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joelscurls · 8 months

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feel it in your bones

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pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

words: 12.5k

summary: Two years ago, you finished your PhD and moved to Vermont. In the time since, you’ve gotten a job as a college professor, had your heart broken, and sworn off relationships entirely. Enter Joel, the father of one of your students, here for Homecoming Weekend – and too attractive to resist.

warnings: 18+, minors dni, no outbreak, age gap (reader is in her late 20s, Joel is in his late 40s), alcohol consumption, fluff, smut, masturbation (f), mutual pining(?), sexual tension, grinding, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v, creampie, cumplay / cum eating, some light biting, use of pet names (darlin’, sweetheart, baby, etc.), reader has an asshole ex, no use of y/n

a/n: my first Joel fic! This is honestly a bit self-indulgent but I love fall and academia and Joel Miller so sue me okay. ty to my bby @caffeinated-validation for reading through this and offering your insight -- get you a partner who will beta your filthy Joel Miller smut for you lmao <3

You’ve gotten used to being alone.

You don’t mind it as much as you had a few months ago, the breakup still fresh, every touch of your own fingers seering into your skin when you’d remembered the way he’d touched you, the sound of your voice almost unrecognizable as you’d convince yourself each day to get out of bed and go to work, where you’d inevitably run into him. It was painful then, having to come home to the quiet, always far too aware of the sound of your own thoughts drumming against the inside of your skull.

Now though, you revel in that quiet. Sip your coffee in silence each morning. You’ve learned how to stay lost in your work, bringing home stacks of papers to grade and eating through texts to support your research while your dinner gets cold on the table in front of you. You’re well aware that this isn’t the healthiest way to cope, to just avoid it all, but it’s better than feeling.

You’ve sworn off relationships entirely. It’s a silent promise to yourself – that you’ll remain married to your work. You will devote all of your energy to making sure your students excel and that your research is strong. That is your life’s purpose, to make use of the PhD you worked so hard to get – not to be someone’s girlfriend or wife. And you’re fine with that, really. You’ve become immune to loneliness – or numb, maybe.

Regardless, you welcome the independence. You don’t have to worry about anyone else’s thoughts or feelings when it comes to the way you spend your own time. You’re free to do whatever you want. You can draw yourself a bath, fill it with bubbles, sit in it while you drain a bottle of wine into your mouth until the water runs cold. You can eat an entire box of dry cereal in one sitting while you re-watch your favorite show for the twentieth time. You can make yourself cum at any hour of the night with your vibrator or your shower head or your hand – and then go to work the next morning without a semblance of guilt.

Really, you like being alone.

Until you don’t.

It’s Homecoming Weekend at Sarah’s school.

She had insisted that Joel didn’t have to come, that it was mostly an opportunity for the college to milk donations out of sentimental alumni. But he’d missed her for the month she’d been gone, the house far too quiet with just him in it. In previous years, Joel had busied himself following Sarah’s departure with home projects. Three years in, though, he’s updated just about every room in the house, re-done the floors, built a brand new back deck.

In other words, he’s fresh out of distractions.

So, he’d made the trek to Vermont, with the excuse that he’d always wanted to experience a New England fall. It’s a lie, one that Sarah can probably read right through, considering he vocalizes his discomfort whenever the temperature drops below 70 degrees in Texas, but she goes along with it.

Besides, he wants to see what his tuition money is paying for.

In truth, Joel had been nervous when Sarah announced what major she’d decided to pursue. She had just finished her freshman year, prerequisite courses all completed. When she’d said the word – anthropology – Joel hadn’t even been sure what it meant. Since then, she’s explained it to him many times and in truth, he’s still none the wiser. Really, he’s just happy that she’s happy. Her passion for it is evident on her face any time she talks to him about the courses she’s taking, how great her professors are.

Especially you – she talks about you all the time – her mentor.

You’re supervising her on her thesis project – a qualitative assessment on students’ views on feminism and gender politics in the classroom. This past summer, Joel swears Sarah had mentioned your name more than her own friends’. She’d told him what courses you teach, what research you’ve conducted, all the countries you’ve traveled to for fieldwork. And she gives the best advice – Sarah had said one night over dinner – she’s like, my lifeline at school.

Joel doesn’t know you, but he’s thankful for you – for the guidance you so clearly provide Sarah.

There’s an Open House today for the Social Sciences college, which Joel tags along with Sarah to. He’s hopeful that he’ll learn something, come to understand the field and why Sarah loves it.

A buffet table stocked with refreshments sits on one side of the lecture hall. Sarah grabs them both cups of water infused with cucumber while Joel saves them seats at the back. There’s a slideshow projected onto the white board at the front, the current slide reading: An Introduction to the Social Sciences College & Our Current Research Efforts. A group of professors gathers at the front, name tags stuck to their button-downs and blazers. Sarah spots you as she sits down, pointing you out as she hands Joel his water.

“There – that one’s my mentor – the one in the plaid pants.”

Joel’s eyes follow her finger to the group at the front, scanning down the line. There’s a man, short and stocky with noticeably small hands hooked by the thumbs in the belt loops of his pants. Next to him, is a woman, taller than him, wearing a bright turquoise silk shirt, gold bangles decorating both of her wrists. And next to her is you, in the plaid pants.

Sarah had told him a lot of things about you, but she’d never mentioned that you’re fucking gorgeous. You’re smiling at something Turquoise Shirt has just said to you, and it’s like your entire face is glowing. Joel has to take a sip of water to collect himself.

He doesn’t take his eyes off you for the entirety of the presentation.

The dean of the college starts by briefly covering each department and what research efforts they have planned for the semester. Joel should be listening, he came here to listen – but he can’t get himself to focus on anything other than you.

You’re mostly focused on the presenter. Every so often, though, you distractedly toy with the buttons on your cardigan or twirl a strand of your hair between delicate fingers. And Joel is suddenly realizing how touch-starved he is after years of refusing to date – because just watching you, your hands – is about to send him into orbit.

You’re well-spoken too, he learns, when you take the microphone to discuss your current research project.

“This semester, I’ll be delving into the presence of food deserts in Vermont, and the effects these are having on the overall health of youth in the state,” you say. “We have received a sizable grant for this research, and I am thrilled to get started in a matter of weeks. This project will span the better part of the academic year as I speak to locals and craft surveys that will provide qualitative data to support my findings from the field.”

You press down on the clicker in your hand. A new slide projects onto the whiteboard. It’s a photo of you against the backdrop of a jungle, lush, green trees stretching past the top of the frame. The wide-brimmed hat you’re wearing covers most of your face – but that damn smile radiates through the makeshift screen.

“This is me last summer, in Peru. My research here was much more self-indulgent – I studied the important role that food plays in the average family there – and ate wayyyy too many sweets.”

The crowd laughs. It’s the first reaction they’ve expressed this entire time.

It’s entrancing, the way you command the room. You have such a calm confidence about you as you speak, words never once faltering as you stride back and forth across the front of the lecture hall. Joel isn’t much of a talker – maybe that’s why he feels like he could listen to you for hours on end. He thinks that you could read the damn phone book and his focus would remain unwavering. That your voice, velvet-soft, could spellbind him without much effort.

When your portion of the presentation ends, he’s more than a bit disappointed.

Students and their families filter out of the lecture hall. You situate yourself in a corner of the room for the actual Open House portion of the event, at the ready to answer any questions or, more likely, offer directions to another part of campus.

You smile as familiar faces and strangers alike pass you, reach for your to-go mug on the table behind you, and take a sip. The coffee is pretty much ice-cold now, but you still gulp it down, only after the caffeine anyway.

You place the mug back down with a light thud against the tabletop. Suddenly, a voice you’ve come to know well rings in your ear.

“Professor!”

When you look up, Sarah Miller is bounding down the aisle, signature smile plastered across her face. And there’s a man behind her, you notice, moving much slower.

He’s tall, broad shoulders pulling taut against the green flannel he’s wearing. He cradles a beige workwear jacket in the crook of his bicep,corded muscle visibly bulging against fabric. His other hand rubs at the scruff along his jaw, pointedly sharp in the patches where hair doesn’t grow.

He has a distinguishable nose, you notice as he gets closer, strong – large and hooked at the center of his tan face. It’s complemented perfectly by his plush, pink lips that seem to be set in a permanent pout.

In other words, he’s handsome – almost distractingly so, as he stands next to Sarah in front of you.

“I’m so happy to see you,” she beams – turns to the man next to her.

“Dad, this is my mentor,” She says your name.

He nods. His eyes meet yours. They’re deep brown, almost black – and undeniably entrancing.

“‘‘ts nice to meet you, Ma’am. I’m Joel.”

Ma’am.

It’s not like the word is foreign to you, given your profession. There’s something about the way he says it, though, that makes your head spin, his southern drawl dripping in honey-butter and bourbon.

Joel outstretches a hand. You shake it – try to ignore the way it dwarfs yours.

“Joel,” you repeat, eyes locked firmly on the space between his eyes. “Nice to meet you, too.”

“That was a great presentation you gave up there. You’re a good, uh – talker.” His expression is unreadable. His hands fidget at his sides.

You offer him a smile. “Thank you – I think? My students probably wish I would shut up sometimes. Right, Sarah?”

“Oh please,” she scoffs, “as if you’ve never seen your rating on Rate My Professor.”

She’s not wrong – you pride yourself on having pretty stellar reviews – but you also try your hardest not to let them get to your head. Sarah isn’t helping that, right now.

“Anyways,” she exaggerates the word, “what are you up to tonight, Professor? They’re holding an exhibition at the art center later, all student work – d’you wanna come with us?”

