, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (big no-no), minho calls reader bunny, slight argument, jealousy... lmk if I forgot something

Enjoy (;

His number 2 pencil snapped in his hand.

Not that anyone would notice, especially not you. Your attention was somewhere else, better said, on someone else. Minho’s chest feels heavy as he watches how your deskmate puts his arm around you. Does he have a death wish? Minho shakes his head trying to calm down his thoughts. Of course, your deskmate didn’t have a death wish. He, like everyone else, is aloof about what goes on behind closed doors between you and Minho. The way you moan under his touch, how impatient you become when he teases you, oh, and the look on your face when he eats you out.

It’s celestial yet sinful.

Minho scoffs. What is so great about that dude anyway? You are way too much for him, you are the sunshine itself. You bring life into every situation no matter how difficult it is. It is hard for Minho to shake off these feelings, especially when you two are supposed to be just friends who fuck.

It all started one rainy afternoon. Water poured heavily as you tried to focus on the movie Minho insisted you watch. It was ‘the best thing ever’, but although you tried not to hate it, the movie was incredibly boring and you rather be napping. Your eyelids feel heavy, drowsiness overpowers your body, and the next thing you know your eyes open to a very sleepy Minho. He is an angel walking the Earth, tortured, joyful, and beautiful. His head rests on your shoulders, his purple hair slightly covering his eyes as the two of you now lay on the very soft and cozy couch. Little drops of rain hit the window and your index finger lands on his perfect nose, then his perfect lips which are slightly parted.

“What are you doing, bunny?” he asks. His eyes were still closed.

Your heart almost stops as your body jumps, scared.

Minho chuckles and tries to resume his nap, his head now getting cozy on the crook of your neck. You swallow hard, his breath tickles that very sensitive spot on your neck. No. You can’t think of him in that way. This is your friend, your friend. But when Minho plants a little kiss on the soft skin between your shoulder and neck, you are doomed.

A soft moan involuntarily escaped your lips.

Minho smiles, the corners of his lips going up. So he plants another kiss and another and another. His tongue ever-so-slightly tasting your skin, creating in you a euphoric feeling you hope never ends. His eyes land on yours, a silent petition to kiss you. There is no need to verbally answer him, you nod and your lips are on his. His lips gracing yours, feel like cotton candy, soft and sweet. You bring your face down to his and the moment his tongue touches your bottom lip the dynamic changes.

Minho’s hands are quick and skillful to reach your hips and pull you on top of him. You feel his erection pulsating through his sweatpants as you straddle him, still not breaking the kiss. It feels so easy to strip off your clothes in front of him. For Minho is the same, he loves the warmth of your skin and wants to worship every part of you, but your eagerness is palpable and to him, pleasing you is now a must.

Never in his life, Minho would have thought he would be inside you. Did he imagine it? Well, in all honestly he tried to stop himself any time his mind would go there. But fuck, he couldn’t, his will wasn’t that strong. However, now it is a whole different deal, you are here, riding him like a fucking goddess. The way your ass keeps bouncing up and down, your hips rocking back and forth. You drive him into madness, his brain can’t process how all this is happening. If he gets to have you, then let him be damned.

You, on the other hand, feel the heat radiating from Minho’s body, your sweat mixing with his as your tongue clashes with his fighting for dominance. It is not the first time you have had skin-to-skin contact with your friend. You’ve hugged and cuddled a little bit before. But the way his fingers dig deeper into your flesh, encouraging you to keep going makes your pussy wetter and your moans louder.

Skin-slapping sounds in crescendo, Minho positions his feet flat on the couch, changing your angle as he starts to fuck you, faster than the pace you originally set. Your broken moans are getting him hornier and making him groan, whispering your name as it’s the only word in his vocabulary.

“Minho… fuck– faster, please… harder…” you whisper.

And he obeys as he continues fucking you until your vision blurs. Minho feels the exquisite clenching of your entrance and he wants you to milk him whole, but that is not something he’s been allowed to do. So he focuses as hard as he can to make you cum first. Your eyes closed, muscles tensing as your nails claw his chest.

“Fuck yes– ah! “ you say as you reach your high, laughing at the blissful sensation.

Minho lifts you and you want him to cum so immediately your hand wraps around his beautiful, perfect thick cock and after a few pumps, he’s cumming for you.

No words. The only thing that can be heard is both of your heavy breathing trying to go back to normal. Minho smiles.

“I didn’t know you were such a menace in bed, bunny…”

That sentence opened the door for endless sessions of fucking and resuming your everyday activities. No questions asked. To be honest you were too scared to and Minho seemed not to care about talking about it. Minho didn’t want to lose you and would not take that risk by talking about the friends-with-benefits thing and ruining everything.

That was of course until he saw you with him—your deskmate.

The class was not over, but Minho was too upset to keep witnessing another man’s hands on you. So he storms out of the class, curious eyes all over him as he doesn’t bother to excuse himself. This behaviour is not completely uncommon from him, but you just knew something was off.

—-----------------------------------------------------

Snow falls lightly as the day comes to an end. Minho walks determined straight to his car, heart beating so fast he almost didn’t hear your voice from afar.

“Minho! Stop… shit! Minho!” you ran as fast as possible to catch up with him.

“What are you doing here?”

“What’s wrong Min?” you shiver at the cold wind hitting you.

“Nothing… go back to the lecture. Go back to your friend,” he rolls his eyes.

“Friend? Wh-what? Wait… do you mean–”

“Yes, him… whatever! Just go back in there, you’ll freeze your ass out here.”

Minho takes out his car keys and opens his car door but you are set on not moving. Your eyes can’t believe the fact that Lee Minho is jealous of a classmate. You don’t even like him like that, you only like Minho but he doesn’t know that.

Since you are not moving, Minho gets in his car and you do the same shortly after him.

“Shit… just go to class!”

“Are you seriously jealous of him? He is just a friend… I am not fucking him!” you try to look him in the eye but Minho just looks away.

“Yeah, I’m your friend too and we fuck nearly every night. Does he fuck you better than I do?”

Your heart sinks because his words are harsh and hurtful. You try to get out of his car but Minho pulls you back in.

“I’m sorry,” and his face is so close to yours that you finally see the Minho you love. So you delicately brush your fingertips on his cheek.

He doesn’t say a word. His eyes close and now his hand covers yours.

“I know it’s a lot to ask,” he pauses, meditating on what to say next. “But… I don’t want you to sleep with that guy– or anyone else.” Minho now looks at you, eyes anxious awaiting your answer.

“I don’t want to sleep with him or anyone else, Minho.”

“You’re fucking mine,” he cups your face and kisses you passionately.

Suddenly it all feels like that first time you two kissed. It was deep, lustful, yet loving. Your hands entangle in his now-fading purple hair as you savour every bit of that kiss. His tongue diving into your mouth, swallowing your moans, and his hands keeping you in place.

Your body moves and before your brain can process it, Minho has you on his lap. Driver’s seat pushed to the back so you can sit, your back against his chest. It doesn’t take long for him to undo his and your jeans when he is already entering you with his middle fingers tapping on your clit.

His lips on your shoulders and back, kissing and licking your skin making you throw your head back giving him access to your neck. He knows your sensitive spot. Minho’s mouth marks your neck so beautifully, licking, kissing, biting, sucking, as you slowly bounce up and down his cock. Every little touch drives you crazy.

“Mine,” he whispers, as he bites down on your shoulder now and adds more pressure to your clit, drawing circles on it.

“Mine, mine, you’re fucking mine. No one else's,” he speeds up, making you cry in response.

“Yours,” you reply. “Fucking yours.”

“I want you to fucking use me, cum for me, bunny. I’m no one else’s but yours.”

His words alone make you clench around him. Quickening your pace you chase your release as Minho’s free hand helps you up and down.

“Don’t fucking stop, bunny, just like th- that… ugh… you’re the fucking death of me.”

You feel how your climax triggers his, spilling his seed inside you and you collapse, head on the steering wheel. Once again silence, your heartbeat so fast you hear it in your ears. Minho holds you tenderly and kisses you softly. He carefully helps you up and to the passenger’s seat. You are about to open the door, but he stops you.

“So this makes us what?” he finally asks.

“Get out of the car,” you reply.

The snow had stopped now and you go around the car and hold Minho’s hand, interlocking your fingers with his.

“This makes you mine and I am yours,” you smile.

“Let’s go back to class, I think I have a new deskmate.”

“Hmmm, I want to meet him already…” Minho smirks, the tips of his ears getting red.

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

a/n: this is pure ✨fiction✨

I enjoyed so much writing this! This man be fucking with my brain BAD.

Feedback and reblogs are highly appreciated 💖

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superhoeva · 4 months

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𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐧 - 𝐜. 𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐳𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐨 (𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟, +𝟏𝟖) | had something like this happen to me the other day and it immediately made me think of bear + bunny <3

"bunny. hey, nope. no fuckin' way, you know the rules."

retracting your hand from the passenger door handle, you sigh with a slight smile. it was worth a shot.

"carmen, i open the door for myself all the time," you remind the man, whose already shaking his head. "plus, your hands are full. at least let me help with that–"

he cuts you off with a fast kiss to your lips. shuffling the three large bags of groceries in his hands, carmen sniffs in a lung full of fall air.

"i told you, 'm good. and no, not when you're with me, you don't. gimme a sec to put this in the back, yeah? please don't touch the door."

carmen ignores your pout and huff, placing the bags full of groceries in the trunk before hurrying back over to you.

"c'mere," he murmurs, pecking your nose before moving his mouth to yours. it's soft but still manages to steal away the breath from your lungs.

he only pulls away to look you in the eye, whispering out a small, "i love you, bunny. very much."

"love you more, bear," you whisper back, smiling at the flutters that travel through your chest.

"not possible," carmen tells you, moving to open the door. "hop in, gorgeous."

・゜゜・．

it's been at least thirty seconds, and he still will not move.

"bear, please."

carmen stands still, arms crossed with an unimpressed look on his face that reads i can do this shit all day.

"bear."

"bunny."

"carmen, please just go, we're gonna be late."

"no. not 'til you go first," he states, frowning up at the fact you're still holding the door for him.

shoulders sagging, you blink at carmen.

"baby, i'm just trying to be nice. hold the door like you always do for me."

carmen shakes his head with a lick to his lips.

"that's not necessary, pretty girl," carmen tells you softly, tenderly brushing the pad of his thumb against your jaw. the weight of the door leaves you as carmen grips the wood, pulling it back so he's the one holding it. "go, i got it. swear."

sighing, you grab carmen's hand and step through the doorframe. he trails behind you, shutting and locking the door before turning to look at you.

tightening his grip around your hand, he raises it to his lips to press a long kiss against the back of your palm.

"c'mon, let's go. before we're late."

carmen snickers at the light smack you give his arm.

the bunny and the bear au || bunny!reader and bear thoughts? <3

#carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x black reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmen berzatto fluff #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto #au: the bunny and the bear

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holybibly · 4 months

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♡ℌ𝔞𝔭𝔭𝔦𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔤𝔦𝔯𝔩 𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔩𝔡♡

Genre: smut, cam boy!Au

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: StrawberryBoy_Hwa sent you a private message:

Congratulations you Shy_Kitty21 you have won a private video call with me.

Or where the universe crashes and you masturbate under the careful guidance of an adoring cam model Park Seonghwa.

WARNING: Cam Boy!Seonghwa masturbation, nipple play, nipple piercing, fingering, pet names, spit kink, dirty talk, explicit sexual content, explicit language, squirting, cum eating, overstimulation and more.

A/N: I can't help it, Seonghwa drives me crazy and I like it.

It's something between a prompt for a full-length work and a one-shot, but I'm not quite sure to be honest. It's all very rambling, sorry if it's not quite what you're used to seeing from me.

I could make a complete work out of this in 2-3 parts if you want. Let me know in the comments if that's something you'd be interested in reading.

Likes, comments and reblogs are very much appreciated, so if you think that your love and attention to my work will go by the wayside, you're wrong, I follow the blog very closely and I see all of your marks and comments.

Updates on my work will be a separate post. As always, private messages and questions are open. Feel free to write me about anything.

Have fun, bunnies. Love you all!

"Touch yourself, kitten; I want to see how you caress yourself." The voice is deep and velvety, rough around the edges, and it makes you want to obey without hesitating. A mixture of anticipation and embarrassment takes hold of your entire body and flows through your veins with frothing excitement. Your hand runs over your naked breasts. The nipples are pink and swollen.

It's never in your wildest dreams that you'd be so openly naked in front of a complete stranger. On any other day, you'd burn with shame just thinking about it. But the sight of his hard-dripping cock in front of you makes you more confident and seductive in the show you put on for him. As the pad of your thumb brushes over the hard bud, a soft moan of pleasure escapes your bitten lips.

To be honest, you couldn't call Seonghwa a complete stranger. He's a well-known сam boу, StrawberryBoy_Hwa, with hundreds of thousands of followers on Instagram and Twitter, not to mention the huge number of followers on his live streams. You've been watching him for months now, but you've always stayed in the shadows—too shy to leave a comment or make a dirty request. In that time, you've had the pleasure of seeing him in the most intimate, erotic images and suggestive poses, extolling the beauty of his slender, elegant body. But this was on a whole other level.

As his hand glides lazily over his thick, beautiful dick, you find yourself sobbing softly, unable to look away. You couldn't help but dream of replacing his hand with your own—much smaller—feeling that hot velvety length resting in your palm, making your hand look so tiny. In the soft pink and purple light of the room, his golden caramel skin shimmers faintly. Glittering powder mixes with sweat to make his body glow and shimmer sinfully. He looks so ethereal. So unholy. Almost pornographic. The piercings on his nipples flickered as his back arched, the sugar-brown flesh invitingly firm to caress.

You're sure you'd praise his entire body with your tongue and lips and leave him covered in strawberry-pink love bites if you had the chance to be near him right now.

Seonghwa seems to read your thoughts; his plump, glossy lips open in a low moan, and he reaches up to tug lightly at his nipple. It sends a slight shiver through his entire body, his hips rolling gently as he lets out a deep moan of pleasure.

Your hand finds your wet folds and slowly runs your fingers between them at that pornographic sound. The level of excitement should be disconcerting, but Seonghwa is smiling lewdly at you, licking his fuckable mouth in a languorous manner, and staring without interruption at the image in front of him on the large computer monitor.

How did you get so lucky? Did a cosmic glitch magically allow you to win a private video call with your favourite cam boy? It's all a little bit hard to believe. This must be some kind of incredibly realistic dream, but Seonghwa's hoarse moaning is evidence to the contrary.

When he speaks with you again, his voice is all purr and silky, and it sends a shockwave of excitement through your body. But something about the fact that only you can hear him now makes the situation that much more intimate and even a little forbidden. You have him all to yourself, even if it's just for a short video call.

"Show me, kitty, touch that sweet little cunt. Do it for me, my angel. I beg you…"His eyes are so big and pleading, the twinkle of a thousand stars is shining in them.

He'll destroy you.

The whimper that comes out of you is almost pathetic. You turn away shamefacedly, biting your trembling lower lip to avoid the vicious, burning gaze, though your fingers obediently pull the sticky folds apart, revealing the tight, wet hole.

"Oh yeah~ That's my kitty. Just as I imagined, all sweet and pink. All made for me." He praises you, tugging on his nipples gently, causing his hips to twitch weakly. Slowly sliding your fingers over your wet pussy, you continue to pleasure yourself. "Keep touching yourself, kitten. Keep touching yourself. Give me pleasure. I bet you're tight as hell; damn it, the thought of it makes me want to drool."

You don't think for a second that you should disobey him as you gently plunge a finger into your pussy, coating it with your own excitement before pulling it out and tracing a small circle around your sensitive clit. You tremble. You're so hot and ready for him. Seonghwa is watching you so intently that it's almost embarrassing, but your desire for his pleasure is a thousand times greater than any embarrassment or modesty.

His cock twitches, clear liquid oozing from the swollen pink head, which glistens faintly in the dim light, and his hips arch in a faint wave-like motion.

He's fucking beautiful. So much so that it's almost silly, but you can see why the rest of the world is so crazy about him.

His fingertips circle around the wet cockhead, catching the liquid and bringing his fingers to his lips, but instead of licking it off like you thought he was going to, he smears it all over his gorgeous, puffy lips.

"Mmm, it's sweet…" His whole body was glistening with powder, sweat dripping down the smooth reliefs of his heaving chest and contoured abs. The thick girth of his cock presses perfectly against his flat stomach.

"I want you to have a lick of my cock, kitten. I want you to taste me until I cum in your mouth. Would you like this, the feel of my big cock on your tongue?"