Your reflex is to say no. After all, he’ll probably be there. Your ex, Quentin, works in the art history department. And even though you’re over him, you’re not exactly looking for an excuse to be in the same room as him. But you technically don’t have plans tonight, and you can’t even think of a good lie right now with Sarah staring you down.

And then there’s Joel, standing in front of you, all broad shoulders and chiseled jaw – and you think, what a great opportunity to get to know him, you know, as the parent of your student. Definitely not as anything else, anything more. It is Homecoming, after all.

So, you say yes.

“Cool!” Sarah smiles, “Meet you there at 7?”

You nod, tell Sarah that sounds perfect, and that you’ll see them tonight.

Sarah starts toward the door. But Joel stands there for a moment longer. His eyes linger on yours, his wordless stare threatening to burn a hole in your head. You can feel the heat of it, beads of sweat beginning to form at the base of your neck. You tug at the collar of your shirt, trying your hardest to conceal them.

A beat passes. It looks like he might say something, his mouth opening then closing again.

He gives you a courteous nod, turns on his heels, and follows after Sarah.

Joel hadn’t remembered the food being this bad when he’d visited for orientation. He struggles to keep down a particularly rubbery bite of chicken and reaches for his water bottle, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he focuses on not vomiting.

Sarah laughs next to him. “Hey man, at least you don’t have to eat this shit year-round.”

He grunts in agreement. “Gonna cancel your meal plan next semester and jus’ give you the money to buy groceries.”

She hums. Cocks her head. “That means I’m gonna have to learn how to cook – do you think Student Housing has fire insurance?”

Joel wants to roll his eyes, but it’s definitely his fault – after all, he can barely fry an egg without setting off the fire alarm. Their freezer has always been well-stocked with TV dinners and tater tots. So instead, he just shrugs.

“So what’s this art thing tonight?” He moves on to the salad on his plate, decidedly much safer.

“I don’t really know – my roommate asked me to go, she has some pieces in it, I guess.”

He nods. “And your professor – that was nice ‘a you to invite her.”

Sarah nods, smiles. “Yeah – you like her, right? I mean, you’re sure you’re cool with me asking her to come?” She asks, a mouthful of lettuce.

“‘Course,” he says, attempting to keep his voice level, nonchalant.

“I know you’re not really one for meeting new people,” she teases.

He mock-glares at her. It quickly softens into a smile. “Nah – she seems cool.” It’s an understatement, but Sarah doesn’t need to know that.

She doesn’t need to know that her dad is attracted to her professor.

Joel thinks that he might not have been so great at hiding it, though, when a few hours later, in the middle of watching an unarguably bad student production of Macbeth, Sarah turns to him and whispers that she’s not feeling well.

“Hm, is that right?,” he whispers back, unconvinced.

“Yeah, must’ve been the food.”

“We ate the same thing, Sarah.”

There’s a shout on stage. The actor’s voice cracks.

“Well I dunno,” she continues, “My stomach just doesn’t feel good.”

“Yeah, and what about that thing with your professor?”

He can see her smirk even in the dim lighting.

“Shit, you’re right. And I don’t have her phone number, so it’s not like I can text her...”

She groans. Joel thinks she should be on that stage right now.

“We can’t just ghost her.” Joel has no idea what that means. He doesn’t bother asking.

“Sarah-” he starts.

“Please. She’s such a nice lady, she doesn’t deserve to be stood up.”

He could say no. It’s not like he knows you, owes you anything. But in truth, Joel does want to see you again. And he’s well aware that Sarah might be trying to set the two of you up – ever-perceptive and hell-bent on her dad being happy – but he tries not to think about how embarrassing that feels, his daughter playing matchmaker for him. Because he wants to spend more time with you, get to know more about you, if you’ll let him.

He’s barred himself from forming any kind of real relationship with a woman since Sarah’s mother left. Not because she’d broken his heart, but because he’d needed all of his energy to go to Sarah. As a single father, he had always feared that he wouldn’t be enough for his daughter – wouldn’t give enough – that growing up in a broken home would leave her half of a person. That fear had fueled him to be the best dad possible – to work overtime so that he could provide for them, to never miss one of her soccer games or dance recitals. And so, he had never even considered dating, not seriously, anyway. It would take attention away from Sarah, and he couldn’t risk that.

He’s found it difficult to shake this principle, now that Sarah has grown up. He often grapples with the fact that Sarah doesn’t need him as much anymore – that she’s her own person living her own life. He knows he could date now, could meet someone new, open his heart to them. But he’s so used to fighting that human need for companionship, that it feels almost unnatural to let his guard down.

But now there’s you – your megawatt smile and your impressive intelligence and your care for his daughter – and suddenly he’s forgotten his own rules.

“Okay; I’ll go.” It comes out entirely too enthusiastic.

He can practically feel Sarah’s accomplished, shit-eating grin burning into the side of his head.

You leave campus around four pm, once the last of the Open House participants have gone.

You take a shower when you get home. Then you order sushi – stuff rolls of yellowfin and salmon into your mouth as you sit at the dining table still wrapped up in your towel, trying your best not to spill soy sauce on the half-graded essays that litter the tabletop. When you’re done, you retreat to your closet, treading on damp feet across the waxy hardwood floor.

And you definitely don’t think about Joel – not when you debate what to wear to the art exhibition, not when your fingers accidentally graze one of your nipples as you put your bra on, not when you get distracted while pulling your panties on by the pool of wetness that has formed between your thighs.

You definitely don’t think about him – because he’s Sarah’s dad, and that would be wrong.

So it’s accidental when his name falls from your mouth, fingers pressed against your clit, visions of large, calloused hands flashing behind your closed eyelids.

You cover your mouth with the curve of your palm to prevent it from slipping out again. Sink back into the mattress.

Then you press your fingers down harder.

Joel feels like a first-year student, wandering aimlessly across campus in search of the art center. Sarah’s directions had been, well, brief. She’d insisted he’d be able to find it no problem. Now though, in the limited light of dusk, all the structures look the same, bleeding together like watercolors against the evening sky.

He does find it, eventually, a three-story brick building tucked between the library and what looks to be a dormitory. Bright, artificial light seeps through the windows that line the bottom floor. The double doors at the front are propped open, people slipping in and out of them as he approaches.

He looks for you outside, searching for a familiar head of hair, the brown cardigan you’d been wearing earlier. When he doesn’t see you, he reluctantly makes his way up the stairs and into the building.

He spots you almost immediately affixed in front of a painting, studying it intently.

You’re wearing a different outfit than the one you had on this afternoon – a merlot-colored slip dress and a cropped leather jacket. He struggles to ignore the way the satin clings to you, the curves of your body excruciatingly accentuated. He has to remind himself that he shouldn’t get his hopes up, shouldn't expect you to stick around for long once he lets you know Sarah isn’t coming. You’ll probably make an excuse to leave shortly after, and he’ll be back on Sarah’s couch within the hour.

After all, why would you stick around just to talk to him?

You don’t see him when he sidles up next to you. He clears his throat and you startle.

“Sorry,” he brings a hand to the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to spook ya.”

You take a step back to face him and put a hand to your chest, your breath beginning to even. His eyes wander, for a moment, to where your fingers rest against your collarbone.

“Shit – it’s okay. Where’s Sarah?”

“She wasn’t feeling well, but she said I should still come. Is that – uh – is that okay?” He’s suddenly worried that this was dumb, that he shouldn’t have come, should’ve just let Sarah explain to you on Monday.

But your features soften then, a small smile forming between rosy cheeks.

“Joel, it’s fine; I appreciate you not ditching me.”

“‘Course,” he manages. He’s waiting for you to say something else – that you need to leave. But you don’t, and you both stand enveloped in the pregnant pause that lingers, bright overhead lighting and nerves giving Joel the start of a migraine he’ll have to ignore for the rest of the night.

He clears his throat. Turns to the painting in front of you. “So what’s this one, then?”

The painting in question is a mish-mash of shapes and colors. Joel can’t distinguish any one thing on the canvas. It’s all just a lot of…nothing. He knows it’s not for him when he thinks a preschooler with finger paints could’ve done this.

You bring your hand up to cradle your jaw, brows furrowed in contemplation. It looks like you’ll offer an actual, intellectual interpretation. So Joel isn’t prepared when instead, you say:

“Looks like a bad trip.”

A laugh bubbles out of him, the corners of his eyes creasing.

“Sorry,” you say, between giggles. “That was stupid.”

“No,” he says, swiping a hand over his jaw, trying to physically rub the embarrassing smile off his face. “You’re funny.”

He means it. He’s not sure how it’s possible that you’re funny, when you’re also so smart and interesting and gorgeous. It’s almost unfair. He thinks, fleetingly, that you’re way out of his league – a boring, old man like him.

You continue to the next piece, Joel following closely behind. It looks like it must be by the same artist. The same variation of shapes fill the canvas, just in different colors.

“Alright Cowboy, what’s your take on this one?”

Joel studies it for a moment – tries to find something he can pull out. Something tangible. Something funny, even.

He comes up empty.

“‘ts interesting f’sure. Lots of…colors,” he tries. He realizes how ridiculous he sounds. Laughs. “Shit…art ain’t really my thing,” he admits, arm stretched behind his head.

“So what is your thing?” Your voice is tinged with something – Joel tries his hardest not to let himself believe that it’s flirtation.

Your eyes are still fixed on the canvas in front of you. And Joel is thankful, because he thinks if you looked at him, let those eyes meet his, he’d break – tell you that right now, you’re his thing.

He doesn’t get a chance to answer either way, though, because he’s interrupted by a man’s voice behind the two of you.

“Wow. Didn’t expect to see you here!”

You whip around to face him. Joel turns too. The man is taller than you, but shorter than him. He’s wearing round, wire-frame glasses that sit like a suggestion on his nose, and a full suit, with a tie that has some god-awful, ugly pattern all over it. It looks like the art here, Joel thinks.

Joel’s eyes flit back to you, and he watches as your hackles go up. You back up, bumping into the canvas behind you. You curse under your breath.

“Quentin. Hey.”

“Glad you could make it,” the man, Quentin, says. He swirls a cup of what appears to be red wine in one hand. He leans in closer, brings the other hand up at the side of his mouth to conceal his words. “I know this isn’t really your scene.”

You shift uncomfortably. “Yeah,” you say. “I’m uh, venturing out, I guess. Trying new things.”

He laughs. It’s an asshole laugh, Joel notes. Everything about this guy screams asshole.

“About time!” The asshole puts a hand on your shoulder. You flinch. Joel’s hands instinctively bunch into fists at his side.

“So proud of you,” Quentin says. “Finally letting yourself be a little cultured.”

This guy can’t be serious.

You scoff. Grab his hand and flick it off your shoulder. He looks wounded. Good, Joel thinks.

“Yeah, because traveling the world has left me so very uncultured, Quentin.”

“Hey,” he puts his hands up. “Don’t take offense, baby. I know your little field trips are important, too.”

It’s the last straw.

In one movement, you’re pushing off the wall, shoving past Quentin, and making your way to the exit. Joel doesn’t say a word, doesn’t even look at the asshole, just follows after you out the door.

It’s gotten colder in the short time he’d been inside, he notices. A gust of wind nips at the exposed skin on his hands. He stuffs them haphazardly in the pockets of his jacket.

He finds you perched on the front steps, arms wrapped around your body protectively. He takes a few cautious strides forward. When you look up at him, you’re visibly distraught.

You groan as he sits down next to you. “Sorry. That was embarrassing.”

Joel wants to touch you, put a reassuring hand on your shoulder, but he knows he probably shouldn’t – not right now.

“‘ts not embarrassin’,” he says, instead. His warm breath materializes in the cold air. “Not for you, anyway. That guy was clearly an asshole.”

“Yeah,” you nod. “That was my ex-boyfriend.” You’re both quiet, then. The two of you sit there, side by side on the stairs, in comfortable silence. A few minutes pass. Joel notices you chewing on your bottom lip, like you’re considering something. When you speak again, your voice wavers.

“Would you want to go for a drink or something? It’s just, I really don’t want to be here anymore.”

For a moment, he can’t believe what he’s hearing – you’re asking him out? He takes a second to respond. You start to backtrack. “It’s okay if you don’t wan-”

“Hey,” he stops you. Makes sure you’re looking at him.

“I thought you’d never ask, darlin’.”

You breathe out a laugh. “Great.” Your hand drops to your side, brushing against his. He expects you to move it. He’s thankful when you don’t.

“I know a place–” you continue – “one that won’t be full of drunk college kids.”

“Great,” Joel parrots you. He stands, extends a hand to help you up. You take it, letting your palm rest against his for a moment longer than necessary when you’re upright.

“Cool,” you say, clearing your throat. You pull up the Uber app on your phone. Joel watches you book a driver. Then you turn back to him with a smile. It’s different from the one he’s seen before. It’s smaller, shyer.

“Larry will be here in 4 minutes,” you say.

The bar is a twenty minutes’ drive from campus – fifteen with Larry’s lead foot.

It’s more of a lounge than a bar, really – leather armchairs accompanied by low cocktail tables arranged throughout the single large, open room. A brick fireplace sits on the back wall, currently roaring with warm orange flames.

On either side of the fireplace are floor-to-ceiling shelves stacked with vintage books, their illegible titles etched in gold along weathered spines. You can imagine that their pages are yellowed and dusty, and it’s so tempting to swipe one off the shelf to see, to smell.

The light in here is warm, a stark contrast from the bright white of the art gallery. It’s comforting, and you feel your body immediately relax when you walk through the entrance next to Joel.

The bar at the front is busy (it is Saturday night, after all), so you and Joel stand at the back of the crowd for a few moments, waiting for the people in front of you to get their drinks. When a group of men start forcing their way through right next to you, Joel immediately puts a large hand on your shoulder, turning your body towards his. He’s just being chivalrous, making sure you don’t get shoved, but it still sends a shockwave up your spine.

When a spot clears in front of the bar, Joel steps forward, bringing you with him. He orders a whiskey neat, then turns to you, asking what you want.

It’s difficult to think with his hand still on you, so you go with the first words that come to mind.

“Same as you.”

He stares at you for a moment, amused, like he can see right through you and the fact that you’ve never had whiskey in your life. But you hold his gaze, challenging him with your eyes, and he drops it. “Make that two,” he tells the bartender.

Once you have your drinks, Joel slaps a few bills down on the bar. You can tell he won’t let you do so much as offer to pay him back, so you don’t. You lead him through the lounge to a couple of chairs tucked away in the back corner, partially hidden behind an antique wooden partition – far enough from the main seating area, but still close enough to the fireplace that you can feel its warmth.

This is where you always sit when you come, usually with coworkers, once or twice with him. Quentin had been pretty critical of this place, like he is with everything. He’d complained that the wine selection could be larger – that they could have more French options. When you’d explained that most of their wines come from local vineyards, he’d just rolled his eyes.

You’re still reeling a bit from your interaction with him at the gallery, even as you settle into soft leather and feel a burst of warmth against your cheek. He was such an asshole, you think, taking a cautious sip of whiskey. You’re immediately repulsed by the taste of it, and you do a poor job of hiding the grimace that automatically spreads across your face in the crook of your arm.

Joe laughs across from you. “Not your thing? I can go grab ya somethin’ else,” he offers.

“No,” you insist, “this is fine. Just need to get used to it.” It’s a lie – you both know it – but he doesn’t push it.

Instead he leans back, swirls his own glass – which looks comically tiny in his grip – and lets out an exaggerated sigh.

“So, your ex is a real dick, huh?”

“You can say that again,” you mumble.

He quirks a brow at you. “Why’d you even date him?”

It’s a fair question. Why had you dated him? Loneliness, maybe? You’d like to blame it on that, but it’s not the truth – not entirely. Quentin had been kind, at first. He had seemed so interested in you and where you came from and what you were passionate about. He was a relatively good boyfriend, all things considered – until he’d grown tired of hiding who he really was.

You’d gotten a substantial pay raise at the end of your second year at the university. When you’d told Quentin, he’d gone quiet – practically gave you the silent treatment for days on end. When you’d finally worn him down, gotten him to talk, the most he could utter was that he was happy for you; he just wasn’t sure why he hadn’t gotten a raise like that yet.

It’s not like you were in competition – you worked for two entirely different departments, in different colleges. But it had been a constant losing battle nevertheless, to get him to stop comparing your successes. And when he’d found out you actually made more money than him – that had pretty much been the nail in the coffin.

You tell Joel all of this. You’re not sure why you do – it’s not like you can blame the alcohol after one half-sip of whiskey. You feel comfortable with him though, here, like this. He’s a good listener, too, attentively nodding every so often as you ramble.

When you’re done, he’s quiet. He stares at his drink, pursing his lips.

After a beat, he looks up at you.

“You deserve better than that, darlin’.”

You almost crumble under his gaze. His eyes are at least two shades darker than they had been a moment ago – and there’s something lingering behind them that you can’t quite place. Whatever it is has you feeling weak.

“You barely know me,” you joke.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “I know enough, though. Could do much better than him, I reckon.”

You want to ask him if he has anyone in mind, if he would be better for you, but you can’t – not yet – not this sober. You take another sip of your drink, breathing through your nose as it burns its way down your throat.

You talk for hours. He asks about your family; you tell him how you moved out here two years ago on your own after you finished your doctorate program. He’s impressed by that, says you’re brave. You tell him you’ve never felt very brave.

It’s all so easy, talking to Joel in the dimly-lit bar you’ve been to so many times before. Sipping on whiskey as if you actually enjoy it. It’s never felt so much like home — not the bar, not this town. The thought is dizzying.

He asks about Sarah, too, how she’s doing in school. He insists that she doesn’t tell him much, and if she does, it’s about you and how great your classes are.

“I had never even heard of anthropology before she decided to study it,” he admits. “But I’m glad she did. It’s her thing, f’sure.”

You smile, knowingly. “Yeah, it is. She’s a great kid, Joel. You raised her well.”

He shakes his head humbly, but you don’t relent. You want him to hear this, really hear this. Because you get the feeling he hasn’t been told enough.

“She’s not just smart, Joel. She’s good. She’s a good person. That’s kind of rare nowadays — especially among her generation.”

Joel chuckles, his head hanging between his shoulders.

“I mean, shit,” you continue, “she brings me pancakes from the diner just off campus whenever she knows I’m stuck in my office working late. My other students barely even ask how I’m doing most days.”

Joel hums in amusement. His eyes are locked on a wrinkle in the leather of the arm of his chair.

“Joel,” you say, pointedly. You wait for him to look at you. When he does, his gaze is uncertain. “She’s a good person —“ you repeat — “and that’s because you raised her to be.”

“‘ts just southern hospitality, is all,” he mumbles.

“No Joel – it’s you.”

He stares for a moment, his dark eyes narrowing. His jaw twitches. And then he breaks, finally, a smile pulling at his lips.