He is fucking you out of your mind without even trying, and you are falling deeper and deeper down the rabbit hole of temptation and desire. Without a second thought, you'd do anything he asked.

Your eyes follow Seonghwa's every move, and the golden muscles of his body are trembling as you knead your tits with your free hand. The sight of them on your screen makes Seonghwa moan with longing, the soft, plump flesh barely fitting in the palm of your hand.

"I want to suck them off, they look so delicious to me. Damn! God, would you let me fuck them, please? Those are the most amazing tits I have ever seen. I want to cum on them. Oh fuck, my sperm would look so good on those fucking puffy tits of yours".

But before you can do any more than that, he flicks his tongue across the roof of his mouth and gives you a new command.

"Put those tiny fingers up that pretty cunt. I want to see you fuck yourself nice and slow for me." You do as he says and insert two fingers into your quivering hole. The silky, fluttering walls of your vagina clench tightly around your fingers, building a pleasurable pressure between your legs. As you open yourself to Seonghwa, your pleasure echoes in the wet sound throbbing on your palm. "Mmm, that's right. What a sweet little kitten you are to open yourself up in front of me like this. Spread your legs even wider; I want to see more of that pussy of yours."

"S-Seonghwa..." You stutter out his name and spread your thighs even more wide. Seonghwa, as if instinctively excited by the sight of your fingers going in and out of your squirming cunt, leans closer to the camera.

"You look so delicious, my kitten. Such a delicacy. I bet your hot walls will be so tight around my thick cock; your cunt will milk my cum like the real slut you are, right, kitty?

"Yes, yes, Hwa. I'm such a slut for you."

"Go deeper." He orders you. Your lips quiver as you awkwardly push your hips forward, plunging your fingers in at a new angle in an attempt to penetrate deeper, like he asked. You're having such a hard time; your fingers aren't long and thick enough to hit the right spots, but Seonghwa is even more aroused.

"Oh, my poor kitty, your short fingers won't be enough, will they?"

"N-no, it's so empty." You give a whimper before you sink your teeth into your lower lip. You are practically on the verge of tears.

"Do you imagine that my fingers are fucking you right now?" He brings them up to his mouth, licking them slick and wet, drooling, and letting them run down the length of his phalanges and onto the palm of his hand. "I bet I could fill that tight cunt of yours with just one of them."

"P-please, Seonghwa…" You're begging him, and at this point, you're not even sure what you're asking him to do. Seonghwa's wet fingers start gliding over his beautiful cock again, gathering viscous droplets of pre-sperm and bringing them to his lips, this time dipping into his hot mouth.

The action is driving you mad.

Plump lips, glistening with saliva and lip gloss, close in a tight ring around the long phalanges, dipping deep almost to the base. He moans, his eyes rolling and his body shaking as he pulls his fingers out of his mouth, strawberry glitter tinting them a light shade of red.

Your mouth opens even though you don't want it to, your tongue flicks out, and your eyes drop to the bridge of your nose, giving your face a cute, lewd hentai anime grimace. Without even touching you, he fucks you completely. You could swear you can taste the sweet taste of his cum on the tip of your tongue.

You'd give anything to be under him or on top of him right now. Maybe even between those plush thighs, warming his beautiful cock in your mouth like an obedient kitten.

Unfortunately, that's a completely pipe dream.

"Will you cum for me, kitty?" He tilts his head with a sweet, sugary expression, but you hear the more than palpable command in his voice.

You nod thoughtlessly in hurried, repetitive motions, your hair bouncing in time.

Songhwa's plump, moist mouth opens in a melodious, prolonged moan. He gasps, his Adam's apple bulging from under the wide diamond necklace. His head is thrown back, a mop of silky pink hair shining like a halo around his angelic face. A graceful hand hastily caresses the hard length with a wet squelching sound, and you could swear the moans coming from his lips are the hottest you've ever heard. The whole spectacle, so fuckable and mesmerising at the same time, is hard for your brain to comprehend.

You start to moan along with him, trying to let Seonghwa know how he's affecting you.

It makes his gorgeous hips roll over again, his cock twitching weakly in the grip of his hand as the sound of yours reaches his ears.

"Seonghwa…I…I'm coming." You whimper as you stroke your hypersensitive clit with your thumb. Trying to match the rhythm of his hurried movements on his cock, your fingers sink deeper into your needy pussy.

"Sperm, kitten, do it for me. Make me proud of you. Squirt on those pretty fingers, and imagine my face instead, hell, I wish you'd smother me with that sweet cunt, right now".

His words are the driving force behind your mind-blowing orgasm. It's the best you've ever given yourself, supported by a hoarse, deep moan and Seonghwa's writhing body.

He cums with you. Pearly streams of semen squirt from his cockhead, staining his glistening naked chest and dripping down his abs. Without a moment's hesitation, Seonghwa's fingers scoop up his own cum and place it in his mouth. He slowly caresses his long fingers with his long tongue until every last drop of cum has disappeared in his mouth.

The result is a new wave of heat in your body, and your hole is shrinking on nothing.

"Taste it." He orders greedily as he watches you bring your hand up to your mouth. But if you're going to eat your own cum like that, you're going to have to put on a hell of a show for Songhwa in return for all the shows he's putting on for you. Your tongue slides slowly over each of your fingers, taking extra time to let the wet muscle run through each of the cracks between your fingers. Songhwa is watching you through thick lashes; he has the eyes of a bedroom, a gaze so full of lust that the iris is almost pure black.

"So delicious." You say it with a certain seductive note, pulling the last finger out of your mouth with a wet, lascivious pop.

"Damn, that was... you're a fucking hot kitten; I want to fuck you so bad." Seonghwa practically whimpers and sucks on the plush lip of his lower lip as if that's how he can taste you.

"I guess that's it, huh?" You ask. It's hard to hide the disappointment in your tone. But a deal is a deal, and that's all that comes with the winning video call. "I... I think I'll see you at the next stream, Hwa."

"Don't miss me, kitten." That's the last you hear before the screen fades and you're back in your bedroom reality.

Just like that, everything goes back to normal, and life goes back to normal. You'll be your normal self, and Seonghwa will be a popular cam boy with a small army of fans who are madly in love with him.

It will take a few minutes for you to come to your senses, and you will hardly notice the little text chat pop-up that appears on the page.

StrawberryBoy_Hwa has just sent you a private message.

"I want to hear you moan my name once again. Call me, Y/N. I'll be waiting for you. Seonghwa." And what followed was a series of numbers with a little glowing heart emoji on them.

It seems that the universe is still broken. You've got the personal number of everyone's favourite Park Seonghwa, the porn industry's most sought-after strawberry boy.

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blublublujk · 7 months

Text

good girl, gone bad

oneshot

word count: 6k

genre: established (secret) relationship

pairing: good girl y/n x bad boy jk

summary:

“I can’t believe anyone actually likes those stupid fucks. I mean, the hickeys, it’s like he wants everyone to know he actually fucks.” You stay staring just a tad longer at the buff (sexy) jock, short enough so that Karina won’t notice. This time the boy proudly parading the trail of hickeys down his neck smiles at you and parts with a quick wave, some blonde hair boy from the group laughs at him and shakes his arm teasingly. You can’t help but to smile too, it’s barely there, but he’ll know. You decide to turn around and follow her steps. “Yeah totally, me either.” What your best friend doesn’t know won’t kill her… right?

warnings: basically just pwp but plot went missing (oops!), swearing, smoker jk (i swear if anyone complains in my inbox i'll haunt you), explicit sexual content; jk has a huge dick ok, consensual recording/pictures, car sex (don't fuck in a car), hickeys, unprotected vaginal sex, dirty talk, spanking, squirting, breast play, blowjob, fingering, cunnilingus, come shot (on face), slut shaming (again lol), come tasting/swallowing, stomach bulge (my fault i love this one), choking, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, creampie

a.n: sorry for a late update hope yall dont mind, but i just wanna get rid of all my drafts they are PILING. lol forgive me for only always writing about jungkook, but he's so easy to write about. he breathes, and i instantly open my notes app (im not even joking). this has been sitting in my drafts since his LA trip (iykyk) it sparked a conversation and i wrote it. i want that man bad... and im lesbian :D

ANYWAYS enjoy and STREAM GOLDEN for our golden bunny <3

p.s: i'll probably come back to this couple but its a oneshot for now... but wouldn't no nut nov be fun with this jk?? everyone say yesss. ok bye.

—> m.list

—> welcome me on ao3 & twt

—-

“Ugh, what a piece of shit.”

Before you even get to ask who, the motorcycle roars back to life across the parking structure belonging to the very one and only, Jeon Jungkook. A group of college jocks crowd around the man. There’s a cigarette between his fingers, he’s not paying it much attention though. He's deep in conversation, laughing at something one of them said, clearly more invested in the joke than anything else around him.

As the laughter dies down, he looks over, eyes connecting while he brings the cigarette to his pierced lip, slowly inhaling the toxic fume. The terribly annoying (yet somehow sexy) tattooed jock on his loud motorcycle winks towards your direction, before selfishly exhaling that poisonous smoke into the air. Fuck, you really, really wanted to hate him too.

“Yuck.” Karina gags with a scrunch to her nose, turning a cold back to them and you’re grateful to her because you almost get stuck in his lustful gaze.

“Yeah… yuck.” You reply with no real meaning somehow managing to convince her you meant it.

“I hate him and his stupid friends. They are killing the Earth slowly and they don’t even give a fuck!” Karina argues in all her given glory and in her environmental science major mindset. “Plus those cancer sticks reek, why must the general public suffer because they can’t last thirty without them.”

Jungkook could last thirty without them. Way more than thirty when you were around him, especially when he was given something (or someone) to entertain himself with, but you couldn't say that aloud so the sudden thoughts stayed safe and sound in your head.

“No, no they don’t. But what can we do?” There’s a sigh and then you clear your throat. “Should we get going now?”

Your arm wraps around hers, gesturing the way back to campus with a swift wave where you both had been meaning to study given that classes finally started cramping in heavy assignments.

“Yes, please.” Karina is quick to sharply turn her heel and walk back towards the building. “I can’t believe anyone actually likes those stupid fucks. I mean, the hickeys, it’s like he wants everyone to know he actually fucks.”

You stay staring just a tad longer at the buff (sexy) jock, short enough so that Karina won’t notice. This time the boy proudly parading the trail of hickeys down his neck smiles at you and parts with a quick wave, some blonde hair boy from the group laughs at him and shakes his arm teasingly. You can’t help but to smile too, it’s barely there, but he’ll know. You decide to turn around and follow her steps. “Yeah totally, me either.”

What your best friend doesn’t know won’t kill her… right?

—-

“You taste disgusting.” There’s a muffled laugh pressed into your lips, as your tongues meet halfway, meeting each other’s lips in a bruising wet kiss. Your ass grinds roughly against his lap, groaning into your mouth while you bring your ass flush down, feeling his soft cock harden below you. His right hand grips your right ass cheek, jiggling it in his hand, before smacking it (with love, of course!).

“Yeah?” Jungkook smirks, bringing his mouth against your throat, sucking and licking everywhere there was space. He sneakily leaves little love bites behind even though he knows you’ll kill him for this later because you have somewhere to be after this. He even bites your ear lobe gently between his teeth, before he cockily whispers. “You love it though.”

The whimper that leaves your mouth should be illegal. It only drives Jungkook crazier.

Both hands find purchase on your ass now, spanking you once again in each cheek. Though Jungkook was a bit disappointed he wasn’t seeing your flushed bare cheeks on top of him, but he guesses he can settle for now. “You gonna let me fuck you now baby?”

He gropes your asscheeks without any hesitation, still leaving wet kisses buzzing onto your skin, stealing a quick kiss from your raw-bitten lips.

“Mm, only if you ask nicely.” You tease, dragging a finger along his jawline.

With this, Jungkook laughs, throwing his head back. Your hand comes to fist his hair, while he drops another wet smooch onto your lips. “You know I’d do anything for a piece of this ass angel.”

You smile into the kiss, grinding harder against his now– hard cock. You felt your folds leak of your own arousal. It was so undeniable. The attraction between you two, the desire to take each other apart, to be within each other’s arms. There was no place like Jungkook’s lap. Here you could stay forever.

“Imagine what people would say if they saw you like this baby.” Jungkook starts teasing, tugging your shirt off with no trouble. Your breasts catch his attention, noticing that you are wearing that black lingerie set he had bought for you last Valentine’s Day. “Fuck. Look at you baby.”

He squishes your breasts together, leaning up to kiss the uncovered tender flesh on both sides. You don’t even attempt to hold your moans back. “I– nghhh.”

“Did you expect to get fucked today princess? Hmm? Is this all for me?” Jungkook’s words work like magic, they drip off his sinful tongue like honey. You bring your body flush against his, burying your blushing face against his neck. “Don’t get shy on me baby, tell me. Did you wear this all for me?”

He purrs sweetly and you only nod, cheeks burning red.

It's not like you were embarrassed of him, no in fact, you were happy to announce that the college campus’ certified bad boy is all yours and has been for the past two years.

There was no exact moment to this, the attraction had always been there.

You had first officially met Jungkook in one of your general ed classes. Statistics, to be exact, which he would have one-hundred percent failed had it not been for you passing him the answers mid exams. It wasn’t like that to begin with of course, it took you some convincing. To be fair and to your excuse, it was so hard to say no to those beautiful big brown eyes.

At first, you assumed he was doing this all, acting lost and playing dumb, to get into your pants which he succeeded. However you had enough dignity left to make him work for it. Until you realized those secret smiles, stolen glances, and subtle hand holds were much more than just a silly game. You had fallen for his charm, and against everyone’s advice to stay far away from him, you fell in love with the (not so terrible) bad boy and let him take over your heart completely. It happened so randomly and so all at once. It was confusing, new, but most of all, liberating.

Being with Jungkook was so freeing and the thrill of being caught with him was so worth it. It didn’t matter what people thought of you or him, you both were willing to die on this hill of love.

Jungkook, too, had fallen quickly. How could he not? There was nothing to dislike and everything to love. Your pouty scolds, he looked forward to. The stolen glances across campus were his favorite, a secret only you and him held close to heart. There were times where your cheeks would flush pink, because he would steal kisses from you behind the campus library. You were seriously his favorite person ever.

“Jungkook stop! What if someone sees us?” You would whisper-shout, a pout would form against your will.

Jungkook would just kiss your worries away again and again and then say. “You’re the cutest little thing alive baby.”

“Are you trying to change the subject?” It was hard to speak between kisses, that and the fact that he would squish your cheeks together like the adorable boyfriend he was.

“I don’t know. Is it working?” His reply was cheeky and lips would start trailing down your neck and then you determined, yes. Yes, it is working. Fuck it all.

It’s safe to say, he was yours since the start of it all, as you were his. Wrapped in each other’s fingers before anyone had realized it, now you were inseparable.

“Answer me princess.” Jungkook pulls you back gently, observing your flushed face. “God, you’re so beautiful.”

Of course, this only makes you blush harder, but you do manage to admit. “Y-Yes… I wore this only for you. Always for you.”

Jungkook smiles, pecking your cheek. “Then I’m the luckiest man alive angel.”

He cradles your face, before leaning in to kiss you. This time, you guys take your time. Your mouths stay closed, taking the time to really feel the plushy feeling against your own and enjoy each other’s presence. You felt as if you were floating in clouds.

“Jungkook.” You mumble onto his lips and he hums, but that’s not enough so you call his name once more with intent. “Jungkook.”

He pulls back with a questioning look. “Yes, my love?”

“Can you please just fuck me already?” The words come out barely above a whisper, even after fucking you so many times, you could be so shy at times.

Jungkook breaks out into a bunny-like grin, holding back a stifled laugh. “So much for wanting to make me say please, look at who’s pleading now.”

“J-Jungkook…” Your face goes hot again and he laughs once more, patting your ass softly.

“Okay. Okay, my love. Enough teasing, I’ll fuck you since you asked so nicely baby.” Jungkook takes his sweet time taking off his own shirt, and pulling your skirt off. It was a bit tricker, given you were both in your car which was not fit for two people even in the backseat, but you guys always made it work.

You were still scared to ride to campus with him as much as he begged you to because it would blow your secret relationship, but fucking on campus has yet to be off-limits. Mainly because Jungkook fucks you all too well, and you aren’t one to say no to good dick (oops).

He attaches his mouth right above the bare skin of your left breast. He holds your tits in his hands, pushing them together, stuffing his face right between them. Jungkook makes sure to pay attention to both breasts (it’s only fair), rubbing your hard buds through the black lace which hardly covers them. You bite back a moan, feeling him rut up against your heat, his hard length pressing stiffly against you, your walls already clenching, desperate to feel him inside you.