“Thank you.”

His voice is so soft suddenly. It throws you off. It also turns you on – like, a lot, the gravellyness of it scratching your brain and your loins. You dig your nails into leather in an attempt to steady your quickening heart rate.

“No problem,” you mutter sheepishly.

Suddenly, there’s a buzz on the table – Joel’s phone. He picks it up, squinting at the bright screen.

“Sarah?,” you ask.

“Nah, ‘ts just my brother, Tommy.”

He types out a quick response and re-locks the phone, placing it back down on the table.

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah, jus’ asking if I think hookin’ up with a client is a bad idea,” he laughs, shaking his head in disbelief.

You don’t know Tommy, but you like him already – seems like a fun guy. And clearly values his brother’s opinions. It’s telling, you think.

“That’s right – you’re a contractor. You and your brother work together?”

“Yeah, we got our own business back home.”

“And you like it?,” you ask.

“Used to,” he laughs, “when I was more limber.”

You laugh too. You can feel the heat of slight intoxication, and something else, in your chest, your inhibitions dissolving in your bloodstream. And suddenly that horrible idea you’d had earlier to flirt with Joel doesn’t seem so bad anymore.

“Still look plenty limber to me, Mr. Miller.” The words leave you before you have the chance to stop them.

Joel’s hands tense on either arm of his chair. Despite your buzz, you still have half a mind to worry that you’ve fucked up, that there’s a chance you’ve misread this whole thing.

But then he sinks back in the chair, the leather groaning under him. He rakes his dark eyes over you. And the way he’s looking at you is unmistakable. He looks hungry. You feel like your entire body has been set ablaze.

Without thinking, you stand up, take a couple of steps toward him. Scan the lounge. Most of the remaining patrons are huddled by the bar, talking boisterously among themselves. Tucked in your little corner, the two of you might as well be in a different zip code.

“Whatcha doin’, darlin’?” Joel smirks up at you as you stand unmoving in front of him. He takes one of your hands in his and traces gentle, reassuring shapes along the back of it with his index finger.

Without a word, you hike your dress up to your thighs and straddle him, knees digging into the leather on either side of his legs. He hums approvingly as you sink onto his lap and cup his face in your hands. He places his own on your lower back, just above your ass. “This okay?,” you ask. It comes out breathy and wrecked.

“C’mere,” he says in that syrupy drawl, and then one of his hands is on the back of your head, pushing you gently against him, your lips slotting to his.

It’s messy and all-encompassing. He kisses you with a fervency that confirms this hasn’t all been in your head –that he’s been wanting this too.

The voices of bar-goers and the clinking of glassware are suddenly muted. All you can focus on is Joel — the way he tastes like whiskey and cinnamon gum, the way one of his large hands comes to rest at the nape of your neck, fingers tangled in the hair there while the other remains on your back, steadying you. The way he licks into your mouth after a few seconds with a groan, causing you to reflexively bare down on his lap.

You feel his cock swell underneath you and you grind against it, laughing low and quiet against his lips when his entire body tenses. He pulls back, blinking up at you with glazed-over eyes. Joel, all six feet of him, looks wrecked.

“Fuck, darlin’,” he pants. He looks down at where you’re hovering over his now fully-hard cock. “Gotta stop. Otherwise you’re gonna make me cum in my pants like a damn teenager.”

You pout at him, lifting your lower half off of his. You don’t stand up, though – not immediately, anyway. Instead, you take his head back in both of your hands. He lets you, blinking up at you wordlessly.

You’d known when you’d first seen him earlier today that he was handsome, but right now, his face so close to yours – you’re seeing all of the little details – the scar indented in his forehead, just above his right eyebrow; the flush that stains his cheeks, which you can guess is partly from the alcohol, but maybe also from you. He’s biblically gorgeous, which makes it difficult to pry yourself off of him.

You do though, after a minute, smoothing down your dress once you’re back on two feet. You feel a bit breathless, suddenly. And exhausted.

What time is it?

You retrieve your phone from where it’s been lodged in the cushion of your chair.

You tap on the screen, waking it up.

12:47?! When had it gotten so late?

Joel stands, adjusting himself in his pants. You can’t help but giggle at him — big, tough man looking positively ruined after just a few minutes of being under you. You feel pretty accomplished. He rolls his eyes at you.

“Shut up — just get us an Uber.” You don’t miss the smile that sprouts between his cheeks when he thinks you aren’t looking.

You wait outside for your driver — John M.

The cold Vermont air is sobering. You feel almost normal by the time the car pulls up, save for the dull, throbbing ache between your legs. You will it away as you crouch into the back of the silver Nissan behind Joel. The sound of the radio playing soft rock hits is a poor distraction on the drive home.

“Wanna come in?,” you ask Joel when the car comes to a halt in front of your building. You watch him ponder it, eyes glued to the roof of the sedan. But ultimately, he shakes his head. “Can’t,” he says. “Gotta check on Sarah.”

You nod, try to hide your disappointment. “Right.”

You open the door. Just as you’re about to get out, Joel stops you.

“Wait,” he says. “Can I see your phone?” You’re confused, but you hand it over. You watch as he pulls up your contacts and clicks the ‘plus’ button in the corner, an understanding smile pulling at your lips.

When he hands the phone back, his contact now in it, you grab his from off the seat next to him and do the same.

“I’ll text you,” he promises as you step out.

You turn back to him. “You better.”

He’s smiling when you shut the door.

You’re smiling when the car pulls away.

It’s only when you’re tucked into bed, phone charging securely on the nightstand that the thought crosses your mind: you’re catching feelings for someone again.

And then you feel sick.

Joel wakes up the next morning feeling giddy. It’s like he’s a teenager all over again – waiting by the phone for a pretty girl to call him back. Only this time, he’s waiting for a text.

He had messaged you almost as soon as he’d gotten back to Sarah’s apartment last night, asking if he could see you again before he goes back to Texas. He has no shame about it, he can’t – not when his entire mind and body are consumed by his overwhelming attraction to you.

He’d found it difficult to sleep last night, and not because the springs in Sarah’s cheap couch were digging into his already-damaged back. It was thoughts of you, and the borderline-painful erection they caused, that had kept him up.

Now, with the sun seeping through the living room windows directly into his eyes, he doesn’t have much of a choice but to be awake. He checks his phone immediately, and tries to ignore the way his heart sinks when he sees you haven’t responded yet. You’re probably still asleep, he tells himself.

He tosses his phone aimlessly back onto the couch and stands with a groan. His legs feel worse than his back, if that’s even possible.

Sarah still isn’t awake, so Joel meanders into her kitchen, in search of something to eat for breakfast. It’s pretty much what you would expect from a college student’s kitchen – bare bones. There are a few suspicious containers of leftovers in the fridge along with a Brita water pitcher and a package of cookie dough. In the freezer, several cartons of ice cream (all chocolate) and half a loaf of bread. And finally, in the cabinets, a few boxes of mac & cheese and an unopened jar of peanut butter.

Toast it is, then.

Sarah appears just as he’s raiding her drawers for a butter knife. “Morning,” she announces sleepily behind him.

“Hey, Kiddo,” he says, turning to face her. “Hungry?”

“Yeah. There’s a diner down the street. Thought we could get pancakes.” She yawns.

Joel grins. That must be the place you’d told him about – the one Sarah brings you leftovers from when you’re working late.

“You buyin’?,” he jokes.

“Only in exchange for the juicy deets from last night.” She pauses. “Okay, maybe not all the deets. There’s some things I don’t need to know – like why you got home so late.”

“Sarah,” Joel warns, but she’s undeterred, smiling like a Cheshire Cat with every one of her unbrushed teeth on display.

“Just get changed,” she says, and skips out of the room.

You’ve been staring at the text for twenty minutes now.

Had a lot of fun tonight. Can I see you again before I leave? Let me know if you’re free tomorrow (today I guess). - Joel

You should say yes – you want to say yes – so why can’t you get your fingers to move?

It’s a stupid question. You know why – it’s Quentin and your inability to shake the fear that someone else will hurt you like he did. If you keep Joel at arm’s length – continue to ignore his message – he can’t do that. You can just take last night for what it was – a fun time, a hookup – and stop this before it goes too far, before feelings get involved.

Because it never ends well, once they do.

You get out of bed without responding, but you leave the text open on your phone. You attempt to busy yourself with housework and grading. Again and again though, you find your fingers hovering over the screen, your mind wandering to the way Joel’s lips had felt on yours, the way the bulge in his jeans had felt against your clothed heat, the sound of his southern drawl when he’d called you darlin’.

Then you snap yourself out of it and place the phone face-down on the table.

This goes on for hours, a vicious cycle. You feel your resolve slipping more and more each time you pick the phone up.

The sun is high in the sky by the time you break, light bathing your kitchen and revealing all of the spots you’d missed when you’d dusted earlier. Your phone is heavy in the palm of your hand like a bomb – like if you don’t hit send right now, you’ll lose the motivation and it’ll detonate, taking any chance of you seeing Joel tonight and not self-sabotaging with it.

You close your eyes when you press the button and toss your phone somewhere across the room.

Well – you think – no going back now.

Joel is sitting on cold, hard bleachers at the Homecoming football game when he sees you’ve responded, the shouts of people in the stands around him not enough to avert his attention.

Hey, yeah, that would be great! Do you want to come to my apartment later? I have a bottle of wine we can crack into if you’d like. And I can order pizza.

The announcer is saying something about player #72 over the loudspeaker. He doesn’t tune in.

Joel types his reply and sends it:

Sounds perfect. I’ll come over around 7?

Sarah groans next to him. “You wanted to come to this game, dad. If you’re bored already, can we leave?”

His eyes shoot up. “No, uh – sorry. Just had to answer one text.”

Sarah narrows her eyes at him. They dart to the phone just as another message rolls in, your name flashing across the screen before Joel can hide it.

“Is that my professor?”

Joel doesn’t answer. His silence confirms enough.

“I knew you guys hit it off last night! See, dad, even though you didn’t wanna tell me at breakfast, I still found out. I always find out. Because Sarah knows all.” She attempts a maniacal, Disney villain-esque laugh.

Joel raises an eyebrow at her.

“You done?”

“So you going out again later? Do I need to make your bed on the couch, or should I just not bother?”

He ignores her. Someone gets a touchdown and half the crowd goes wild. He doesn’t bother to check what team scored.

He opens your latest message, instead.

Perfect. See you then, Cowboy ;)

His breath hitches at the nickname, at the thought of you calling him that again in person. The thought of kissing you again, if you’ll let him.

He doesn’t catch who wins the game.

Joel arrives at your apartment at seven o’clock on the dot.

Punctual, you note.

He’s holding a bottle of wine, gripping the neck with long, calloused fingers.

“Know you said you had some already,” he says as he steps over the threshold. “Just didn’t wanna come empty handed.”

The sentiment takes you aback. You’re not exactly used to dates bringing you gifts, especially ones this expensive, if the minimalist yet fancy label is any indicator.

“Thanks,” you say awkwardly, taking the bottle from him. You can’t quite make out the name – something foreign, etched in cursive.

“‘ts Italian, I think,” he mumbles, as if he can read your mind.

Your eyes shift from the bottle to Joel, standing in front of you in his Carhartt jacket, brows furrowed, gaze trained on the floor at his feet.

“Thank you,” you say more genuinely this time.

Joel smiles appreciatively. You motion to the space behind you.

“Come in.”

You lead Joel to the kitchen, just off the entranceway, and place the bottle down on the counter, gently. You tuck yourself in the corner, leaning back to rest your arms on cool granite. Joel mirrors you against the adjacent island.

“How’s Sarah?” you ask. “Feeling any better?”

“Uh, yeah,” he says, rubbing at his scruff. “She was askin’ about you. Saw me textin’ you.”

“Yeah – guess you couldn’t exactly hide this from her, staying at her apartment and all.”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Guess not.”

You pop open the bottle of wine. Pour glasses for both of you. Then you order pizza: one cheese, one sausage and pepper. The person on the other end of the line tells you it’ll be thirty to forty minutes.

“Gonna be a bit of a wait,” you tell Joel when you hang up. “Busy night, I guess.”

He nods, takes a sip of wine, and then places the glass down, his eyes unmoving from yours.

You realize then that he’d been staring at you the entire time you were on the phone. The way he’s looking at you – gaze the same as the one from the bar last night when you’d straddled him – has you feeling suddenly nervous.

“What?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Can I kiss you again?” he asks.

Oh.

You breathe out a laugh. It’s not funny – really, the opposite – but you hadn’t been expecting him to ask that. “Joel-” you’re going to say yes – fuck yes – but he interrupts you.

“Been dyin’ to since last night.” He’s so open, so earnest. It’s fucking hot.

“Joel,” you say again, louder this time. He freezes. His eyes widen, like he’s anticipating your answer.

“Please.”

It’s all he needs to hear. In an instant, he crosses the distance between you. He places his hands on the counter behind you, framing your body with his. You peer up at him and, fuck – he looks ravenous.

He kisses you – hard. His teeth crash against yours. It’s messy and hurried, but you don’t care – you want him closer, need him closer.

Your head swims with memories of the feeling of his bulge against your clothed core. The need to feel it again is all-consuming. You’re greedy for it. And with the time constraint, you don’t want to wait another second.

You pull back abruptly. Joel furrows his eyebrows where he looms over you, concerned.

“Joel,” you pant, “I need you.”

It takes him a second to compute what you’re asking. And then he’s nodding furiously.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “Okay, darlin’.”

You pull him back in with a hand at the back of his neck, digging your nails into the skin there. His tongue slips into your mouth with a groan. You’re minutely aware of him shrugging his jacket off, hearing the light thump it makes when it hits the linoleum. And then his hands are on you, wandering up and down your body like he needs to feel every inch of you. He tugs at the base of your t-shirt impatiently.

“Off,” he mumbles against your lips. You pull back only to do as he’s asked, and then you’re right back on him, sucking a bruise into the skin below his ear, your body claiming him subconsciously. His head falls back momentarily, revealing his bobbing throat. You scrape your teeth lightly along the skin there, eliciting a groan from Joel.

Your mouth continues exploring his neck as his fingers find the clasps of your bra, unhooking them quickly and tossing it aside. You don’t see where. You don’t really care – you’ll find it later.

He grabs your now-naked sides and steps back, pulling you with him. Then he turns you and pushes you back against the island.

He slaps the countertop behind you. “Up,” he breathes against your neck. You don’t argue. You don’t want to argue. You’re so used to being the one in charge, the one in control — right now you’re happy to bend to Joel’s will.

You grip the edge of the island with both hands and hoist yourself up so that you’re perched there, legs dangling.

Joel’s fingers immediately go to the button of your jeans, popping it open before moving to tug the zipper down. And then he’s helping you lift your hips so that he can pull them down and off. He adds them to the pile at his feet.

You’re left in nothing but your underwear splayed out on your kitchen counter in front of him. You feel like you should be self conscious, maybe even embarrassed by your depravity. But you can’t find it in you to be either, not when Joel is slotted between your legs, his dark eyes scanning over you hungrily. Showing you he needs you just as bad as you need him.

He rubs his hands over your thighs and up the sides of your body, mapping your curves with great concentration. “God damn,” he whispers, what seems to be, mostly to himself. “Fuckin’ gorgeous.”

You whine pathetically. Your patience is growing thin.

He smirks up at you, likely seeing in your face how desperate you are for him right now.

“‘ts okay baby, I got you,” he coos, suddenly sinking to his knees in front of you. His hands move closer to your clothed pussy, but not quite there, tracing light circles along your inner thighs. Then he replaces his fingers with his mouth, sending your hips bucking off the counter, chasing him.

The coarse hair of his mustache scratches the skin surrounding where he sucks and bites. You don’t care. You just want to feel it lower, against your dripping folds.

“Please,” you breathe, shakily. Through hooded eyes, you catch Joel’s satisfied grin. You realize then that he loves this — making you beg for it, for him. It’s a dizzying contradiction to the way he was practically begging to kiss you just moments ago.

He presses a chaste kiss against your skin, his lips infuriatingly close to where you need them most.

“Whatcha need, darlin’?” he purrs. The vibration of his voice just next to your core has you spiraling.

“Need your mouth,” you cry. “Please.”

“Where?” He nips at you, half an inch closer to your swollen clit. You can feel his breath. Your cunt reactively clenches around nothing.

“On my pussy, Joel” you plead.

He pulls away from you completely, looks up at you with devilish eyes.

“Good girl.”

He dips one finger into the side of your underwear, pulling them aside to reveal your glistening core. “Damn baby, you’re soaked,” he drawls. You catch the hint of pride that tinges his voice.

“Please,” you beg again, your voice wanton and broken.

Joel gently pets your throbbing clit with the pad of his thumb. The pressure he applies is feather-light, barely there. But still, after all the teasing, you can’t help the embarrassingly loud moan that escapes you.

He chuckles darkly. “Alright sweetheart, I know – enough teasin’.”

He hooks both index fingers in the top of your panties, pulling them down and off in one swift movement. And then his tongue is on you, exactly where you need it.

He holds you open with fingers digging deliciously into the meat of your thighs as he licks long, languid stripes from your leaking cunt up to your clit, over and over again until you’re a whimpering mess underneath him. You struggle to hold your weight up on your elbows, watching him as he works you with his mouth.

He’s so good at this – too good at this. You tell him as much, between broken moans.

“Sofuckinggood Joel – holy shit.”

You swear you can feel him smirk against your heat.

He buries his face into your cunt then, nose pressed against your clit, and swivels his head back and forth, coating his mustache and beard in your arousal. He groans against you, like this is getting him off just as much as you. It’s all so obscene, so filthy.

You’ve never had a man go down on you like this – like they actually enjoy it. But then again, it doesn’t come as much of a surprise, not when it’s Joel. You’ve quickly come to learn that he’s attentive in every sense of the word. Knows just what you want, what you need – evident by the way his lips latch back onto your clit when you keen for him.

He keeps his attention there, switching between suckling on it – which is enough to make you see stars on its own – and lapping at it with short, shallow flicks of his tongue. He experiments with different angles, licking at different spots on the bundle of nerves until he finds the one that makes you cry out, your babbles of there Joel, yes, right fucking there, don’t stop, letting him know exactly where to focus.

You feel yourself quickly hurtling toward the edge. You just need a little bit more to get you there.

“Fingers,” you pant. “Need your fingers in me.”

Two of his fingers are at your entrance before you can even blink. You’re so wet that he slides them in easily, curling them against your walls. He expertly finds your G-spot, massaging it as his tongue continues to lap at your clit.

You gasp at the combination. It’s so good – so much. “Oh my god Joel, I’m so close,” you cry.

He doesn’t let up, doesn’t even look at you. His eyes are closed in concentration, fingers and tongue unrelenting. He’s lost in your pussy. You can tell he’s not going to come up for air until he’s given you an orgasm.