His tattooed hand slips below, releasing the nipple he had been tugging on earlier. You feel the tip of his fingertips brush against your panties. “Fuck, you’re so wet baby. I can’t wait to be inside you.”

Surely by now, you were dripping onto the lace. His erection is still pressing against your inner thigh. “D-Don’t wait then.”

Your boyfriend smiles, bringing his lips to yours. “Behave. You’ll get some dick inside you soon.”

Like the brat you were, your eyes rolled back so used to being spoiled. He pays it no mind though because his tongue comes out again, licking your lips apart. Your tongues meet once more, this time you suck his tongue into your mouth, brushing it against the roof of your mouth. He taste quite bitter, it’s the cigarette from earlier, yet somehow and against all judgement, he tastes fucking delicious. Especially when a grunt slips from his throat, feeling you roll your barely covered folds against his fingers.

He allows this, putting more pressure with two fingers, feeling you drench his fingertips even through your panties. Jungkook pushes his tongue deeper into your mouth, spit mixing as he reciprocates the favor, sucking gently on your tongue. You tasted like the strawberries you had earlier for lunch and Jungkook groans, greedily swallowing the taste in your mouth.

What an innocent sweet little thing you were and he was about to ruin you all.

Cigarettes and strawberries.

Quite the pair.

You whine into his mouth, unable to hold back much longer. “Please, Jungkook…”

He smirks against your mouth. How much he loved the way you fell apart on his cock. Especially more, when he had barely had his hands on you and you were already begging for more. Jungkook pulls back, but not before you whine a soft “no.” He holds your cheeks in his palms, forcing you to look directly into his hazy eyes.

“Imagine if people knew baby.” His voice comes out more sultry, rough around the edges. His thumb carrasses your cheek, patting your mouth open. “How much of a slut you were for this dick.”

His words make you mewl (he knows how much you get off to this thought), he slowly eases two fingers into your mouth, holding your chin in place. You made sure to suck on them as he liked, your tongue coming flat against them.

Jungkook bucks his hips into yours, chest rising while he watches you suck, like the good girl you were. “Imagine if they really knew, baby? Such a sweet girl like you, with someone so dangerous and reckless like me. What would they say? Hmm?”

He pulls out his fingers, seeing them barely glisten under the light.

“I- I don’t know.” Your voice is dry and soft yet, you are incredibly horny.

“You don’t know? I have a few ideas.” Jungkook chuckles, hands brushing along your back. “Can this come off?”

He tugs your bra from behind and you hesitate to nod permission. “Good, I wanna watch them bounce when I finally fuck you.”

By now, you have given up resisting him, so you moan pathetically as he shreds your bra with ease and takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking the tender bud into his tongue, flicking it and placing it between his teeth. He tugs and licks the sting away, watching with hooded eyes as you squirm against him. Your face burns imagining the idea.

What if people knew? How would your friends react? They would surely be disappointed, Jungkook was good for nothing but trouble. Yet, he was perfect to you. You were willing to defend him from hell and back. Whatever it took for them to believe you.

Jungkook moves to the other bud, placing it into his mouth, cupping and gripping your breasts. His mouth was hot and heavy against your nipple, his tongue caressing the hard bud. He squeezes them one last time before letting them drop, watching them bounce gently against your chest. Yup, Jungkook was the luckiest man alive. There was nothing better than this moment right here.

Heat travels your body quickly, feeling your own chest rise, struggling to breathe in the steamy car. Your boyfriend looks down, communicating with his eyes instead of actually saying anything, your hands quickly move to his belt, tugging them off and throwing it anywhere else. Desperately, you unbuckle his jeans, harshly pulling his boxer down, just enough to watch his dick spring out. The flushed, wet length smacks against his stomach, watching as his abs clench at the sensation. If you stare any longer, you’ll start drooling. “So good for me angel.”

There’s no time to waste.

“Wanna suck you off.” You breathe out, voice filled with desire and lust, clearly it takes over because usually his girlfriend was much shyer and timid, but that all disappeared when Jungkook’s cock was present.

“Yeah?” Jungkook watches you drop on your knees, your pretty knees will for sure suffer the consequences of your horny choice, but there was no stopping this. He pats his thighs as he leans back to give you enough space. “I’m all yours, baby girl.”

Jungkook bites the inside of his cheek when he feels your warm mouth wrap around his dick. Your tongue comes out messily, practically salivating and dripping all over him. There’s probably not a single day that goes by that you aren’t sucking his dick, but it was quite the experience every damn time.

“F-Fuck, I wish you could see yourself.” He struggles a bit because the sight is fucking sinful and if people knew you like he did, they wouldn’t believe the person in front of him.

His personal little cockslut.

You pop off for a second, hand still wrapped around his length covered in your spit. “Yeah? Then take a picture for me, Kook.”

Double fuck.

When you first started dating Jungkook, you were against any pictures at all. After time passed and to his luck, you came around and you would let him take pictures, but only if he promised your face wasn’t in the frame. Now, his camera roll is covered with images of you and your blooming relationship. You didn’t care anymore about covering or blurring your face out. His camera roll consisted of just about everything, pictures of you sleeping peacefully against his chest as you would nap, videos of you laughing on the random adventures he would take you on, but never images of you nude. Never ever was he allowed anything that could probably incriminate you both, even if he would beg, ever-so sweetly. It seems like you came around after all. Bless you.

“Fuck, don’t talk to me like that princess, you have no idea what that does to me.” He’s never heard you sound so fucking sexy. Jungkook bites his lip, recovering his phone that had dropped earlier on the carpet. “You sure about this baby?”

“Yes.” Then you are back on his cock and he shudders, already snapping a few pictures. Your eyes looked up at the camera, making a show out of it all.

Jungkook tries controlling his heavy breathing but with a sinful tongue like yours, it’s impossible. “Can I record this princess, only if you’ll let me, of course.”

You take him deeper into your throat and nod furiously on his cock. You trusted him enough, you knew Jungkook could never hurt a single soul, unless they tried him. Point is, he would never do anything to break that trust so hell yeah, why not add more to his long collection.

“God, you are so perfect baby. Made for me and only me.” Jungkook’s voice is nothing short of possessiveness. He presses record, caressing your hair softly, almost petting you for your work like the good girl you were for him. “Imagine if they knew how well you take cock baby. How perfect those plump lips look around my dick. You’re like a dream come true princess, my personal cockslut.”

You moan around his length, loving the bitter taste on your tongue and Jungkook has to hold back from fucking your throat, though he thinks you’ll love it anyways.

“Can I fuck your throat?” His voice is raspy and you open your mouth wider, nodding so prettily with dick stuffed in your mouth. Jungkook is careful when placing your hair in a little makeshift ponytail for the meantime and as best as he can with one hand as he starts to thrust into your warm mouth. “So beautiful and all mine. Isn’t that right princess?”

You don’t get to reply, but the vibrations of your moans that manage to run through his cock answer for you and it almost makes him smile. What a good girl you were. Pretty things like you deserved to be spoiled and he couldn’t wait to give you the fucking world.

And was he fucking loving the show you were putting on for him becoming more needy and desperate on camera, your eyes rolled as he brutally used your throat for his liking.

Jungkook bites at his bottom lip as he begins to roll his hips with much more force, feeling your throat take him down with greed. “Fuck baby, your throat feels amazing. Taking me so good.”

He lets you go when he feels you tap his thigh and you gasp for air, tears threatening to leak down your face. “W-Want you to come on my face.”

Your voice is hoarse and his eyes widen at your sweet request.

“Aren’t you just perfect for me today baby. Just you wait, you’ll get the best dick of your entire lifetime.” Not that you would know since he was your first and he knows that, proudly carries that in his cocky ego, but you always believed him. No one could fuck you better than this, you were sure. You bat your eyes at his promise and he comes down to kiss you messily, the camera records jackshit, but it captures your whiny moans and the sound of your lips smacking against one another. He pulls off with one last kiss and adjusts the camera frame back towards you as he takes his hard length and slaps his swollen, wet dick along your cheek. “Open up princess, I’m really fucking close.”

You take him in with no hesitation and go to fucking work. Slurping and licking all over his length, your chin dripping with saliva, but you don’t even care anymore because his grunts and whines keep you going.

Every now and then you look up at the camera making sure you do your best to keep him coming back. You know he will probably rewatch this every night that you aren’t there with him. And your predictions are correct because Jungkook’s already planning on watching this tonight and jacking off to it while you are out with Karina doing God knows what. All he knows is his sweet girl will be doing something productive while he’ll be coming undone in your gracious honor.

“I’m close baby.” He groans sexily, and his breathing starts to become sharp. “Look up baby, right into the camera, gonna come all over that perfect fucking face.”

Doing as he says, you look up sucking him dry, your hands come to relieve what you can’t cover with your tongue. His hand pushes you off for a second. “Tongue out baby.”

He fucks his fist and it doesn’t take long before he squirts his load all over your face, grateful that most of it lands on your tongue, you swallow it all immediately, humming gracefully at the salty taste.

Jungkook’s eyes are blown out as he catches his breath and lets his dick flop back down against his thigh, you look like a fucking sin and he must be the Devil because he’s about to commit about thirty tonight. “Give me a second princess.”

He says between breaths as he stops recording with one last picture of your come-soiled face, still breathing heavily as he throws his phone on the floor again, thankful that he has something for later. You giggle against him and he almost awes as you throw your head against his bare thighs into a laughing fit. “Okay.”

He huffs a dry laugh and pulls you up. “Times up. Come here.”

Jungkook is quick to capture you in a sloppy kiss, not minding the leftover mess of come on your face, he doesn’t wanna mess up his masterpiece just yet. You soon grow desperate in his arms, but this time he doesn’t mess around.

“Lay down.” Your bare back lands on the seats and he shoves himself between your thighs. Again, it’s steamy and fucking cramped in your car, but you both couldn’t care any less right now.

His tongue hits your slit not bothering to move your matching panties, but the effect is almost the same. He licks a long strip watching you soil the silky lace mixing his spit with your own arousal.

You moan sweetly as your legs come apart letting him completely devour your heat. Jungkook pulls off, tugging your spoiled little black panties to the side and continues on with his mission. His tongue finds your clit and you swear you could come like this.

“R-Right there. Please.” Your boyfriend doesn’t let up either, eating your sweet pussy like it deserves. His tongue flicks your bud, building the sensation in your tummy. Jungkook sucks on your clit selfishly.

His chin is covered in your arousal. He’s humming and moaning deep inside your pussy, your juices stick onto his tongue like candy and he greedily swallows the treat whole.

“B-Baby.” Your voice is struggling like his was earlier, but it’s there. He lifts his face from your heat, eyes in a lust-filled trance. Jungkook knows he’s pussy-whipped, but at least he admits his problems!

“Yes, my baby.” Jungkook’s eyes are blown out and he looks just as wrecked as you are.

“C-Can I take a picture?” He almost gapes at your request, the amount of times you took him by surprise today. At this point, he would let you do anything, fuck his morality!

“Do whatever you want princess. Pictures, videos. I’m all yours.” He gives you his full consent and permission to do anything so you are quick to grab his phone (you’ll send them over to yourself later) and start snapping pictures while he dives back in for seconds.

Jungkook keeps your legs open while you are a whimpering mess above him, struggling to get the best picture. You have no idea how he was doing this himself, the pictures come out blurry as he continues to devour you as if it was his last meal.

He also puts on a show for the camera like you did so nicely earlier for him. Jungkoook’s eyes hood as he stares up, he even winks for the shot. If college didn’t ever work out for either of you, this would be something to look into. Good thing that was not the case, at least for you, his little straight A student.

“I’m g-gonna come.” This only makes your boyfriend go crazier between your folds. He drops eye-contact with the camera and instead solely focuses on that pretty pussy presented for him. Jungkook’s tongue is sin itself, not letting up once as more arousal drips out of you. He slowly teases a finger inside, building your orgasm quickly as he fucks you open with his middle finger. “I’m– nghh. Fuh-fuck!”

The sentence is never finished as you start to squirt onto his tongue, creating your own little masterpiece on his face. Jungkook has never swallowed anything down faster than right now and he’s loving every second of it. Completely pussy-whipped and all, but at least he’s happy!

Your boyfriend finally detaches himself from your heat and the sight is nearly adorable. His hair is now all fucked up and he’s a sticky mess everywhere (you are sure you look no better).

“Yum, I could do that all day.” Jungkook shamelessly says.

“Mm, I’m sure.” You say coming down from your own orgasm, he gives you a few seconds to breathe as you set his phone down again. Jungkook takes his shirt from the floor and wipes himself clean. He does the same but it’s no use, the come that landed on your face has dried up and he doesn’t wanna scrub it off and end up hurting your precious face.

Jungkook kisses your cheek affectionately as an apology.

“There’s dry come on my face right?” You start to scold him, but he smiles with all his teeth apologetically and you forgive him at that moment.

“Guilty.” He smirks, proud of his work, he thinks you truly haven't looked better.

Wrapping arms and legs around your boyfriend you whisper innocently. “I was promised dick of a lifetime, unless… unless you lied to me?”

Jungkook scrunches his nose cutely while he looks at your perfect pouty face, doe-eyes begging to be fucked. “I never lie, not to you at least.”

He makes you laugh and he detangles your legs from his waist. “Now let me focus, I have a reputation to uphold.”

There’s no laughing once two fingers press into you and you gasp at the invading feeling, but the stretch only burns for a while before it turns into pleasure and you are whimpering at his touch. “Fingers so deep.”

He smiles and you throw your head back. “Yeah? My dick goes even deeper baby, I’m just making sure you can take it.”

“I can take it.” You breathe out against his pink lips. “I was made for you.”

The taller’s eyes nearly eat you alive, fuck you were so sexy. “That you were baby. My perfect little cockslut.”

His fingers pull out of you brutally and you whine, but he kisses you roughly making you forget the loss. A hand wraps around your throat, squeezing it with purpose. You squirm in his hands and he pops off your lips.

Fingers coated with your arousal trace your lips and you take them in greedily, sucking your own juices off the tattooed fingers, moaning at the delicate taste, his other hand still locked around your throat.

“That’s my girl. All fucking mine.” You nod around his fingers and he finally lets go, gasping for fresh air. “‘M gonna fuck you now baby.”

Your legs fly open in response, letting him have his way with you.

“Do me a favor?” He asks while taking his hard length in his hand, jerking himself off while he awaits your response.

“What?” You hum, confusion written all over your face.

“Record this for me. I want you to see how I break you apart. How this pretty pussy makes a mess all over my dick. I want you to remember this fuck for the rest of your life.” His voice drops a few octaves and you can’t help but gasp and moan at his vulgar use of words.

You used to be innocent, at least, that’s what Jungkook used to think. In a way, he thinks you still are. Untouched and pure, only for his eyes and his hands to touch. Jungkook is honored that he was your first, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. He was gentle and took care of you every step of the way. It was like that until you were begging and pleading for more. Sweet then, and sweet now.

He’s created a little monster, but he knows that your heart is pure and that’s what he loves most about you.

“Okay, yes.” His phone is back in your hands and you click record, watching him line-up his cock. Jungkook groans as he disappears snuggly inside you. “Mmm.”

He lets you get used to the feeling and once he feels your breathing stabilize he starts to thrust himself with strong strokes inside you.

Like the first time, you are struggling with the phone because you can’t stop shivering and shaking, you feel him in your guts and recording is much harder than pictures because it lasts longer and you can't stay still for that long. Not with dick inside you.

“K-Kook. I— oh.” You stop to moan when he hits your g-spot and he continues ramming that same spot over and over. “I- I can’t. Hand’s shaking.”

Your sweet boyfriend grabs the phone and lets you settle yourself. “That’s okay princess, I got you. Just lay there, I’ll take care of you.”

He records himself ramming into you for a few minutes, watching himself disappear into you on camera. The taller one can't even believe this is his reality. How did this even happen and most of all with him of all people? He truly was the luckiest man alive!

“‘S deep, Kook.” He fondles one of your breasts as he keeps a harsh pace, rubbing the hard nub with his thumb.

“Yeah baby? Tell me where you feel it.” He whispers loving the way you tremble, your gaze struggling to keep up with his.

“Right here.” You touch right below your belly, palm flat against the feeling of his cock inside you. “So so deep.”

You mumble something else, but he doesn’t get to hear it because your high pitched moans drown everything out. He lets go of your breast watching them bounce as he continues to pound straight into your sweet spot.

The camera catches it all though. The mess between your thighs look just as delicious on film as they do in real time. The sounds you make, the squelching noise that is being created by his cock going deep inside you, and most of all, it captures your beautiful face as it comes apart.

He presses on your stomach right where your own palm rests and you strangle out a whine. “I- I can’t. T-Too much.”

“You can take it. Remember?” His dick tears through you from the inside and you start yelling when he increases his pace. He’s fucking you mercilessly now and you can’t control the sounds that escape. “You were made for me, princess.”

“Yes, yes, I am.” You sound beautiful, but you would kill him if you guys got caught now especially in the position you guys are in.

His firm hand finally comes off your stomach and instead two fingers go inside your mouth, muffling your screams and whines.

The car rocks back and forth. He’s sure people know what the fuck is going on, the windows are foggy as fuck, for fuck’s sake, but you would hate him much worse for not finishing you off.

“Mmff, don— stopff.” He nearly giggles as you struggle to speak, but he keeps his promise quite well. He fucks you ever harder and deeper, his cock will surely fall off after this, but it’s all worth it. He slams inside, bottoming out fully before pulling out and repeating the same steps. “Fuhh-uk.”

“You like that baby?” Jungkook rasps feeling you squeeze tightly around him, which only means one thing, you are really fucking close. “Gonna come all over my cock princess?”

“Mmff.” You are quick to nod and hum sweetly. He decides to pull his fingers out, spit dripping all over. “Yes, yes. Please, don’t stop. Harder Kook- ah!”

Jungkook almost forgets he’s recording and he centers the camera again, wanting to capture every last second of this. You are glistening all over, he’s made a complete mess of you, but he is no better. Jungkook is dripping sweat and yet, that doesn’t stop his mean and precise strokes against your velvet walls, stretching you in ways you didn’t even know were possible.

The final straw is when you feel his messy fingers start toying with your clit and you are coming once again all over your back seats and wetting his cock just how he likes it. Being a squirter had its own perks with a boyfriend like Jungkook because that meant he never stopped fucking you until you completely had nothing more to give.

Jungkook curses when he starts to see your orgasm trinkle out, he fucks you all through it though, feeling the water-like pressure against his slit. And it doesn’t take long before an orgasm catches up to him.

“Inside.” You plead with a pout, eyes completely blown out.

With one last curse Jungkook comes deep inside your walls. He catches his breath for a few moments before pulling out slowly, making sure to capture the dribble of his come which sadly hangs onto your hole. “Push it out for me princess.”

“Nooo, we’re gonna make a mess Kook.” Jungkook shakes his head, a smile on his face because a mess has already been made.

“I’ll clean it. Now, push it out baby.” You almost cover your face because you are sure you turned red, but you start to push his seed out of your hole and he’s tempted to fuck it back inside.

“Fuck. That’s it baby. Perfect comeslut. Isn’t that right?” He stops recording once he’s gotten the shot he wanted and he starts to wipe you down with his shirt, lucky enough that he has a back-up hoodie to cover him after he’s done.

“Yes, all yours.”

You both smile against each other’s lips before he whispers. “I love you princess.”

“I love you more.”

“Impossible baby.”

—-

JK❤️: hiiii 🙂

me: hi baby :) everything okay?

JK❤️: marvelous 😇 i just came watching that video we took earlier ;))

me: baby! 😠 i'm out with karina! can you not talk about sex for two seconds while im out

JK❤️: sure! just came all over myself totally wasn't watching our sextape back ;)))

me: nice talk jungkook.

JK❤️: come home soon~~ i miss you :((((

me: love you too lol

JK❤️: not more than me. come home soon im serious!!!

me: i'll see you later jungkook. ❤️

JK❤️: 😠😠😠

me: ❤️❤️❤️

#jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic #jungkook x reader #bts smut #jungkook smut #bts jungkook #bts x y/n #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x you

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witchywithwhiskey · 16 days

Note

Hi Molly<3

How about captain Syverson and

“be still” - “i can’t” - “yes you can, do you want to find out what will happen if you don’t?”

morning cuddling with the love of your life

pairing: boyfriend!captain syverson x female reader

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, creampie, morning sex, fingering (f receiving), finger sucking, breeding kink, dirty talk, praise kink, daddy kink, little bit of mommy kink, pet names (bunny), morning cuddles, established relationship taken to the next couple levels 👀

word count: 1,800ish

a/n: ahhh thank you so much for sending in this prompt—and for requesting my second favorite captain!! this one is just pure smut with a very fluffy ending, i hope y'all enjoy!! ♡♡

The sunny spring morning began, as all your mornings had since you’d started dating Captain Syverson, with some sleepy cuddling. You’d only been dating a few months, and he hadn’t moved in yet, but Sy always seemed to end up in your bed—even the nights he worked late—and you enjoyed him being there. You loved falling asleep in his arms and waking up to his warm comfort too much to say anything about it.

That morning, the sun was shining through your bedroom windows and casting a yellow glow over everything. But it was chilly beyond your blankets, the spring day not having yet been warmed by the sun, and you were happy to stay in bed. You were still half-asleep when your fingers started searching for Sy’s broad, warm body, pulling yourself closer once you found him, humming happily when he wrapped his thick, beefy arms around you.

You sighed contentedly with your face buried in his chest, your body settling into his comforting embrace as you breathed in the woodsy, familiar scent of his skin. The hair dusting across his burly chest tickled your cheeks pleasantly and you shifted closer, hitching your bare thigh over his hip. Because you wore only one of Sy’s t-shirts, your uncovered core pressed to the soft cotton of Sy’s boxers, and you felt his bulge twitch against your warmth.

A little shiver raced down your spine, but you were still too sleepy to do anything about the length hardening between your thighs. Besides, Sy didn’t seem inclined to take things further yet either, as he rumbled a deep snore.

The both of you dozed for a little while, until a deep, reverberating groan in Sy’s chest roused you again. It was only then that you discovered your hips were rocking gently against your boyfriend’s cock, stirring up a heat that crashed through your body as soon as you became aware. A soft gasp left your lips, and Sy groaned louder, knowing you were awake.

“Ya gotta stop, or ‘m not gonna be able to let ya sleep anymore, bunny,” Sy rumbled, his voice far too warm with sleepy pleasure to sound the least bit warning. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, his beard tickling your skin, and you smiled into his chest, enjoying the heat curling deliciously through your body.

Stretching up, you reached blindly for Sy’s mouth, your eyes still closed and, after some fumbling, managed to kiss your boyfriend good morning. His arms squeezed you tightly as you kissed lazily, knowing you had all the time in the world to spend the morning in bed together.

“Maybe I’m done sleeping, daddy,” you murmured against his mouth when you broke the kiss. You rolled your body more purposefully, grinding your naked pussy against the bulge in Sy’s boxers and delighted in his grunt of pleasure. “Maybe I wanna feel you stuff that big cock of yours deep in my needy pussy.”

Sy rumbled a chastising sound. “Christ, the mouth ya got on ya, bunny,” he muttered. Still, he slid his big hand down between your bodies, cupping your pussy possessively and thrusting two fingers inside to test your readiness. You were wet and slick for him, and he dragged a moan from your lips while he fucked you. His tone managed some menace as he growled, “Maybe I should shove my cock into that filthy mouth of yours and show you what dirty girls get for rilin’ up their daddies.”

“Nooo, please,” you begged, pouting up at him and fluttering your lashes in the way that had Sy’s cock twitching against your thigh, his precum leaking onto your soft skin. “I’m already so wet for you, daddy, would you really deny me when my tight little hole is dripping and begging for you?”

With a tortured groan, Sy rolled you onto your back, his hips settling between your thighs and pushing you open wide with his broad body. Pulling his fingers from your pussy, he slipped them into your mouth, and you eagerly sucked your own arousal from his skin.

“Good girl,” he rumbled, the hint of a smile curving his mouth.

While you were busy cleaning his fingers, Sy shoved his boxers down and lined up his cock with your entrance. He smacked your messy folds with the heavy head of his cock, watching as your eyes went heavy lidded and you moaned around his fingers. He removed them from your mouth and grinned when you let out a desperate whine.

“Daddy, please,” you begged on a gasp, writhing beneath your boyfriend’s broad form.

Thankfully, Sy wasn’t interested in any more teasing and he pushed into your needy, aching hole. Your back arched up off the bed and you let out a sharp cry, enjoying the feeling of his thick cock stretching out your tight cunt. No matter how many times he fucked you, it always felt like Sy was pressing the air from your lungs and rearranging your insides to make room to accomodate his fat cock.

“Feel so fucking good, bunny,” Sy groaned when he was buried inside you, his balls pressing against your ass. For a long moment, he stayed there, his eyes closing like he was savoring the tight warmth of your body. “Christ, I could live in your cunt—ya feel like you were made for me.”

He was so big and hard and hot inside you that you couldn’t stop yourself from squirming, your knees climbing his sides so he could push even deeper into your cunt. The tip of his cock kissed your cervix and you moaned loudly, your inner walls gripping his hard length like your body wanted to suck him even deeper. You were practically folded in half beneath the beefy body of your boyfriend, but it wasn’t enough, you needed him to move, to fuck you—to empty his balls into you and fill you up with his seed.

“Be still.” The words were little more than an unintelligible growl from your Sy’s mouth.

You whimpered, your hips rocking up against him, fucking yourself on his cock ever so slightly. Even if you wanted to stop, you didn’t think it was possible—not when you needed him so badly. “I can’t.”

“Yes you can, do you want to find out what will happen if you don’t?” Sy’s hand gripped your face, his fingers digging into your cheeks and forcing you to look at him. “If you don’t stop, I’m not going to be able to hold back,” he warned, his face grim with barely leashed desire. “I’m gonna flood your unprotected pussy with my come and I’m gonna knock you up—is that what you want?”

Even if you’d wanted to lie and tell him it wasn’t at all what you wanted, your body answered Sy’s question for you, your cunt squeezing his cock even harder, like you were wordlessly begging him to put a baby in your belly. But you knew your boyfriend would never do anything if you didn’t say the words, so you forced your mind to focus through the pleasure and delirious need to get the words out.

“I want it, daddy,” you admitted on a whimper, crying out when Sy pulled back, only to surge forward and make your whole body shake with the force of his thrust. With your confession out in the open between you, it seemed to loosen your tongue and a flood of words fell from your lips. “I want you to knock me up, I want you to put a baby in me—your baby, Sy—I want you to make me a mommy, please, daddy!”

“Jesus christ, bunny,” Sy ground out as he pounded into you, his hips slapping against your thighs while he thrust deep into your cunt. “Ya want daddy to breed you—ya wanna be daddy’s good little breeding bunny, huh?”

“Yes, yes yes,” you cried, gripping Sy’s broad shoulders, your cunt squeezing his cock. You were so close. “Breed me, daddy—Sy, please—please!”

“Fuck,” he grunted, pausing to reposition his hips. Then he was grinding against your clit with every brutal thrust into your cunt and it wasn’t long before you screamed your release. Your whole body clenched tight, making Sy groan like he was in pain as your pussy gripped his cock so hard, his release quickly followed yours.

Sy captured your lips in a messy kiss, his beard burning your cheeks and chin as hips stilled. You felt his cock twitch deep in your fluttering cunt, and the rush of his come overflowing your pussy, dripping down your ass. You shivered and moaned into Sy’s mouth, your hands clinging to his shoulders and neck while your bodies came together in the most primal way possible.

When you were finally sated and the last of his come had been wrung from his cock, Sy rolled over onto his back, taking you with him. Your bodies were still connected, the evidence of your releases making a mess of the both of you. You sighed contentedly and snuggled into Sy’s chest, a happy smile on your face.

“I s’pose I should officially move in, huh?” Sy asked, a bit of playfulness seeping into his deep, satisfied drawl.

“You better,” you muttered, putting a little poutiness into the words, which made Sy chuckle. Pushing yourself up, you gave Sy a kiss before pulling away and shooting him a stern look. “Then you might wanna start thinking about putting a ring on my finger,” you said pointedly, arching one of your brows.

Sy grinned so wide, it made his beard twitch. Without looking away from you, he opened the bedside table drawer and pulled something out. You didn’t see what it was until you felt him slip something onto your left ring finger. With a gasp, you finally looked away to see the pretty engagement ring he’d just put on you.

“Way ahead o’ ya, bunny,” he murmured, tipping your chin to press a sweet kiss to your lips. “Assuming it’s a yes, of course.”

You snorted. “Of course, it’s a yes,” you said, a giggle of joy in your tone. Then you kissed him again—and again and again and again.

Eventually, you settled back down on Sy’s chest, unable to keep your eyes off the ring, turning your hand this way and that so you could admire the way it sparkled so prettily in the bright morning sunshine. Already, you were picturing a spring wedding—Sy would look so handsome in a suit beneath an arch of spring flowers…

Your head spun a little with how much your life had changed on that spring morning, but you couldn’t be happier. You were going to become Mrs. Syverson and start a family with your captain—but the best part was that you’d get to start every morning cuddling with the love of your life.

And you couldn’t wait.

#witchywithwhiskey's springtime fun #captain syverson #captain syverson fanfiction #captain syverson x reader #captain syverson x you #captain syverson smut #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill smut #henry cavill #henry cavill characters #witchywithwhiskeywork #jamneuromain #established relationship

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astraystayyh · 7 months

Text

Echoes of love

"to love someone is firstly to confess : i am prepared to be devastated by you."

Chapter i. to forget

genre : memory loss trope. angst. slow burn. unrequited love except you were in a loving relationship and everything changes overnight.

pairing : minho x reader.

summary : if given the choice would you love minho again? yes, you would've once said in a heartbeat. but now, you aren't sure of your response anymore.

cw : depiction of a car accident. mention of blood and physical wounds. depiction of a nightmare and anxiety attack. reader has she/her pronouns.

word count : 14.8k words.

song recs : the night we met/terrible love/black friday/cover me.

a.n: she's here, she's yours, i hope you'll enjoy reading one of the most challenging things I've ever wrote :') your feedback is highly appreciated <3

special thanks to @forlix for going through this journey with me, i love you thank you, seriously, you mean the world to me. and to @dorisnumber1fan for listening to my initial rants about this fic, and all the ones i ever write. i love you and appreciate you so much, more than i could explain <3

quotes series masterlist. next chapter.

Day 1.

You're floating in a dark void, save for the specks of light swirling around you. A peculiar serenity fills your being, a tranquility unlike any you’ve ever known. It’s as though your body isn’t your own; but rather an otherworldly vessel, calmly traversing the cosmos, dancing in constellations with the stars that encircle you.

A sudden electrifying warmth surges from your hand, traveling down the contours of your knuckles, melting into the lines of your palm. It pulsates within your being as if you’re holding the Earth's very core between your fingers. You stir from your ethereal orbit, longing to break apart from the celestial lights, to reunite with your body once again.

The warmth intensifies, causing your fingers to involuntarily clench. A deluge of radiance enfolds you, drawing you into a luminous hole. You squint your eyes, drinking in the light- your first breath.

Your eyes flutter open in a daze, your throat parched, rasping like sandpaper against your vocal cords. White encompasses you yet again, from the high ceilings to the pristine bed you’re lying on. It takes you a few blinks to grasp your new environment- an unfamiliar hospital room. You wearily close your eyes, hoping for the stillness to return, aching for the peace you felt within your bones mere moments ago.

But to no avail; only the tingling sensation remains.

You tilt your head, eyebrows shooting upwards as you notice a hand clasping yours. A figure lies their forehead beside your body, black disheveled locks tickling your palm.

The warmth, you understand where it comes from now.

You attempt to slip your hand out of theirs, prompting the man to awaken with a jolt, surprise dancing across his features as his gaze meets yours. Dark circles adorn his face- testimonies to days of fatigue imprinted upon every feature of his. Yet, all of it dissipates as he gazes at you, lips slightly parted, bunny teeth peeking out. His face transforms into a radiant smile, stirring a mysterious longing within your soul- it brushes against your fingertips before slipping beyond your reach.

"You're awake," he whispers in awe, and your tiredness renders you mute. You point to your throat, hoping that he'll understand what you need. "Water? Is- Is that what you want?" he asks, a touch too eager, fingers running through his hair in sheer disbelief. You nod and he rises swiftly, pouring you a glass of water and bringing it to your lips.

You sip diligently as his hand caresses the crown of your hair, the warmth now traveling to the top of your head. You feel lightheaded as if the blood in your veins has thickened, the very life in you slowed to a faint whisper. Yet, a timid relief emerges as your thirst is finally quenched.

"I'll- I'll go call the doctor," he tells you, his beaming smile unwavering. It’s too bright, everything around you is, and you feel a throbbing headache growing at your temple’s base.

It's a mere minute before the man returns, a doctor and two nurses on his trail. You float within a haze as the nurse shines a beam of light in your eyes. The response of your pupils seems to please her.