And it doesn’t take much longer – one, two, three more strokes of his fingers and you’re cumming hard.

Your vision blurs and your ears ring in your head. You’re vaguely aware that Joel is pinning one of your thighs down with his free hand to hold you in place as you thrash against the countertop.

He fucks you through it, your pussy clenching around his fingers as he continues to curl them against that spot, your clit throbbing against his tongue.

It is – without a doubt – the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had.

He doesn’t stop when you’ve come down, eager to milk every last drop from your weeping cunt. The overstimulation is too much. Your grip tightens in his hair, weakly attempting to pull him off of you as you whimper nonsense above him. You manage to exhale his name, or something close to it, and he finally lifts his face.

His eyes meet yours, dark and hooded. He looks absolutely pussydrunk.

The entire lower half of his face is soaked with your slick. His shiny, pink lips pepper kisses along your inner thighs, smoothing over the spots he’d marked with his teeth just minutes ago. You feel so sensitive – you shiver under his touch.

His smile curves into your skin. He leaves one last light peck and stands up, grunting at the ache in his knees. You laugh, but you can tell by the darkness still looming in his gaze that he’s not done with you yet.

He helps you off the counter, steadying you with hands gripping your sides as you find your footing. Your legs feel like Jell-O, a welcomed side-effect of the earth-shattering orgasm you’ve just had. You lead Joel to your bedroom, leaving your clothes scattered across the kitchen floor.

He backs you toward the bed as soon as you’re in your room, lips latched to the side of your neck. The backs of your legs hit the mattress, and then he’s lowering both of your bodies onto it, cradling your head in his hand as you settle underneath him.

He sits back on his knees, pulling his t-shirt over his head to reveal his broad, tan torso. You’re pretty sure you’re salivating, lost in the slope of his shoulders and the wide expanse of his chest. Your eyes trail lower as he undoes his belt, followed by the button of his jeans. He shimmies them off along with his boxers, his large cock springing free, tip shiny with pre-cum, and hovers back over your eager body.

He dips down and presses his lips to yours, prying your mouth open with his tongue. He’s remarkably patient for how hard he is, his erection pressing into your thigh as he kisses you, slow and wet.

One of his hands grips your jaw, the other pressed firmly against the mattress next to you. Minutes pass like that, you and Joel losing yourselves in each other. Then you remember that you don’t have all the time in the world – that your delivery driver could get here any minute. In truth, you’re not even fucking hungry anymore – not for pizza, anyway.

You snake your hand up to the back of Joel’s head, pulling at his roots lightly. “Joel,” you breathe when he lifts off of you, “please fuck me.”

He doesn’t have to be asked twice.

“How do you want it, baby?” he purrs in your ear, his warm breath skating over your skin. “How do you like it?”

You breathe out a moan. No man has ever asked you how you like it. They usually just give you a few sloppy, ill-timed thrusts, whatever they can muster before cumming and leaving you unsatisfied.

But Joel isn’t just any man.

“Hard,” you whine. “Need you to fuck me hard.”

He growls, low and dark. “‘ts right, sweetheart.”

He lines himself up with your entrance, rutting against your folds a few times to gather some of your wetness with the tip of his cock.

Then he sinks into you, slowly, stretching your walls as he notches further and further in. There’s a sweet, stinging pain, one you hope, fleetingly, that you’ll be able to feel tomorrow – like a keepsake from him.

You sigh when he reaches the hilt, his tip nudging your cervix. He stills, letting you get used to his girth and you have to dig your nails into his back to keep from writhing under him. You don’t mind if it hurts – you just need him to move.

“Please,” you whine, unable to stop your hips from bucking any longer. “I can take it, Joel.”

“Know you can, baby,” he coos, beginning to rock slowly inside of you. The pleasure is immediate, washing over your body like a warm wave.

He picks up the pace when he’s sure it feels good for you, dragging his cock halfway out of you and thrusting back in, over and over again.

He grabs both of your legs, bending them so that you’re spread wide open for him, and grips the backs of your knees tightly as he slams into you. He can get so much deeper like this, his cock hitting a spot you didn’t even know you had. You let out a labored moan, fingers anchored into his delts.

“Talk to me darlin — tell me how it feels,” he pants.

“So – fuck, Joel – so fucking good.”

Joel drops his mouth to your shoulder, nips at the skin there.

His voice is in your ear, a low snarl.

“‘Better than that fuckin ex, I bet.”

You’d be annoyed by his cockiness – if he wasn’t so right.

But he is, and so you parrot, “So much better.” And then, because it’s the truth, you add, “the best.”

“Fuck,” he breathes, his hips stuttering at your words. “Can’t say that angel, you’ll make me cum.”

He pulls out and slams back into you again, setting a new, devastating pace. He fills you up just to leave you empty, over and over again. You’re a babbling mess underneath him, couldn’t string two more words together if you tried. Luckily, Joel is happy to take over and do the talking.

“So fuckin’ pretty, babygirl. Make the most gorgeous noises, too.”

You’re so fucking close, you can only whimper in response. You feel your walls tighten around him.

He presses your foreheads together, his sweaty curls sticking to your skin. His eyes bore into yours.

“C’mon baby, show me – show me how pretty ya are when ya cum on this cock.”

He brings one hand down to your clit, rubbing sloppy circles over it as he continues spearing into you. You hike your newly-freed leg up over his lower back. A white heat licks at your spine. You barely have time to tell Joel you’re about to cum, your warning coming out a single cry of his name. He gets it, though, bringing you over the edge with his words.

“I got you, baby, I got you; you can let go.”

Your orgasm barrels through you, from the tips of your toes all the way up to your ears. Joel doesn’t let up his ministrations, talking you through it as you writhe under him.

“Thaaaats it. Good – ahh – good fuckin’ girl.”

The only word you can think of in your state of euphoria is his name, chants of Joel, Joel, Joel spilling from the back of your throat as you cum.

You’re squeezing his cock through your aftershocks, and you can tell he’s close by the way his thrusts become more and more uneven.

“Fuck – where do you want it?” he braces both palms against the mattress on either side of you.

“Inside – please, Joel,” you beg. “I’m on the pill.”

He curses in ecstasy, cumming seconds later with a series of low grunts. His hips stall as he spills inside of you. There’s so much of it – he’s nearly drowning your cervix, coating your walls with rope after rope of his spend.

He softens inside you, staying there for a long moment as you both come down from your highs. You’re sweaty, panting messes, and you can’t help but giggle at how spent you both sound.

“Good?” he asks, nosing at the space just below your jaw. It’s so soft, so gentle. Your stomach does a backflip.

“Yeah,” you say. “Really fucking good.”

He pulls out of you with a low, guttural noise. You sigh at the loss of him, your hand coming down reflexively to feel where he’s leaking out of you. His fingers graze yours, and he bumps them aside to scoop up some of your combined fluids.

He brings his wet, sticky fingers to your lips, humming when you immediately take them into your mouth and suck them clean, eyes unmoving from his the entire time. You bat your eyelashes at him, innocently as he pulls them out with a wet pop.

“Fuck,” he curses, “gonna get me hard again, angel.”

He lays down next to you, letting his head thump against the pillow, and flexes his biceps behind his head. You kind of hope he does get hard again, despite the fact that your whole body feels like liquid. Like if you were to try and stand, your legs would most definitely give out on you. They’re trembling right now, where you have them half-bent, heels dug into the mattress.

Your phone rings, then, snapping you out of your post-coital bliss. Fuck – the pizza.

You answer, trying your best to hide the undeniably fucked-out lilt of your voice as you tell the delivery person that someone will be right down.

Joel laughs next to you when you hang up. “I’ll get it – hold on.”

He jumps out of bed and dresses quickly. You’re gawking at him as he does. You can’t help it. This man – probably the hottest man you’ve ever seen – was just inside of you. You want to pat yourself on the back. He notices you staring as he’s zipping up his jeans and shoots you a wink.

Joel deadbolts your front door and disappears into the hallway. He returns moments later, shutting and re-locking the door, and strides back into your bedroom with both boxes. You can see the steam coming off of them through the cardboard.

He sets them down by your feet.

“In bed?” you ask, sitting up against the headboard.

“Well I’m not sure you can walk to the kitchen, darlin’.”

Your face heats. He has a point. But he doesn’t have to be so smug about it. You roll your eyes at him and mumble something nonsensical under your breath as you tuck yourself in under your duvet.

“What was that?” He quirks an eyebrow.

Long gone is the shy Joel from earlier this evening. He knows your body now, knows how hard he makes you cum. He’s a whole different man post-coitus – bolder. It makes you damn near melt.

And maybe you’re different now too. Because you’re pretty sure you’d give up your vow of solitude for him, if he asked.

It’s crazy, probably. You’ve only known Joel for two days, after all. But you can’t help the way that he ( and his dick) makes you feel. Like maybe there’s a promise of something down the line, however serious that something may be. You just know you want to give yourself the opportunity to experience it, no matter how it ends.

“Nothing.” You break, grin pulling tight at the corners of your mouth. “Just get me a slice of cheese.”

He lets his gaze linger for a second longer, the faux-threat of it heating you from the inside out. And then he’s vanishing into the kitchen, returning with two plates and a stack of paper towels.

He dishes up slices for the both of you, climbing into bed next to you and handing over yours.

He settles in with a content sigh.

You both eat in happy silence for a few minutes, Joel giving you a satisfied nod when he finishes up his first slice. “‘ts good,” he mumbles through a mouthful of food.

“Right?” you retort. “It’s my favorite pizza around here.”

He hums in agreement. Pulls the box of sausage and pepper onto his lap to grab another slice.

“So,” you start, “you’re heading home tomorrow?” It’s more of a statement than a question. You know he is. But still, part of you wants Joel to say no, tell you that he’s canceled his flight, that he’s decided to stick around for a bit longer.

“Yeah,” he says. You feel your heart sink. You silently curse yourself for being delusional.

“Are you excited?” you try. “To be home?”

He doesn’t respond right away – his forehead wrinkling and his lips falling into a small frown. You watch as he thinks on it.

“Not really,” he admits after a few seconds.

“I know you’ll miss Sarah,” you say, letting your head fall onto his shoulder.

He peers down at you with a heavy sigh. “So much…” His voice trails off, like there’s something else he wants to add, but can’t.

The air feels thick, suddenly – heavy. You try your best to lighten it.

“Can’t stay a bit longer? Let Tommy run things for a while?”

“No,” he laughs. “Pretty sure he’ll just end up screwin’ every client we got.”

“And you’d end up screwing every one of Sarah’s professors,” you tease.

His mouth falls open in mock-offense. He grabs at both your sides, suddenly, letting the open box of pizza slide off of his lap and onto the bed. He tickles relentlessly just under your ribs, causing you to squeal and squirm under his grip.

“Joel,” you cry in between fits of laughter. “Stop!”

“I don’t think so, darlin’,” he tuts. He removes one of hands momentarily, to toss your plate aside, and then he’s hooking one of his legs over your body, straddling you. He looks so big like this, his body hanging over yours. You feel content – safe. His hands release you, finally, coming to settle on either side of your head on your pillow. You blink up at him. He’s staring down at you with narrowed eyes.

“What?”

“Nothin,” he mumbles. “‘ts just, I wouldn’t, ya know. Sleep with anyone else, I mean. If you didn’t want me to.”

Your breath catches in your throat. You know that if you respond, it’ll come out way too eager. So you just blink at him again.

“Would you want to keep talkin’ after I get home?”

Yes, you want to say. Please. I don’t think I could go on without knowing if I’ll get to see you again – fuck you again.

You swallow. Collect yourself.

“Yeah. I would.”

You shimmy under Joel so that you can sit up. He straightens out, shifting his weight onto his knees. Takes both of your hands in his and pulls you up.

His eyes are still locked on yours. “I know we just met this weekend,” he says. “But I had a lot’a fun with you. I like you.”

Your cheeks warm. “I like you too, Joel.”

He smiles. “‘m glad.”

“Doesn’t have to be anythin’ serious,” he continues. Lets his fingers trace aimlessly along the inside of your arm. “We can jus’ see where it goes.”

“Yeah,” you nod, your heart squeezing in your chest. “See where it goes. I like that.”

And it’s the truth. You do. In the stillness, your legs tucked under the covers, Joel caressing you, you feel, for the first time in a long time, happy to not be alone. And you know you will be again, very soon, when Joel leaves to go back home. But then again, you won’t – not really. His voice will be there, a phone call away, and his body will be there, in the divot he’s left in your mattress. And you’ll have the promise of taking this slow, seeing where it goes.

You’ve never been so excited for the future.

end notes: tysm for reading! I may turn this into a series if people want more of these two <3 lmk hehe

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller #tlou fic #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel x reader #pedro pascal as joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal smut #fiiyb

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thecreelhouse · 1 month

Text

handle with care

Paring: Steve Harrington x Reader

Summary: Eddie and Robin think Steve needs to get out more, but he ends up in what he believes to be the wrong place at the wrong time, until he meets you. (meet cute/ugly au!!)

WC: 2.7k

CW/Tags: language, alcohol, mentions of injuries/blood, teeth mention, super brief suggestive moment, but the rest is awkward yet sweet fluff, reader is GN except for one gendered term at the end I couldn’t work around (apologies!!)

A/N: 10 years ago I broke my tooth on some poor dude’s head while stage diving, so here’s a fic inspired by that LMAO. I didn’t realize how similar some of it is to an old fic I wrote in 2020 until I finished writing this, but the overall idea is different enough to still post imo. this is silly and I don’t expect anyone to read it but if you do, thanks and enjoy! <3

“Oh. Oh, dude… that looks rough.”

Steve’s stumbling out of the small yet packed crowd, holding his head while blood drips down his face. He looks miserable, to say the least.

“Last fucking time I let either of you drag me out to some shit like this.”

“Whoa, hey, man, it’s your fault for not knowing pit etiquette,” Eddie snarks back, still handing a napkin over to Steve.

As soon as it’s in his hand, Steve recoils and throws the napkin back at Eddie. “Why is this wet?”

“Found it on the bar—“

“Jesus Christ.”

Robin rolls her eyes, handing Steve a clean, dry napkin for the blood. “The hell happened?”

“Some fucking idiot decided to stage dive onto me, and something hard stabbed my forehead.”

Robin stifles a laugh, but Eddie doesn’t bother hiding his snicker. “Dude, I warned you about crowdsurfing, pits, and stage diving.”

“What happened to just… enjoying music with your ears?”

Eddie quips back, “There’s absolutely no fun in that, Harrington.”

Steve drops into the barstool next to Robin, holding his head with a groan. She moves his hands away from the source of blood. “Let me see— oh, shit.”

“What? What happened? Is it bad?” Steve panics, but as he looks up, he sees Robin looking over his shoulder down the bar. Eddie follows her gaze, eyes narrowing at someone asking the bartender something, ending up with a glass of water.

“Think I found your idiot.”

Steve turns around, but too quickly, hit with dizziness instantly. “God, I’m never leaving the house without a fucking helmet ever again.”

“Hey, hey—“ Eddie calls out to you while you’re walking by the trio, rubbing your finger along the new, jagged edge of your tooth, lost in your thoughts. You spit into the closest trash can, blood tinged saliva finally off your tongue before taking a sip of water. Eddie’s hand lands on your shoulder, spinning you around. “Dude, what’s your problem?”

Your brows scrunch together as you shrug his hand off of you. “What’s yours?”

“Is— did you break your tooth?” Robin can’t help asking as you run your thumb along the sharpness of your now damaged front tooth.

You yell over the music, “Yeah, some fucking moron wasn’t moving with the crowd, and chipped my tooth! I think I hit their head while stage diving. Who the fuck comes to these shows to just stand there?”

Robin and Eddie both glance at each other before bursting into a fit of giggles.

“What? What’s so fu—“ You glance between the two of them, then notice Steve, cradling his head in his hands as he holds a napkin to the wound; your face drops in a cruel mix of embarrassment and guilt. “Oh. Oh my god— fuck, dude, I- I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, no, it’s fine, it’s not like I haven’t had enough concussions in my lifetime, or anything.” Steve groans, side eyeing you. He’s about to give you more sass, only to become distracted with your face. You’re so … pretty. He was expecting some annoying, ‘tough guy’ to be the culprit, not someone cute like you. “I— it’s cool, what’s one more, right?”

Robin has to hold back her laughter at Steve’s attempt of a save, spinning around on the barstool as she tries hiding her face in her drink. She only ends up laughing, dribbling onto her shirt.

“Great job, Buckley, can’t take you anywhere either.”

Robin ignores Steve’s remark after the first few notes of another song begins, “Oh, wait! Hold on, hold—” She downs her drink before yelling, “I loooooove this song!” Looking over at you, she asks, “You two should be fine, right? Great!” She hops off the barstool before dragging Eddie into the crowd with her.

Immediately you take her seat, gently pushing Steve’s hair away from his face. “C’mon, lemme see the damage— oh no.”

Steve groans, lifting his head with his eyes screwed shut from the pain. “If I hear one more ominous “oh” I’m gonna lose it.”

His comment is shrugged off, “Probably should properly introduce myself, since, y’know, my tooth decided to meet your head first.” Your joke pops his eyes open, laughing for a moment until it worsens his pain with a cringe. “Ah— shit, sorry!” You shoot him an apologetic glance before offering your name.

Glancing up at you, getting a better view of your features, he stumbles over what should just be a simple response. “St- Ste— my name? It’s Steve.”

You bite your bottom lip to hold back a giggle before continuing, “Steve, I got bad news for ya’.”

“What now?”

Taking over on blotting the wound, you move his hand away softly as your own adds pressure to stop the bleeding. He blushes under your touch, welcoming and soft in contrast to the sharp pain you accidentally left behind first.

“You’re gonna have to wear a bandage on that cute face for awhile.”

Steve laughs at your corny attempt of flirting; like he’s any better.

“Yeah, well…” His eyes meet yours, then fall to your smile. The part of your tooth cracked off isn’t terrible. Noticeable, sure, but somehow you make it work. “I got nothin’ clever to say, but you’re still cute with a broken tooth. Not easy to pull off.”

You roll your eyes playfully with a smile as kind as your touch.

“I’m so sorry me and my tooth happened to dive bomb into your pretty head,” You tease, using your free hand to rummage through your jacket pocket before finding a sealed bandage. “You mind if I see?”

“I mean… your tooth was literally in my head, so I don’t think you have to ask.”

“Okay, sassy pants, hold still.” You carefully remove the now bloody napkin away, noticing the gash is pretty rough, but not worth an ER trip, thankfully. The bleeding’s beginning to slow down.

“What’s the news, doc? Am I gonna make it?”

“Hm… not sure. Might need a drink for that,” You smirk, applying the bandaid to his head. Steve looks a little silly, but still terribly attractive. “Pick your poison, s’on me.”

“Oh, I- I—“ He glances up at you as you lean onto the bar, admiring how your outfit hugs you in all the right places. “S- surprise me?”