"Do you remember what happened?" the doctor inquires and you frown. You've been racking your brain for an explanation as to why you're here, but to no avail. You shake your head.

"What's your name," he proceeds, lips growing into a thin line.

"Y/n, Y/l/n," you respond, your voice sounding foreign to your ears, as though it hasn’t left the confines of your throat for ages. You miss the darkness; you want to sleep again.

"What date are we?"

Your eyebrows knit together as you try to think of an answer. "The 20th or maybe the 21st September."

"What year?"

"2022."

An eerie silence falls upon the room, a stillness resembling the one of your dreams; but it isn’t comforting, on the contrary, it fills your being with an unsettling dread, one that trickles inside you with each second spent in silence. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. You close your eyes to avoid the sorry ones of the nurse.

"We need to run you an MRI scan," the doctor finally speaks up, tone somber. "It appears you're suffering from retrograde amnesia. But we have to make sure."

It takes time for the words to permeate your consciousness, for the syllables to settle in and start to make sense. Amnesia.

What have you forgotten?

“What…” you chuckle warily, fingers reaching up to soothe your throbbing forehead. “What year is it?”

"It's the 24th of September 2023. You were in a severe car accident two days ago, a drunk truck driver rammed into your car on your way home. You have a fractured rib and extensive leg injury, but no broken bones thankfully. We'll get you to the scan shortly, okay?" he speaks easily as if announcing that you've missed the rain while asleep. As if it’s not a year’s worth of memories you’ve seemingly forgotten, erased in the span of a blink, akin to footprints on sand washed away by the waves. Nothing of importance.

"So, you don't... remember me?" a soft voice quivers, barely above a whisper, and your eyes meet those of the man who’s been at your side, temporarily forgotten in the conversation.

His question is laced with a grave fear, evident in his dilated pupils and trembling hands. A lump blooms in your throat, its thorns pricking at your voice. You aren’t sure you want to answer that question.

"I- I don't."

"Oh."

You’ve never known that a human could crumble in silence, in an imperceptible gasp, so small you almost did not hear it. A crestfallen expression materializes on his face in the span of a heartbeat, features coming together in the rawest expression of anguish you’ve ever seen. You bite your lip.

"Who- Who are you?" you implore, urgency inflecting your tone, hoping that he's no one of importance. Someone who helped you when you got into a car accident. Someone minor who you wouldn't fault your brain for forgetting.

"I was... I-I am your boyfriend. Minho," he utters his name like a broken plea, eyes slightly widening to gauge your reaction. As though those two syllables hold within them a myriad of memories, ones you simply cannot forget.

You don't remember.

The doctor was right in his diagnosis. The scan showed unusual activity within your brain, characteristic of post-traumatic amnesia. You listened numbly as he cited the precautions you should take to heal your physical wounds- to rest, not carry anything heavy, ice your lungs, and go on walks. But you did not care for the state of your body, you’ve bruised it before and it has healed in its own time. It will do it again; it is a familiar path you’ve already undergone. But what about your memory? Your mind that robbed you of a year of your life? How do you get it back?

“There is no guarantee you’d remember. There is also no treatment for amnesia. We advise that you focus on healing first. Do not strain your mind,” your doctor smiled, before leaving the room. His silver wedding band shined mockingly underneath your eye. He doesn’t know what it’s like to forget the lover awaiting you at home.

Minho dutifully sat by your side, nodding along to the doctor’s words. He signed your discharge papers and settled your bills before you could protest, and he was now pushing your wheelchair through the hospital's corridors. You didn’t know what to say to him- how do you talk to a stranger who uttered your name with love dripping between its letters?

In the hospital’s parking lot, Minho pauses, squatting before you. His eyes are puffy, red veins contrasting against the pristine whites, betraying the tears he must have shed when he excused himself to the toilet.

You suddenly want to beg for a reprieve; it is too much pain for one day, too much for one soul to bear. But it is only six p.m. and Minho's gaze holds you captive, a new emotion dancing in his brown irises- grief. He's looking at you as though you're a phantom, gone when you are still very much breathing.

“We've been together for eleven months, and we moved in together two months ago,” he licks his lips nervously. “You have a two-month medical leave, and I- I don’t want to leave you alone, while you recover. So, you can think of us as… as roommates.” The word felt heavy on his tongue, a fresh wave of tears brimming in his waterline. He swiftly blinks them away.

Your parents are in a faraway city, so is your best friend. You were the one who decided to move somewhere so far, to flee from the skeletons threatening to spill out of your closet. You don't want to burden anyone. You just want to rest.

You nod in agreement and Minho attempts to smile. It is a useless effort; one he quickly gives up. There was nothing to be joyous about.

Minho takes your hand, gently helping you to your feet. He opens the door to his car, and you settle into the passenger seat. It smells pleasant, an apple-scented diffuser dangling from the rearview mirror. Yet, as Minho closes the door, the scent suddenly suffocates you. Your lungs ignite, consuming your oxygen to douse their rising flames. You can no longer breathe inside, panic rippling in your heart violently, pushing at your ribs, begging for an escape. You open the door, collapsing to your knees as a violent coughing fit overtakes you. You blindly clutch at Minho’s arm and he tumbles to the ground with you.

The ugly sob that had been trapped within your throat finally escapes, and passersby pay you no mind. It must be usual to hear gut-wrenching cries in a hospital parking lot. But Minho seems to care, as his hands soothingly rub your back, undergoing a steadfast path from the nape of your neck down the base of your spine. He’s not panicking and his touch appears to instinctively know how to speak to your sadness, how to soothe your sorrow with unheard words.

You imagine it's not his first time comforting you, and the thought only forces another sob from the depths of your soul, as Minho pulls you up once again. He sits your shaky figure on the wheelchair, closing the car doors.

“We can walk,” he tells you gently, and despite the quietness of his voice, it manages to break through your raging storm. A singular sun ray parting the gloomy clouds.

“It’s okay, I’ll... I’ll suck it up”

"You've been through a terrible car accident, and I won't let you sit here and panic, especially when your wounds are still fresh and your mind is trying to protect you."

His tone is resolute, eyes blazing with determination as he looks at you. You can only nod in response. So, Minho pushes your wheelchair to his house. He doesn’t huff, nor complain about the autumn sun scorching his skin, the effort to push you for the entirety of the road, and then inside his building. He only smiles when his eyes meet yours in the elevator mirror.

He’s tentative as he opens the door to his apartment, hand tightly gripping the keys before turning them, as if preparing himself for a bigger heartbreak, one that lies within what was once his sanctuary- yours too, you suppose.

Minho pushes you inside, pausing near the entrance as your eyes drink in the interior. He seems to await something, perhaps for you to remember the place you’ve called home for the past months. A few seconds pass, and he clears his throat, holding your arm to guide you forward. He avoids your gaze as you both venture in.

“This is the kitchen,” he points to a small kitchenette, where a flower bouquet seems to have wilted, much like the man near you- his emotions now diluted, eyes dimmed as they glaze over the walls. You spot your favorite mug on the racks, one that resembles a fairy mushroom. The sight of it makes your heart clench in your chest. So, this is your home, after all.

You leave the kitchen and walk down a narrow hallway when you stumble on your feet. “Easy, honey,” Minho cautions, and your hold on his forearm falters. He blinks at you before gazing up at the ceiling. “I’m sorry, force of habit.”

“It’s okay,” you reply in a small voice.

Minho leads you to the living room, cream-colored sofas with a navy blanket on top, multiple fuzzy pillows scattered all around. A tulip field painting graces the accent blue wall- your favorite flower, two matching slippers rest by the couch, racks of your novels adjacent to his collection of cookbooks, you assume.

It is all the more evident to you that you’ve both lived here, lives intertwining so seamlessly into one another. The place radiates comfort and warmth, but it refuses to penetrate your being, as if you’re harboring a shield of oblivion, ricocheting off any touch of remembrance. You’re an intruder, standing in stark contrast to the inviting coziness that envelops you.

“I like that wall,” you say in an attempt to lighten the stuffy atmosphere.

“We painted it together,” Minho smiles sadly, and your remorse seems to liquify, blending in with the blood running through your veins.

From the corner of your eyes, you spot three furry masses bolting towards you, small paws clawing at your feet. You feel another dent add to your heart, so much you are sure it would blow away at the tiniest gust of wind. Just how much have you forgotten?

“We… We had cats?” you ask breathlessly, eyes widening as you take in the two orange felines, and the gray, much smaller one.

“These are mine, but you also adopted them, in a way,” he explains, crouching down to pet his cats, scratching the sensitive spot behind their ears. He is tender with them and they appear at ease in his presence. You realize you’ve felt the same since you’ve woken up.

“Hey, my babies,” he coos softly. “Mom- I mean y/n- is tired so let’s give her some space, okay?” he quickly corrects, before gently pushing the cats away from your feet.

Minho shows you the bathroom before leading you to the bedroom- it's a bit untidy, worn clothes thrown on the ground, some of your accessories tossed on top of the vanity. As if the room was also frozen in time, awaiting your return to resume its familiar course.

“You'll sleep here and I'll just take the couch,” Minho interrupts your thoughts as he gently sits you atop the bed.

"But-"

"I’ll make you dinner so you can take your medication, okay?” he ignores your objections, adjusting two pillows behind your back to help you sit up straight, just like the doctor cautioned. His necklace, adorned with your initial, brushes against your cheek. “Try to sleep meanwhile. You need to rest.”

“Minho this is too much-"

“It’s not. If you need anything just call me over, I’ll leave the door open,” he says, tucking you in beneath the blanket.

“I don’t want to burden you,” you finally admit, voice slightly raised so he’d finally listen.

“Y/n, I love you.” He speaks so suddenly, fists balled on either side of your body. “And this is what I do for the person I love. I… I don’t know how to not care for you, don’t take that away from me, please. Please,” he repeats, voice faltering under the weight of his plea.

"Okay," you concede.

You can't quite remember that first night, the morphine injected into your veins made you ebb and flow out of consciousness, only recollecting small fragments of the hours flowing by.

But you remember the dull pain settling into your bones, one you knew would accompany you for the following weeks. You remember the thoughts swirling in your mind like a tempest- your near brush with death, how she almost trapped you into her icy hold; the year of memories gone with the wind, as if they were never yours to begin with; and the stranger whose home you are in now, the very one who took care of you throughout the night.

And you can't perfectly recall it, but you swear Minho stayed by your side until the early hours of the morning, warm hand pressed to your forehead to check your temperature, cold tears falling on your arm as he laid his head next to your sleeping body.

Day 2.

You miss being asleep the second you wake up in.

Every fiber of your being aches, as though pain has latched itself into every muscle, its grip unrelenting now that the morphine's comforting veil has lifted. You drag a hand tiredly across your face, tears of frustration welling like dewdrops in your eyes. It's only 10 a.m. Far too early for one's spirit to crumble.

A bright post-it note on the bedside table catches your weary gaze. "I went to drop your medical leave at your work. I've made you breakfast it's in the kitchen. Don't forget to drink your medicine, I'll be home soon"

What home was Minho referring to, exactly? Because this one wasn’t yours, and neither was the one back in your hometown. Were you destined to be a passerby in temporary places, always lingering near the door, ready to put your shoes back on and leave at any moment?

10:03. Still too early.

You find solace in having two months off of your work. You couldn’t bear being somewhere where everybody knew you for months, while your memories of them span but mere weeks. The expectations they would have, the pressure to conform, to mirror the footsteps of your past self was an unbearable burden. What if she was better than you? Made better choices, spoke more eloquently? What if you couldn't live up to the image they had conjured? What if you couldn't face the repercussions of your past actions?

10:07. You need to shower.

You slowly ease yourself off the bed, careful not to put pressure on your injured leg, avoiding even the slightest exhalation. You pretend as if nothing’s happening as you pick up a pair of pajamas that you recognize from the closet – a familiar relic from the life you’ve always known.

It's a charade, you’re aware of it. You're but treading on fragile ice, your pain threatening to shatter the frozen façade beneath your feet, plunging you into the frigid truth at any given moment.

You walk into the shower, attempting to rinse the day's tiredness away. But moving your limbs is a strenuous task, and you can't reach over your head to wash your hair. You let out a dry chuckle as the water runs over your back, splattering across the white tiles.

Your heart swells in your chest, an uncomfortable weight pressing against your fractured ribs. Still, it beats, and you cling with all your might to this one silver lining.

Minho has made you pancakes, not the most nutritious meal but the only one you can stomach on your sick days. He's also brewed you tea, a singular sugar cube resting at the bottom of your cup, just the way you like it. Your grip on your fork tightens, knuckles paling. You wish he had put three sugar cubes, or that he made you anything but pancakes, something to reassure you that he didn’t know you so intimately. That your mind hasn’t stolen a love where every detail of you was known.

The door opens, keys clinking on a solid surface. The sound of it tugs at your heart ever so faintly, a distant bell ringing somewhere far- it quiets down before you even realize it is there.

“Good morning,” Minho greets, the corners of his mouth curving upward although his eyes remain downcast, redness tinging its outlines. You look down at your cup, unable to hold his wounded stare.

“Good morning. Thank you for the breakfast and for going to my work. I really appreciate it,” you say.

“It's nothing. Your coworkers wish you a speedy recovery.”

“Mm,” you murmur. “That's nice of them."

“Here,” he slides a phone across the table. “I bought you a new one since your phone’s screen was smashed in the car accident, but I took it to a repair shop. Maybe they’d manage to fix it.”

You go to protest when he shakes his head, silencing you. “Don’t say It’s too much.”

A surprised giggle escapes your lips at his accurate prediction, momentarily halting Minho in his tracks. You swallow the sound down as Minho clears his throat, dissipating your laughter into thin air. “I put my phone number there. Also, the ones of your family that I have. Always call me if you need anything, okay?” he pauses, locking your eyes with his. “Anything.”

“It's okay, I really don't want to bother you. You might be busy."

“I’ll still answer,” he quickly responds. “I’ll always answer you.”

There is a certain sincerity that coats Minho's words, one that softens the edges of his letters, making them easier to permeate your being, to sink into the seas of your soul.

“Minho,” you call out gently.

“Yes, hon- " He inhales deeply, eyes looking anywhere but at you. “Yes, Yn?”

“Thank you, for everything.”

“Of course.”

The ensuing hours blur into a hazy dance, in which you’re only awakened by Minho’s warm hand on your shoulder, as he brings you lunch, then dinner to your room, paired with the medicine you need to take. He doesn’t talk to you, only carrying out the tray outside when he deems you asleep- as if tiptoeing near your existence, afraid he’d slip into you again, knowing you won’t be there to catch him.

It's nearly midnight when you leave your room to use the bathroom. You pause near the door when you spot Minho petting his cats. You don’t even know their names, you haven’t dared to ask, still foolishly holding on to the hopes that this is but a horrible nightmare, one clawing at your tender skin even after you rose.

“You’re sad, aren’t you?” he coos softly, and the cats respond with plaintive mewls as if understanding his words. “Mm. I’m really sad too,” his voice is barely above a whisper, as though it’s a confession he isn’t ready to speak out loud. The pain in your ribs intensifies.

“But it’s okay, she’ll remember us. We are her family, she can’t forget us forever, right?” your breathing hitches. “Right,” he adds softly, as if to reassure himself; to inflate hope in a heart deserted by you.

Day 3.

Minho threw away the wilted flowers, leaving the vase bare at the center of the kitchen table.

You almost wish he hadn't- those lifeless blooms were the sole reflection of your faded spirit within this home. Now everything in the house seemed alive, grand windows ushering in daylight to cascade upon the living space, causing the ivory walls to glisten. Everything, except for you and Minho, two ghosts skirting along the existence of one another.

There is, was, love imprinted in this house. You could sense it though you couldn’t feel it anymore. By the two cat mugs that connect through their tails, your products intermingling with Minho's in the bathroom sink, the notes you found hung on the fridge- some with his handwriting, most with yours, reminding Minho how much you loved him.

Where did all that love go? Did it dissipate into thin air, gone as if it had never existed? Has it turned into something else, lurking beneath the surface of your skin, waiting for you to remember?

You can’t find the answers, and as Minho finishes up his breakfast, you find yourself longing to ask him about the past year. Who you were and what you’ve lived. But you know it’ll feel like salt on a wound, akin to bringing a mirror before his face, reminding him of all that's been lost.

So instead, you offer to wash the dishes. He refuses, not that you expected anything else given his attentiveness to you.

“It’s only two plates and two cups, I can do it,” you insist, but he just stares blankly at you, before motioning to your ribs, and your swollen ankle. “It’ll be quick, please. I-I want to do it.”

“Fine,” he concedes, gaze softening. “But if you feel pain you'll stop.”

“Okay,” you smile tentatively, eager for the sense of normalcy that this mundane act would bring. You haven't forgotten how to wash a cup, at least.

Five minutes pass, and you suddenly freeze, plates drying in your hands. You have no idea where the dishes go.

This was your home, yet you can't even remember which cupboard holds the plates.

Silent tears flow down your cheeks and you wipe them away angrily. You clutch the plate in your hands so tightly you’re surprised it hasn’t shattered. You selfishly wish it did- you were tired of being the sole broken entity in this house.

A small whimper escapes your lips, startling Minho who was mindlessly scrolling through his phone. He rushes to your side, brows furrowed, concern woven into his face.

“What’s wrong? Are you in pain? Should I call the doctor?” he questions; eyes raking through your figure anxiously.

You shake your head as your tears double over. You can feel your heart constricting in your chest, longing for comfort, for a missing piece that was snatched from you, the void it left behind pulsating achingly within your being.

“I-I don’t know where the dishes go, and yesterday I tried to w-wash my hair and I c-couldn’t do it,” you admit through hiccups, plate still in your hands. Minho gently takes it from your tight hold, and your pinky brushes against his palm. He flexes his hand at the touch.

“It’s okay, it’s my fault. I should've shown you,” his voice is gentle, reminding you of how one soothes a child during a tantrum. You're embarrassing yourself but you can't find it in you to care.

“I’m so sorry. I couldn’t p-put them back in their place,” you choke out, head turned down, tears ricocheting off sage tiles. You’ve always wanted a green kitchen. You’ve gotten it and you can’t remember.

“It’s okay, I’ll put them back. Shh, yn, please don’t cry.” He’s slightly panicking, hands tightly fisted near his body as if he’s afraid they’d act on their own accord, reaching out to touch you the way they’ve done the past few months. He sighs softly before taking a cautious step toward you.

“I’ll wash your hair for you,” he offers, smiling tenderly at you, knuckles brushing ever so gently against your cheeks. “Hm? You can sit in front of the sink and I’ll wash it.”

“You’d do it?”

“I’d do anything for you.”

There is a softness that emanates from every atom of Minho, flowing from his fingertips, molding everything he touches. You were sure of it as he stood beside you, pouring shampoo over your hair with you sitting on a stool, head tilted back to the sink, your favorite song playing in the background. As he dried your hair with a warm towel, and then settled behind you on the bed, gently lathering your hair with your familiar serum, brushing your strands with care, avoiding any tugs that might pain you.

Everything Minho does is not to hurt you.

You went to sleep with the ghost of his fingers lingering on your scalp, his warm breath still caressing the back of your neck. You found slumber came much easier to you that night. You account it to your hair finally being clean.

Day 4.

“Yn?” Minho calls out gently, his head peering through the bedroom door. “Should we go on a walk? Just around the block, the doctor said it’d be good.”

“Sure,” you nod, glancing at the bedside clock. 9:43 p.m. it reads.

“Dress warmly, it’s cold outside,” he advises softly before leaving.

A few minutes later, you're clad in a gray university hoodie that drapes slightly past your thighs and a pair of matching sweatpants. Minho halts in his tracks upon seeing you, his eyes racking furiously over your figure. He shakes his head, swallowing a growing lump of despair.

“Wait here,” he whispers, vanishing into his room, leaving you fidgeting in place. An orange cat sidles up to your feet and you slowly bend down to scratch its ears. “I’m sorry I don’t remember you,” you smile sadly and he purrs in response, as if forgiving you for forgetting.

You wished you could forgive yourself too, one day.

Minho comes back, a red scarf in his hands. He steps forward until only a few inches are separating your bodies. With attentive care, he wraps the scarf around your neck, securing it in place. His brows furrow as he loops the fabric through and you release a small, shaky exhale.

There is a fog dissipating before your eyes, a misty veil lifted off your irises. In the four days you've known Minho, you always willed yourself to not look at him for too long, afraid of the pain you'd discern brewing over his figure, the shadows cast across his face.

But now, he stands so near that you cannot help but look at him. Wispy black bangs fall on top of his forehead, framing his rich honey eyes. His long eyelashes flutter with each blink, pupils dilated like a constellation-laden night sky. The smooth bridge of his high nose, dotted with the smallest mole; a well-defined cupid's bow outlining rosy, plump lips. He’s beautiful, even in his sadness; with sunken cheekbones and darkened eye circles, the hunch of his back, and the shake in his hands as he gently frees your hair from underneath the scarf.

Was it wrong of you to find beauty in his pain?

His gaze softens when it finally meets yours, his hand still holding your scarf tightly, as if it's a lifeline tethering him to you, one with which he verifies your existence, suddenly so elusive now that it no longer entwines with his.

It must be strange, surely, to grieve the loss of someone who’s still alive, breathing in the room next to yours.

Minho smiles at you, his fingers hovering above your head, as though he wished to smooth down your hair. He retracts his hand back, burying it deep inside the pocket of his black sweatpants, physically trapping it, stopping it from reaching it out to you once again.

You’ve noticed his reticence to touch you, even when he wakes you in the morning to drink your medicine. His hand never fully rests upon your shoulder, it is only his fingertips that delicately graze your skin. It's as though he’s convinced you're but a figment of his imagination, and he fears that once he touches you, his hand will pass right through your body, shattering the illusion he foolishly held onto.

You blink and Minho’s already three steps away, grabbing his keys and opening the door.

Despite cautioning you against the cold, Minho doesn't say no when you ask for ice cream, paying for it before you can reach the counter. It's an unfamiliar brand, one that he advised you to try, and you don't regret following his choice. It’s a sweet mixture of vanilla and caramelized almonds, coated in rich milk chocolate- you can't stop the happy smile that graces your lips upon tasting it.

You glance at Minho to find an unprecedented softness coloring his expression, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards. It isn't a smile directed at you, but rather an uncontrollable display of his feelings, splashing across his face like paint on a canvas.

You expect him to swallow this mark of affection down, to conceal it with a placid expression, but he doesn't. He only tilts his chin forward, gesturing to the ice cream.

"Do you like it?"

You hum in agreement, a grin stretching wider on your lips. "I do."

"You did too, back then, when I showed it to you," he says, almost casually, as if referring to a childhood memory that turned out to be more important to him than to you.

"You have good taste," you reply, scrunching your nose playfully at him. The smile slips away from his face, his voice somber when he speaks again. "I really do, don't I?"

Walking with Minho isn't as awkward as you had imagined it might be. He shows you the neighborhood- the nearby playground, the hidden flower shop tucked away in a corner and you make a mental note to visit it later. You point at closed shops inquiring about them- he answers each of your questions diligently.

Your accident is never brought up, and you both tiptoe around the topic, skirting the edge of a dark forest where the light no longer seeps through and dark vines cover the sun.

You both refuse to venture into the unknown.

"Just down the road, there is a bookstore. They have really great deals and I bought most-" Shouts erupt from somewhere nearby, loud slurred voices of two men under the influence. Your hand instinctively wraps around Minho's forearm, while his hand moves in front of your body, acting as a shield.

You freeze, letting out a shaky breath. "I- I hate yelling."

"I know," he responds simply, lowering his hand.

He knows you- it is a comforting thought, to realize that you exist beyond the confines of your own mind.

Day 5.

Minho’s staring blankly at his phone, your conversation shining dimly before his eyes. You’ve just sent him a text reassuring him that you indeed took your medicine since he wasn’t home today with you- his three days off work passing by in the blink of an eye.

In his mind, the past week felt like a mirage, a nightmare woven with intricate threads of his deepest fears- losing you, never getting to see the glimmer in your eyes again, and then looking at it and realizing it is no longer directed at him.

He exhales softly, tucking his phone into the pocket of his navy trousers. The salty breeze from the nearby lake grazes his senses, and he closes his eyes, yearning for a fleeting respite.

He purposely avoids watching the sun's descent into the water, which paints the sky in hues of yellow and orange. He no longer finds the sunset unfolding before him captivating, or any other scenery, for that matter, even those he once deemed beautiful. The world, in his eyes, has become lackluster and devoid of vibrancy, overshadowed by a profound sadness he never fathomed would reside in his heart.

He still doesn’t know how he managed to remain strong until now, tending to you, holding your gaze, and breathing near you when you don’t even remember him.

You’ve survived, he reminds himself, you were lucky enough to be able to draw these breaths. The thought of any other outcome sends uncomfortable shivers down his spine. You’re alive and you’ll be home, he clings to this truth as he starts making his way back to his apartment.

For how long will this knowledge offer him solace? How long will it push him to face a new day? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t think he wants to.

It is much deeper into the night, the sound of the TV playing softly in the background. Minho has given up on slumber since the day of your accident. He was used to the feel of your fingers playing with his hair, your goodnight kisses planted on his forehead, then his on yours.

He doesn't know how to sleep without burying his head in your neck, your chest, your stomach, wherever he saw fit that day. And he was used to your warmth- the warmth of your body as he pressed it tightly to his, the warmth of your love as you whispered goodnight to him. And the living room feels immensely cold in your absence.

He fixates his gaze on the ceiling, resolute in his effort to avoid scanning the room. Since every corner he dares to inspect serves as a poignant reminder of the life you both once shared, a life whose echoes still reverberate in the air around him. The sound of your laughter, the memory of your annoyed whines when he teased you a bit too fervently. Vivid recollections unfold before his eyes- your tender kisses exchanged under the fridge's light, warm hugs by the front door after a particularly long day, none of you willing to let go first.

He remembers your delighted giggles the first time you entered the house. It was still unfurnished, save for a floatable mattress and two empty cups of ramen beside it. But you were happy, immensely so, and your joy seemed to fill every room, painting it with shades of your love. Now the house feels empty- you're here and yet you aren't, and he is still on the sidewalk where he received that fateful call from your hospital.

The moonlight filters through the window, and Minho looks at the light without truly seeing it. It's as if darkness surrounds him entirely- a bottomless sky where the stars of your affection have fizzled out, so suddenly, leaving him alone to wander blind. He can't help but feel guilty- had he not given you a love worth remembering?

Minho sighs loudly once again, trying to coax the reluctant breaths to escape his body. He pulls himself to his feet to check on you, knowing that you had to sleep upright for the first few days so your ribs would heal properly, which is why he often found himself readjusting your body at night.

He peeks through the door, the light from the hallway casting an ethereal glow on your body. He frowns when he notices you fidgeting in your sleep, eyebrows knitted together. A soft gasp escapes your lips and Minho hurries to your side. He's witnessed your nightmares before and he knows that this one must be particularly terrifying to elicit such startled sounds from you.

“Y/n,” Minho coaxes gently, but you don’t respond. He presses his palm to your shoulder, shaking you slightly. “Y/n, wake up.” You writhe in your place, fear evident in your features, and Minho grabs both your shoulders, growing more urgent in his attempts to wake you. “Y/n, come on wake up!” he speaks louder, and you startle awake, pushing his arms away.

“I’m... Where am I?” you ask frantically, hand running through your hair. A sharp pain seems to surge through your ribs as you clutch your chest, slightly doubling over.

“Take it easy, Y/n. Deep breaths,” he wills gently and you raise your head, meeting his eyes. Recognition shines in them, but not love, not anymore. He never knew affection could alter someone’s gaze this much.

“Minho… I- I remember,” you gasp, tears trailing down your face at an alarming rate. He freezes in place, tongue thickening in his mouth, unable to move it.

“What... what do you remember?” he asks carefully, sitting on the edge of your bed.

“The accident. I remember driving and I… I was going in my lane, I- I didn’t… I wasn’t driving fast, but a truck came out of nowhere and its lights blinded me, and then… it rammed into the passenger seat side of the car and-" Your hands shake as you bring them to your face. “The blood, there was so much blood coming out of me, that’s- that’s the last thing I remember, it was in my hands and my arms and-" You’re wiping frantically at your skin as if erasing remnants of the red liquid only you can see. “I bled so much but I was… I- I don’t-"

“Can I hold your hands?” Minho cuts you off, needing the panic to dissipate from your being.

“Please,” you stutter, and he promptly grabs your hands in his warm ones, intertwining your fingers together, rubbing his thumb soothingly across your palm.

“You are safe now. You are alive and you are breathing and you are safe.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong, I drove safely, why… why was I hit?” you ask in a small, broken voice, overwhelmed by the unjust reality of the world. Minho swallows his own tears, throwing them down the pits of his pain. The one thing he wished you’d never remember was your accident, the sight of your unconscious body for those three days nearly driving him insane.

“He was drunk. And he’s in jail now. It wasn’t your fault you couldn’t have prevented it."

You remain silent, gaze lost on the wall. “Hm? It wasn’t your fault, right?" he presses, squeezing your hand lightly.

“Yeah.” You sigh, unconvinced. Minho reluctantly drops your hand to pour you a glass of water, and you diligently drink it, before curling around yourself in a ball.

“No, you can’t sit like this,” he gently reprimands and you pout.

"My heart hurts. The pressure helps."

“I know it does,” he smiles in understanding, “but we have to make sure your ribs won’t hurt more, alright?” he explains as he pulls you upright, tucking pillows beneath your arms. He grabs a hoodie from the closet and rolls it into a ball, placing it gently on your chest.

“Here, you can hug this instead.” You giggle quietly at the makeshift plushie, but your laughter suddenly morphs into fresh tears, catching him off-guard.

“I’m so tired, Minho. And I’m so frustrated and mad and sad. Is it possible to f-feel all these things at once?" You hiccup, burying your face into his hoodie, soaking it in tears.

“It is,” he hums gently, “Do you think it’d help if you talked to a therapist?” He feels you tense up beneath the comforter. “Only if you want to, on your own terms.”

“I’ll think about it,” you whisper.

“Of course,” he says. “Try to sleep again, mm?”

“I don’t think I can,” you chuckle quietly, wiping your tears away with the sleeves of your cardigan. “Do you have work tomorrow?” you ask.

“I do.”

“What do you work as?”

“Computer programming. I’m also a dance teacher on the side,” he adds quietly, feeling a bit vulnerable at revealing this bit about himself again.

“How do you manage both?” you ask in awe and he shrugs.

“My IT job leaves me a lot of free time. And I’ve always loved dance, so it doesn’t really feel like a job, you know?”

“Mm, you must work very hard at it. That’s why your body’s so toned,” you say almost absentmindedly, as Minho lets out a surprised chuckle at your words.

“You think my body is toned?”

“I mean- I didn’t ogle you I just… you know, you wear these fitted shirts it’s hard not to notice your muscles and-"

"You are sick and yet you’re staring at my body?” he tsks. “I feel used.”

“Hey,” you hit him with the hoodie he gave you. “Forget I said anything,” you pout.

“It’s okay, I work very hard for these, thank you very much,” he flexes slightly, and genuine laughter bubbles up from you both. This might be the one thing he misses the most.

You both quiet down, silence filling the room once again, but it isn’t awkward, it’s comfortable, almost as if you're the same person he's always known.

“What’s your favorite color?” you suddenly ask.

“Purple.”

“Did my favorite color change over this past year?”

“No,” he chuckles, “it’s still that obnoxious orange.”

“It’s not obnoxious, it’s peculiar.”

“it’s weird and it hurts my poor eyes,” he whines, covering his face as if wounded by the mere thought of it.

“Hey, what if it can hear us and now you just hurt its feelings?”

“Colors have feelings now?” he asks, amused.

“Everything has feelings,” you nod matter-of-factly.

“Okay then think of the feelings of this bed we are both squishing with our weights.”

“Don’t say that. Now I’m sad for it,” you pat the comforter gently, a slight pout tugging at your lips.

“I think you should sleep,” he smiles and you fake a gasp. “Is my convo boring you?”

“Yes. Now sleep, Yn,” he brings the comforter up your body, sliding away from the bed. “You’ll be okay, right?”

“Can you… can you sleep here too? I saw the inflatable mattress in the storage room. If that’s not… too much to ask for.”

"Of course not. I'll be back."

"Thank you, Minho" you smile, lower lip slightly quivering. "Thank you for not being mad at me."

Just how many cracks can one heart bear before breaking beyond repair? Minho thinks he's close to finding out.

Day 6.

The lights of your dreams have returned, but they are no longer comforting, nor warm, they glare harshly, searing your eyes as they announce your impending doom. Each second draws out in slow-motion and you find yourself counting the breaths you inhale, fearing they may be your last. One in, one out, one in, one out. The moment you dreaded unfolds- the truck collides with your car, flipping it upside down.

However, this time, flames rage within. You know that your car wasn't burned, but they feel terrifyingly tangible as they latch onto your skin. The heat becomes unbearable, you are no longer sure that this is just a mere dream. You try to scream but smokey air fills your lungs instead, robbing you of your ability to speak.

You need to wake up. You need someone to rouse you from this nightmare. Minho. You try to utter his name, but it escapes your lips in a strangled whisper. The lights won.

A cool hand clasps your own, yanking you from the fiery dream, dissolving it like sugar in a hot cup of tea. You startle awake to find Minho hovering over you, brows knitted in concern, his hand tenderly cradling yours.

“Are you okay? Another bad dream?” he inquires and you sigh in response, nodding as your head falls back onto the pillow.

He brushes your hair back, some damp strands still clinging to your sweaty forehead. "You screamed my name. Was I in your nightmare?” he ventures carefully, afraid he was one of the sources of your fear.

“No, I… I thought of you, in my dream,” you reassure, although your words seem to have the opposing effect, making Minho pause in his tracks. You’ve noticed his habit of freezing around you as if needing time to process what you just said. You wonder if you’ve ever came to learn the meaning behind each of his silences, what his blinks convey in ways his tongue fails to.

“You are heating up,” he clears his throat, pressing his hand against your forehead. “Do you wanna shower? I’ll make you tea meanwhile.”

“Okay, yeah. I’d like that,” you nod, glancing at your phone- 3.47 a.m.

Twenty minutes later, you find Minho sitting on the inflatable bed, legs crossed, two steaming mugs of tea before him. He appears drowsy, eyes shutting and reopening as if fending off slumber. It’s almost an endearing sight- the way his bangs fall before his eyes, obstructing his vision, the sleeves of his pullover dangling over his hands, hiding them from your view. He brought the mattress without you asking him to. The attention brings a smile to your face.

“Hi,” you greet softly and Minho looks up, a tender smile on his face. “Hey. Here is your tea.”

“Thank you,” you beam at him, settling on the edge of your bed, legs crisscrossed to mirror his. “I’m sorry that I woke you up.”

“It’s okay. I wasn’t really asleep, just resting my eyes.”

“Isn't that what sleep is?” you snort and he chuckles, shaking his head.

“I was still conscious, you know. I can’t really sleep these days.”

“Is the couch uncomfortable?” you ask, worried, fidgeting with your lower lip.

“It’s not the couch,” he says as his eyes lock on yours, a stare so intense it forces you to look down at your cup. ‘it’s you’, you read in his gaze. You have no answer for that.

“What's your favorite food?” you suddenly wonder.

“Pudding.”

“But that’s dessert?”

“I really like the one you used to make me.”

“I cooked for you? and you liked it?” you giggle. “I’m not really good at it, usually.”

“I taught you some basic skills,” he smirks, raising his eyebrows proudly at you.

“Too bad your effort is now wasted.”

“It’s not a waste if it was done with love,” he pauses, licking his lips. “And I remember it.”

A bittersweet fog shrouds the air- he remembers that memory, but you don’t. Perhaps you will never bridge that gap, no matter how much you want to. The room in your heart may remain forever locked, the gateway to that chamber brimming with your stolen memories. Maybe you're condemned to merely stand before the closed door, straining to hear the echoes of the love that resonates behind, forever just out of reach.

You don’t fall asleep again that night. And as Minho’s quiet snores fill the room, you rummage your mind in search of a pudding recipe, hoping to retrieve the memory he spoke of so tenderly, shaky hands holding his mug tightly. Silent tears trail down your cheeks and you try your best to stifle the sound of your cries.

You want to make pudding. You want to make him pudding so badly.

Day 7.

It’s been a week since you woke up anew. Seven days adrift in a vast sea where waves of your memories lap at the shores of your mind, unable to breach the walls guarding your recollections of the past year.

Minho took you to the hospital for your weekly check-up. He sat by your side as the doctor reassured you that your ribs were healing relatively well, but you still needed time to recover, time for your body to mend, time for your memories to return. You loathed the waiting, the wasted days slipping through your fingers. You wanted a now.

But you kept all these thoughts to yourself, thanking the doctor as he exited the room.

Minho rented a bicycle to drive you around since the thought of being in a car made your anxiety spike. He installed a little seat for you, in that bright, obnoxious orange color you love very dearly. The sight of it nearly brought tears to your eyes this morning.

Minho idly pedaled around, choosing a scenic route, one he knew by heart from the looks of it. You closed your eyes, savoring the last sun rays of the year. Autumn was fading, winter clawing its way into the seasons slowly. You weren’t sure you could handle both the cold and the grief.

Miho took time off work for your doctor's appointment, and you both spent the day around one another, side by side on the couch, a new book in your hands, and an anime playing on the TV for Minho.

You could see him casting occasional, nervous glances in your direction, as you flipped the pages of the book. You didn’t understand why at first.

But then you did.

You only brought it up at night, when it was past 2 a.m. and you knew that Minho wasn’t sleeping either, the screen of his phone illuminating his face. He left the inflatable mattress in the room, no longer waiting for a nightmare to occur. You weren’t complaining. You desperately needed company.

“Minho,” you call out gently.

“Mm?”

“How did we meet?”

You can hear Minho suck in a deep breath at your question, before placing his phone down, the only light source in the room fizzling out. It made talking easier that way, when only your voices were heard, carried around, as if emitting from two entities that weren’t you both.

“We met… near your old apartment block. I was going to the kimbap place near yours, you remember that one, right?”

You hum in response.

“And I saw you crying, crouching near an injured cat. Some car had run over her leg, and she couldn’t walk anymore. And you didn’t know what to do, so I helped you. You insisted on coming with me to the vet where I take my cats. So, we caught a cab. And you were so worried, you didn’t stop crying, so the cab driver thought I did something to you,” he chuckles faintly.

“Then, the vet put a cast on her leg and reassured us that she’d be okay. And I told him I’d take her home and bring her for check-ups. But you were so worried, you begged me to send you updates about the cat. So, you gave me your number. And we talked.”

“What happened to the cat?”

“I took her to a rescue store I trusted since I couldn’t take her in. and we still visited her from time to time. And then, she found a good family.”

“And what happened to us?” you inquire softly, hoping that if your voice was quiet enough then your question wouldn't hurt Minho as much.

“We kept in touch," he said. "And it was… easy to talk to you, I felt as if I had known you for my entire life. When you found out I had three cats, we Facetimed a lot so you’d see them, but then we just kept on calling, every day, for nearly two weeks. Being with you felt natural, you know? I didn’t overthink it. I never did."

“And then three weeks later you came over to see Soonie, Dori, and Doongie. We ended up watching three movies in a row, and you were so tired you slept on my couch.”

“That’s embarrassing,” you chuckle.

"Yes," he laughs and you reach over to swat his shoulder playfully. "But it was also cute, and endearing. Then you came over a lot, and we just cooked together. Well, I cooked and you watched.”

“Right, that sounds more like me," you instantly agree.

“We hung outside too, whenever one of us had free time. We had a lot of common hobbies and interests so we never ran out of things to talk about. We made time for each other too.”

“How did we start dating?”

“You made the first move.”

“I did?” you shoot up from your place, hissing when the abrupt movement causes a twinge of pain in your ribs.

“Take it easy,” he giggles, as he illuminates your face with his flashlight. “You did.”

“Did you put a spell on me? I swore I’d never make a first move again after I was rejected in third grade. That was my most sacred oath."

“Well… you were ranting about this book. The one you were reading today,” he adds, and your excitement fizzles out, as the pieces of the puzzle finally fall into place. “You were sad because you had no one to talk to about it. So, I bought the book and read it. I gave you my copy, complete with highlighted passages and notes. And when I did… you kissed me, without warning,” his voice is softer now, as he fiddles with the tip of his blushing ears. "You said it was the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for you.”

“It was. It is,” you whisper, heart caught in your throat. “I saw the photograph of us both lodged between the pages of the book. Did we take it that day?”

“Yes, we weren’t dating, not yet. Because I told you I wanted to take you out on a proper date. But you wanted us to take a picture holding the book… So you’d remember.”

“So I'd remember,” you repeat, voice quivering. What good was it for in the end?

“I looked so happy in the photograph,” you whisper, tears welling up your eyes. “I looked so happy with you,” your voice breaks as you utter that last part. "Did I love you, Minho?"

"You did," he nods softly, blinking away his own tears.

“And did you love me?”

“I did. I still do, very much.”

“Thank you, for loving me. It sounds like I’ve lived a happy year with you.”

Minho's pain is akin to a polite guest; it lingers by the corner, speaking in whispers, hardly ever raising its voice. You'd never really notice it, unless you strain your ears, as you're doing now. Only then would you discern the tremors of his quiet sobs- broken, stifled, determined not to make themselves known, only escaping his lips when he thinks you've fallen asleep.

Day 8.

Whenever an overwhelming emotion ran freely along the corridors of your soul, you'd often find yourself curled in a fetal position, knees drawn to your chest, like a fragile leaf.

Your teacher once explained that it reminds us of safer times in the wombs of our mothers, when the cruelty of life hasn’t yet reached us.

It is the way you’re resting now, upon the cold, hardwood floor, dozens of books surrounding you. You decided to go through each book in Minho’s library, the need to satiate your curiosity overtaking you. You didn’t know what you were looking for, exactly. Other photographs, surely, in the hopes that one of them would spark up your memory, ignite the flame of remembrance.

What you didn’t expect was to find Minho talking to you through books. Within the pages, amid the words, scribbled in small, dainty handwriting, threads of his thoughts all relating to you. Quotes he thought you’d appreciate, highlighted segments that reminded him of you. And dedications, so many dedicated lines you felt like you could drown in them. It felt as if Minho was on a quest to find love within every line, only to inscribe your name beside it.

Putting down the last book, you were left with a huge void, akin to a black hole eating away at your heart. So, you laid on the floor, one arm underneath your head, knees held tightly to your chest- as if trying to create borders for your sadness, to stop it from spilling out of your body, drowning the house in even more sorrow. Those four walls have had enough, more than they could contain. And so did you.

You suddenly longed for the very beginning of your life, when time was but a tranquil stream, when you were unaware of the hurtful years it would carve into your existence. Back to when your spine was still curled around itself; for it was never meant to be straightened. Your spine was never strong enough to bear your pain.

You wanted to talk to someone, but you didn’t know who you could turn to. You didn’t know how to articulate these emotions into words, tangible enough for someone to understand them. And you couldn’t talk to Minho about it, not when he was hurting on his own.

Because he smiled down at his cats, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards. His laughter echoed around the room when he talked to his friends on the phone. And sometimes, he even hummed under his breath while making you breakfast. But this happiness never reached his eyes, behind his pupils the sadness seared itself into his veins, casting a gloomy shadow that followed him everywhere he went. It was a palpable ache, one that filled the very atmosphere with the metallic taste of grief. Making it almost impossible for you to breathe in. Even more so when you remember it was all your fault.

These are the thoughts that haunted you all day, as they have been doing for the past week. Minho must have noticed that you were feeling gloomier than usual, a silent storm raging by his side, since he put up a romcom for you. “It made you laugh a lot when you watched it months ago.”

“How do you remember all of these things about me?” you ponder, scratching the fragile skin near your nails, easily torn, just like you.

“Does it make you uncomfortable? Should I stop?” he asks quietly, deflecting your question.

“No,” you say the truth. “It'd be weird if you were an actual stranger, but… you knew me. And I knew you. and I still feel safe around you.”

He nods silently, but something in his gaze compels you to keep talking.

“I mean, I never felt uncomfortable around you these days, which surprised me too. I just… I suppose that even if my mind doesn’t remember, my heart does, in a way?”

“My heart will always remember you,” he whispers, gaze adrift in a faraway memory.

A gear shifts in your mind, a sudden light flooding your vision. You find yourself within a grand canopy bed, its pure white curtains swaying to the rhythm of a whimsical breeze, their delicate fabric brushing lightly against your cheek. It’s slightly cold from the wide-open windows, but then it’s warm, as a gentle hand finds its place on your thigh, kindling an ember deep within, setting your very soul ablaze.

The curtains sway with the wind, obscuring your view, but you can still discern the sound of your laughter, echoing like distant chimes. And a tenderness, so delicate it seemed almost otherworldly, trailing along your skin, as warmth caresses your cheek and gently traverses the curve of your collarbones, peppering it with the softest kisses. You can't quite behold it, but it is unmistakably there, an ineffable presence that threatens to burst your heart at the seams—a memory of your love for Minho.

It is a blurry sight, like peering into a worn-out photograph, its details softened by the sands of time. But you clutch to it- to your fading laughter and hushed conversation, and then your voice ringing clearly in your mind, the promise you made to Minho.

'My heart will always remember you'.

You startle back in a jolt; the light and warmth have extinguished. They are now dull, withered down, sitting next to you with their head hung low.

It takes you an inhumane effort to swallow down the lump in your throat.

Day 16.

This week has been particularly cold. Not temperature-wise, October has always harbored these same frigid temperatures and you've gotten used to them, to the relentless winds brushing against your skin. Only this time they pierced right through your soul instead.

You knew what had changed. You had felt the sadness, the frustration, the guilt- all blending into one sorrowful symphony, pulling at your heartstrings the way one does to a harp. Yet, amid these familiar emotions, a new feeling loomed large this past week- anxiety.

It arrived in sudden, icy bursts, cold beads of perspiration cascading down your spine, feet suddenly freezing no matter how fuzzy your socks were- the physical telltales, then came the emotional ones. The shadows of dread, for we fear the unseen more than that which we can touch. The growing panic gnawing at your heart, hinting that something profoundly disastrous lurked on the horizon.

Anxiety held you suspended in the air, bound by invisible ropes that compelled you to watch from above as the days drifted past you. You were a ghost haunting an empty shell, hollow and resonant with anxiety's clang, akin to an empty can's descent to the ground.

Your appetite had fled, leaving you alone to grapple with the chore of feeding yourself, mechanically ingesting food only to pacify Minho’s concerned gaze. The TV’s volume blared, since you desperately needed the voices of other people to invade your mind, to render your thoughts merciless, forcing them to put their sword-like tongues down.

And the exhaustion, not accounted to your broken ribs, for Minho had meticulously overseen their recovery. It was an emotional fatigue, a weariness that clung to your every breath, trapping them within your ribcage, far beyond their time, until they tethered on the brink of exploding in your lungs- a supernova of darkness devouring your essence. Only then did the breaths release their hold on you.

So, you patiently awaited the inevitable unraveling, because you knew this wasn’t an ordinary anxiety. Your soul whispered to you in a language your mind could no longer translate, throbbing with a message you couldn’t quite recollect, striving urgently to jog your memory of a monumental truth.

But you didn’t remember– you should have.

You should've known it was Minho’s birthday.

It is near midnight when you venture out of your room, the inflatable bed by your side unusually vacant. A dim glow draws you to the kitchen, and as you stand by its entrance, an intensified cold grips you. It chills the blood in your veins, transforming it into splintered shards that prick uncomfortably beneath your skin.

Minho is sitting by the table, a small, muted cake before him, a shoebox by his side. A solitary candle flickers in front of his face, casting elongating shadows on his chiseled features. The flame is about to fizzle out- you feel like your heart will closely follow suit.

"Minho..." you call out gently, careful not to startle him from the trance ensnaring him. He doesn't react to the sound of your voice.

"Minho, I…"

"Today was my birthday."

His tone is cold, like the darkening clouds before a stormy night. His words feel like lightning bolts piercing your core.

"It would be stupid to blow this candle out, wouldn't it? Because you and I both know my wish won't come true. Maybe it never will. And it's killing me, yn." His voice quivers as it utters your name, a slight shake taking over his lips. His cheeks are tear stained- glimmering reflections under the golden flame. You've never seen him this sad. You don't know how to comfort him in his sadness.

A rush of nausea overwhelms your being, a yearning to expel every emotion, methodically, until your heart transforms into a tranquil organ, solely pulsing life's crimson essence through your frame. Nothing more, nothing less.

"This shoe box is yours. You kept it under the bed, filled it with everything that reminded you of me. You told me..." he pauses, taking in a deep breath. "You told me that you wanted to remember everything about us, every single detail. But I... I don't care if you don't remember every date we went to. I just-" his forehead rests on his palm, as he squeezes his eyes shut. "I just want you to remember that you love me."

Hot tears are rolling across his cheeks, splattering across the table like a broken mosaic. He doesn't try to hide them or wipe them away. He's had enough.

"Minho, I’m-"

"I mean- that's not too much to ask for, right?" he finally lifts his head, locking his eyes with yours. A black abyss, a dark void. You are the one who sucked out all the light.

"You- you said you loved me. And I- I felt it, y/n, when you looked at me, when you touched me. I felt it, it wasn't- it wasn't just words, I-" he pauses, running a hand through his hair, tugging at his black locks furiously. "You loved me," his voice breaks. "Why- why can't you remember that you loved me?"

Your tongue bursts to flame in your mouth, its grey ashes choking you from within. What could you even say? How do you stop the bleeding of a heart when you carry knives for fingers?

Minho abruptly stands up, his chair scraping loudly across the floor. "We talked about marriage, a-about kids, you said- you said you'd choose me to be the father of your children, you said you wanted a big house w-with me and you-” he points at you, chest heaving, eyes rimmed red. “You said you wanted us to sit at the patio when we're eighty and you wanted us to hold hands still," he chuckles bitterly, his arms falling limp by his side incredulously. "And now you don't even remember me."

He grabs the box, rummaging through its contents furiously. "You see this?" he waves dried flowers before your eyes, their petals falling to the floor from the force of his agitation. "These are the flowers I got you for our first date. You dried them and put them here because you- you said you wanted to preserve it, to remember."

"And this, the cinema tickets from our first movie date. You were so tired you just slept on my shoulder all the time and then I- I carried you home and you kissed me." He's growing more frantic, rifling through the shoe box in a frenzy. You remain rooted by the kitchen's entrance, a sense of powerlessness holding you captive, an unbreakable vice around your being.

"This is the napkin from our favorite cat café, and look," he grabs your hand, clammy palm pressed to yours, pulling you toward the table." This is the receipt of the first time we went grocery shopping together and-" he waves it in the air, before slamming it onto the table. "And, you e-even kept this stupid rock I gave you right before I told you I love you for the first time, because you said it was the happiest day of your life, my god Yn how can you not remember?"

A broken, sob-laden chuckle escapes his lips, a sound so heart wrenchingly human, so painfully poignant that for an instant, it fills you with a bitter aversion to your own humanity- it was never meant to inflict this much pain upon someone else.

Your thoughts shatter as Minho tenderly cups your face, urging you to confront his turbulent gaze. He seeks something within your eyes, and you desperately hope he'd find it, whatever it may be, anything to stop the tremor in his hands as they anchor you in place.

"Why did you- why did you keep all of this if not to remember me.” He asks, unblinking, lip quivering. “Please, please, remember me, just- just try, okay?"

"I’m so sorry-"

"No. No. Don't- don't apologize like it's final like you could never love me again," his hands glide to your shoulders, shaking you slightly in place. "Don't you understand? I-I don't want an apology I want you to remember me."

"Minho..."

"Just look through this, it's our happiest memories y/n, okay?" he let goes of you, circling the table before shoving the box into your hands. He smiles- attempts to, it is an unnatural presence amidst his tears, so out of place it sends shivers down your spine. "Look at it, yn, please," he pleads as your hold on the box falters. "I can’t remember us alone. I’m crushing under the weight of everything we lived it’s exhausting me!"

His voice ascends pitch, the end of his words hanging into the air, searing themselves into the particles you breathe. His voice leaves a painful echo on his trail. You’re exhausting him.

You put the box down, taking three cautious step forwards.

And then you hug Minho.

He can't even hold you back, body trembling with the sobs rippling through him as soon as your chest presses to his. He sinks to the floor and you follow suit, arms enfolding his concaved shoulders tightly, his face buried in the crook of your neck. "Im sorry, I'm so sorry Minho. I- I wish I could remember."

You want the kitchen to collapse upon itself. There is too much grief in such a small room- it stains the walls like blood droplets, absorbs his cries like a saturated sponge.

You don’t think you could ever sit at this table again.

He finally clasps your back, drawing you even nearer to him. "Can- can you pretend, just today, please? For my birthday. Pretend you still love me."

"Of course. It's okay, I’m here, honey. I'm here."

"I love you. I love you so much," he whispers, lips pressed against your neck. "And it hurts to love you, so much." He brings your hand to his heart. "It hurts so much right here."

He doesn't let go of your hand, softly caressing your knuckles. His breath hitches as his thumb hovers over your ring finger. "I... I was going to propose, you know? I even bought the ring, stored it away for when the time is right. Do you think you would have remembered if you woke up wearing it?"

He knows your answer would've been yes. You know that too, in the matching cat mugs and the book annotations and the way Minho gently held your face, even in the depths of his despair. Everywhere you look, your answer echoes back- yes, the home chants in unison, that's what you would've said. Yes, yes, yes.

Day 17.

In the cracks of concrete sidewalks, tenacious flowers manage to sprout. Just how in the depths of Minho’s pain, small joys bloomed, nestled in the vacant spaces between you and him.

You'd greet him each time he opened the door, your voice resonating through the apartment like the sweetest sonnet. And he would always pause by the doorknob, basking in the sound of your voice that hadn’t changed in the slightest. Your tone still held that same dulcet timber, a golden honey that once dripped freely upon his soul.

But today, Minho swung open the door and an eerie hush greeted him instead. He ventured in, calling after you, only to be met with utter silence. He anxiously checked the rooms, opening the doors hastily one by one. But you weren't there. You weren't home.

Minho felt the familiar tendrils of worry coiling around his heart, constricting it with each passing moment. He quickly grabbed his phone, dialing your number, only to fall into your voicemail, the robotic voice chilling him to the core.

In the past two weeks, you had made sure to text Minho each time you went outside- a precaution you took due to your fractured ribs which came with frequent fits of dizziness. It was a safety measure for one person, at least, to know where you are.

But you didn't text him today. And he had no idea where you might’ve gone to.

Minho tried to suck in a deep breath, willing the fear to relinquish its icy grip on his body so he could think properly. Maybe you had simply forgotten, he reasoned. Yet, he knew that you never back out on your promises. They were sacred for you since they were once senselessly broken.

For the second time in a mere three weeks, Minho’s deepest fears unfurl like a nightmare before him, ensnaring him in a tapestry woven with the bloody threads of everything that went wrong yesterday.

He carried his shame akin to heavy bricks on his shoulders, causing them to hunch forward- a coward, leaving the house before you even rose, and on his trail, your breakfast and a hastily written note. He couldn’t fathom eating at that kitchen table with you, not when his sobs still echoed around those sage walls, as did your quiet voice as you tried to soothe his cries, holding him between your tender arms.

Minho was scared. He was terrified you’d never come back home after everything that had happened, the words he said and the way he pleaded, nearly at your feet, consumed by a sadness grander than anything he’s ever known.

So, he storms out of the apartment in a hurry, scouring the nearby playground. But you aren’t there. The grocery store is next, the library, the flower shop, the cat café tucked in a corner that you may have stumbled on.

You were still nowhere to be found.

A dreadful sense of foreboding overcame him, akin to how he felt when his phone rang two weeks prior- the unfamiliar number of the hospital shining before his eyes. What if something happened to you, a fit of dizziness but no one was around to help? Life doesn’t grant you a second chance. No one has ever brushed against death’s shoulder twice and lived to tell the tale. What if he receives another call?

He couldn’t survive another call.

Minho stands in the midst of the road, clutching his head with a tight grip, desperately searching his memory for the places that once brought you solace during the months he spent knowing you. However, he quickly remembers that you no longer know of those places.

So where could you have gone?

An epiphany dawns upon Minho- the bridge you had pointed out to him from a distance on one of your walks, the first place you claimed as your own in the city. It towered above the ocean, suspended several meters in the air. He couldn't accompany you there that day, bound by a paralyzing fear of heights.

He prays with all his might that he's right.

He dashes towards the bridge akin to a madman, the desperate rhythm of his pounding feet mirroring the urgency in his heart. It looms tantalizingly close, a mere 15 minutes away, and Minho, in a state of disarray, knows he's not fit to drive right now. He was never fond of running, he didn't enjoy the searing ache in his lungs, robbing him of his ability to breathe. But he welcomes the pain today- it means that he's running fast enough to reach you. He hopes, he prays.

Minho spots you from a distance, a mere silhouette standing at the bridge's edge, your figure unmistakable with the red scarf tightly wound around your neck. Relief nearly brings him to his knees - you're alive.

Minho doesn't think as he sprints to you, eyes solely focused on you and not the void beneath his feet.

"Yn!" he calls out from afar, and you startle, snapping your head back to look at him. He wonders what he must look at you, disheveled hair, the wind knocking down his jean jacket. But he doesn't care.

Minho stands before you without pause, instantly pulling you into the shelter of his chest, his hand cradling the back of your head. He buries his face in the curve of your neck, inhaling the familiar smell of your shampoo, a constant through the months of knowing you. He clings to it, to the familiarity of your scent and the way your heartbeat seems to pour from your body to his, speaking in a language only your souls can comprehend. His arms clutch at you tightly, rugged breaths escaping his body, dew tears gathering in his eyes and dropping down your shoulders.

Your arms hang limp by your side, confusion etched across your face at the urgency, the frenzy in which he pulled you to his chest, an emotion you hadn’t known in him in these past weeks.

You tentatively raise your hands, patting his back slowly. "Minho, what’s wrong?" you whisper, and he shakes his head.

"You weren't home. I- I thought something happened to you."

"No, I just went on a walk and lost track of time," you reassure him and he pulls away, warm hands cradling your cheeks.

"You're okay, right? Tell me you're okay," he pleads and you smile, nodding your head. “I'm okay, don’t worry.”

Minho drops your face, embarrassment flooding his being at his outburst. It morphs to panic as he realizes the expanse beneath—nothing but the vast ocean, the wind slamming into his body, making him lose his footing.

"Are... you okay?" you ask cautiously. "Minho, you're shaking," you point out, a frown tugging at your lips. "Are you cold?"

He stays silent, unable to place a word beyond the stutter of his lips.

"Here," you hurriedly unwrap your red scarf, enclosing it around his neck. "You're shivering, Minho," you grab his hands, rubbing his fingers, blowing warmth into them, an attempt to kindle fire into him.

"I'm not- not cold. I- I’m scared of heights," he admits through a stutter, eyes tightly closed.

"Then why are you here?" You ask, surprised.

"Because you are."

His confession comes out quietly, softened by the blow of his fear. His eyes remain closed, missing the tears gathering in your eyes, the ones you swiftly try to blink away.

"Let's go, just keep your eyes closed. Hold my hand," you entwine your fingers with his, squeezing it lightly to signal you're there, as you walk across the bridge.

You don't let go until you finally regain solid ground.

"You're safe. you can open your eyes," you say quietly.

"You're okay, right?" he inquires again, stepping closer.

"Why are you asking me this when you're the one shaking?" you chuckle, almost exasperated, nothing funny in the sound.

"I was worried about you, and I thought you left… after yesterday."

"Why would you- My god Minho why would you even come running across this bridge? Why would you do something like that when you're afraid?"

"Because I love you," his voice is resolute, soft as a whisper, as he states a simple truth. It only makes yours reach new heights.

"But why- why do you love me? Why would you still love me after everything I put you through?"

"You didn't put me through anything," he shakes his head, and you take a step back, facing away from him. He can see your body heaving up and down, the weight of unspoken words making your heartbeat race. And then you snap.

"You broke down yesterday," you pivot back, pointing at his chest. "You broke down in my arms because of me. Why would you still love me after all this Minho I don't- I don't understand."

"I shouldn't have done that, I'm sorry, I'm really sorry, I know I probably made you uncomfortable and I shouldn't have asked something like that out of you-"

"No, no, Minho, you don't understand, you shouldn't apologize, I should. I’m the one who hurt you-"

"You didn't hurt me. It's something out of your control, you didn't choose this."

“Stop- just stop being so nice and understanding for a minute. I don’t deserve it!" you shout exasperated, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. "You can't look me in the eyes half of the time you can't even fucking breathe in your own home. It's now a- a cemetery for our memories and it'll soon become yours too because I suck the life out of you, can't you see that?"

"I'm not asking you to remember me,” he holds his hands up, in surrender, “I was wrong yesterday, you don't have to remember us."

"There is no us!” you yell, hands thrown in the air, “Not anymore, Minho, maybe never."

You suck in a deep breath, shutting your eyes, willing your voice to ebb and flow into calmness.

"I thought about it. It'll hurt less if you don't see me, time will pass and you'll get used to it, I'm not worth this."

"You are,” he interjects. “You don't get to pick for me, Yn."

"Stop- stop talking like this is normal, stop being so complacent with your pain, Minho you shouldn't love someone who hurts you!"

"Then make me stop loving you. Spare me. Tear open my heart and bleed it dry at your feet or else it won't stop beating for you. Don't you understand? If you are near or if you are far, I will still love you. The only difference is that I'd worry more about you. I'd worry if you're eating, I'd worry if you're taking your medicine, I'd worry if you're drinking out of your favorite cup or if you have a spare shampoo in your drawer because you hate running out of it. I'd worry out of my fucking mind, Yn don't leave."

It had been an encompassing sadness that made his true feelings surge yesterday, breaching the myriad of cracks in his heart. But today, it was fear that cast a revealing light upon his feelings, hidden in the recesses of his being. They surged forth in a transparency you were still not used to, the way the ocean throws on its shores the debris of sunken ships, allowing the grieving families of sailors to finally discover the terrible truth.

Still, his honesty, his soul bare at your mercy isn’t enough to make you stay.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I just... I can't- I'm sorry."

You take three steps back, before turning your back to him and walking away. A numbness, like icy talons, seizes his limbs, his gaze fixated on your diminishing figure—carrying away everything he's ever loved. Paralysis envelopes his very essence, a haunting realization that the distance between you is more than a mere physical space. You're vanishing beyond the horizon of his reach, slipping through his desperate grasp. The fear of never seeing you again fractures the stillness, snapping Minho out of his trance.

"To love someone is firstly to confess, I'm prepared to be devastated by you." He shouts, making you pause in your tracks. "Isn't that your favorite quote, Yn? You told me this is what love is about. To place your heart in the palm of the person you love. And your hands are soft, Yn. I don't mind if I'm bruised by them."

"I lied then!” You yell back, tears cascading down your cheeks akin to a waterfall, “Belcourt lied and I lied when I told you this and when I promised that I'd always remember you in that canopy bed-"

"What did you just say?” Minho quickly walks to you, chest heaving. “What canopy bed?"

“It doesn't matter now,” you speak in a small voice, avoiding his eyes, seeking refuge in the ground beneath. Yet, Minho, gentle and determined, cups your face, guiding your gaze to meet his.

“It matters to me, Yn, please. What do you mean?"

“We were in that white canopy bed, when I told you that my heart would always remember you.”

“We were,” he whispers, eyes glazed over as the memory washes over him too. “Did you remember?”

“Not clearly, it was really hazy in my mind. But I remember that the windows were open, I was supposed to feel cold but… your hands on me, and they were warm. And I…” you suck in a deep breath and Minho smiles encouragingly, running his thumb in a tender caress across your cheek.

“I remember feeling that I loved you,” you finally confess. “Even though I couldn’t see you. That's why I said that I'd always remember you. Because you filled every chamber in my heart, so much that it'd still hold your name even if you left it…that's how I felt.” You pause, as Minho forcibly swallows the lump down his throat.

“But it didn't unlock any new memories and I-”

“It's okay, it’s okay. You still remembered,” he smiles and the gesture brings you to his lips, rosy, plump. Were they still as warm? Still as soft?

“I did…” you trail off. “You also kissed me, in my memory. Your lips were everywhere and… they were soft.” You add quietly, eyes fixated on his mouth, the smile that once adorned it slipping away.

A tentative warmth courses through your being, a subtle blaze that ignites your cheeks in a shade of crimson. In this moment, a need unfurls within you, a yearning that eclipses the delicate boundaries of restraint. The memory of his lips on your skin becomes a beacon, standing tall amidst the tumultuous winds of uncertainty. You want to taste the warmth again. You want to kiss Minho.

“I kissed you.” His hands, once gentle on your cheeks, now slip down with purpose, cradling your jaw in a gesture that speaks of both reassurance and longing.

“You did.”

“And my lips were soft,” he repeats, his red scarf brushing against your throat.

"They were," you respond, breathless. His mouth stands electrifyingly close, a mere hairbreadth away, as you contemplate the simple act of tilting your head, closing the tantalizing gap. All that stands between you and the echoes of the love that was is the lift of your head, a movement that could breathe life into the dormant embers of your heart.

"Yn," Minho speaks softly, his words a gentle brush against the canvas of your shared vulnerability. His minty breath tickles your nose, as you hum, a wordless acknowledgment that hangs in the air. Your eyes remain closed, your heart beating loudly in your ears, drowning out the sound of the waves nearby.

“Use me. Use me to remember.”

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