You give another smile before catching the bartender’s attention. Steve misses what you order with how hard his head is pounding, loud music no help whatsoever. You murmur a quick thanks before sliding a tip towards the bartender, handing Steve his drink before knocking your glass against his, “To the only idiots in this place.”

There’s cherries in both yours and his, but he has an extra; after taking a sip, his eyes go wide with nostalgia. “Why does this taste familiar?”

“Dirty Shirley!” You exclaim happily, but Steve looks confused. “Like, a Shirley Temple, but grown up! Get it? ‘Cause it’s got the vodka?” You force a laugh at your own bad humor, but the way you poke fun at yourself earns a genuine, soft laugh from Steve as he shakes his head. “Used to be my fave drink as a kid, and now it’s even better.”

“You didn’t get as many cherries as I did,” He points out with the slightest pout while you take a sip.

“Told ‘em yours needed to be as sweet as you.”

“You’re knocking it outta the park with these corny lines.”

“Yeah? Enough to apologize for being a total asshole and flinging myself on you?”

Steve hums, lips on the edge of his glass, “Might need to try a little harder.” He knows he’s not a lightweight, so it can’t be the alcohol making him feel so airy and bold, it has to be the head injury. He reaches out to your chin, gently pulling on it to lower your bottom lip; you part your lips, catching on immediately as you try playing it cool, ignoring the way your breath hitches.

It’s got to be a weird sight out of context, watching Steve feel along your broken tooth, but it’s kind of on par for how weird this entire situation has been. “S’sharp. Does it hurt?” If this was any other stranger touching your tooth you just broke on their head, you’d be creeped out, but something about Steve’s demeanor shows he means no harm.

“Sore but it ain’t so bad. Got my nose cracked in a pit last year, that was worse.” You shrug while Steve looks at you like you’re insane; his hand pulls back before you become nosy. “So… gonna tell me why your polo wearing ass is in a place like this?”

He nods over to Robin and Eddie, bopping around the crowd. “Those two thought I needed to get out of the house more.”

“Shoulda’ picked something more your speed,” The comment’s lighthearted, but you feel bad instantly; you barely know Steve, you probably should ease up on the teasing. “M’sorry again, like, for real. I got way too excited to stage dive for the first time, and it’s definitely my last.”

“Nah, you’re right, I stick out like a sore thumb in a place like this.”

“What? In a dive bar balls deep in the DIY scene? The whole point of subcultures in music like this is giving everyone a place to feel welcome, even if they’re cute dorks that don’t move with the crowd.” You catch yourself before rambling away about something you’re so passionate about. “If there’s ever a show you wanna go to and need someone to hang with, I’m always down for shit like this. Even if it’s something more your speed, just lemme know.”

Steve finds himself smiling over your offer, curiosity getting the best of him, “Why do you like all of this—” He gestures lazily around the club “—so much?”

You down the rest of your drink, “It’s a second home to me— and that sounds bizarre, I’m sure, ‘cause, like… how the hell do you feel at home in a room full of strangers? But I feel safer losing myself to the music with people who get it.” You pull a cherry out of the glass, popping it into your mouth with a pluck of the stem. “Whether I’m by myself or with friends, it beats being home home, I guess. Either way, I don’t feel so alone here.”

Steve watches you fidget with the cherry stem, mentally kicking himself for asking something so personal. “I- I’m sorry, I shouldn’t— that’s—“ He collects his thoughts for a moment, “I’m sorry if that put you on the spot to answer so… uh—“

“Keep your apology, Steve, you did nothing wrong. My bad for over sharing, I tend to do that… a lot.”

He shakes his head, “Hey, don’t— you keep your apology, too.” He’s not sure when his hand reached for your arm, softly squeezing it in a supportive gesture, but you don’t seem to mind. He laughs humorlessly, “Jesus, are you bad with that too? I feel like I’m apologizing all the time for just—“

“Just existing?”

“Yes!” He’s a little too excited to relate to someone with a personal struggle, but you don’t mind.

You lift his hand off of your arm, and for a moment he worries he was too forward, but you gently hold his hand in yours, pressing your palm against his. The two of you splay your fingers out, pressed up against one another.

“Don’t know why you’re scared of being in a pit with hands like this. Y’could totally take on jerks like me who get carried away.” Your comment isn’t meant to be anything more than harmless and playful, but once the words leave your lips, you curse yourself internally for how they’re phrased.

Steve’s brow quirks, and your mouth opens, about to apologize, but he beats you to it. “Can’t tell if that was supposed to be another corny pickup line or not.”

“… Maybe it is.” You smirk, but anxiously add, “Unless it’s— it doesn’t— not unless—“

“Unless I want it to be?” He finishes for you, intertwining his fingers with yours. “‘Cause I do.”

You beam with a nod, “So… you wanna hang out again? Like, for real, not this whole tooth in your head mess.”

Steve finally shoots a smooth response, “Can’t do that unless I have your number, y’know.”

“Oh— oh, duh, oh my god.” You lean over the bar, asking the bartender for a pen and paper, but he only has a pen; there’s probably something cliche in the way you’re writing your number on a bar napkin, when just minutes earlier, you used them to halt the bleeding from Steve’s head.

Scribbling it down, you hand it to Steve, but not before a tiny boost of confidence pushes you to add, “Might need your number too, in case one of your friends decides to use that napkin.” He side eyes you with a hint of a smile, writing and exchanging his number with you, too.

Neither of you notice Robin and Eddie across the room, yell-whispering to one another over the music as they gossip over the two of you.

“You saw that too, right? They did the hand thing, the hand thing!” Robin happily shouts, and Eddie chuckles with a shake of his head.

“Yeah, they’re definitely gonna fuck.” Eddie snickers and Robin jokingly smacks his shoulder.

“Bet they’re gonna be endgame.”

“Sure fuckin’ hope so, it’d be one hell of a story.”

—

Omitting anything inappropriate, especially the last part— told to you teasingly a month into dating Steve— you finish retelling the night you and Steve met.

“That’s how you met Daddy?” The twins’ reactions starkly contrast one another’s, as usual; your daughter is horrified, while your son is thrilled to learn this.

“S’so silly!” He falls onto his back from his spot on the floor, holding his tummy as he laughs loudly.

“Did he glue your tooth back together?” Your daughter asks, blatantly ignoring that Steve has no dentistry experience whatsoever. You hold back your laughter, not wanting to make her feel bad.

“No, honey, I actually spit it into—“

“— Into their hand, and safely took it to the dentist for him to fix the next day.” Steve rushes in as he walks by the room, overhearing the conversation; he looks to you, eyes wide, mouthing, “what are you doing?”

Your daughter runs to Steve, clinging to him like a koala. He laughs as he lifts her into his arms, watching as her tiny hands push his hair away from his face; he starts going cross eyed trying to follow her movement.

“Sweetheart, what are you up to?” Steve chuckles as she runs her hand along his forehead, face displaying a state of determination.

“Where is it?”

“Where’s what?”

“Where’s the spot Mommy’s tooth hit your head?”

He glares down at you playfully while his daughter continues searching for a scar. Looking back at his daughter, he answers, “It faded awhile ago, probably from all the forehead kisses Mommy gave me.”

You force a fake cough, “Corny.” At the same time, both of your kids make “blech!” noises.

Before Steve can retort, your son runs to climb into your lap, excitedly asking, “Can you show me how to do that?”

Your brows furrow a bit but you laugh, “Show you how to do what, kiddo?”

“Stage diving!”

Both you and Steve exclaim a firm, “NO.” making your son pout, but only for a moment.

“S’okay, I’ll ask Uncle Eddie instead,” He slips off your lap, marching out of the room; his sister wriggles out of Steve’s grasp, and he takes the hint, setting her down gently. She gives a “hmph!” stomping out after her brother.

Once the coast is clear, the two of you burst into a fit of laughter.

“Did you ever think us being absolute idiots would lead to all of this?” You find yourself asking Steve between giggles. He pulls you up off the chair and into his arms, kissing the top of your head as he laughs softly.

“Not at all, but I wouldn’t change a damn thing.”

You push his hair away from his face, finding the very faint scar from that fateful night years ago, pressing a soft kiss to the exact spot, thinking:

What a hell of a story.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington #my fics #handle with care

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beenbaanbuun · 2 months

Note

hi bunny! <33 i wanted to ask if you could do a little fic of how the ateez boys (specifically jjong) would be like during aftercare ❤️ after a rougher session— i’m in need of comforty cute stuff rn lmao 😭 no pressure ofc! luv u bun bun 🫶

aftercare w/ateez

hongjoong

i feel like hongjoong is very prepared for aftercare, especially if he knows in advance that it’s going to be a rougher session

like he already has a glass of water and a snack bar on the nightstand ready to go

coos and praises you as he breaks the bar into tiny pierces and slides them between your lips with his fingers

will absolutely force you to pee and shower once he thinks you’ve got your energy up enough to walk to the bathroom

stays with you the whole time you pee, and slides into the shower beside you to wash your hair

unlike some of the others i don’t believe that the shower will to anything else because hongjoong has a modicum of self control and can see you naked without going feral…

seonghwa

seonghwa’s first instinct is to go and grab a washcloth from the bathroom so he can wipe down the mess between your legs

of course, while he’s in the bathroom, he kills two birds with one stone and begins to draw a bath for you

wipes down your sticky skin with the warm cloth, all while whispering praises

‘i know you’re sensitive but you’re being such a good girl by letting me clean you! just a little more and it’ll be over, my darling.’

once you’re somewhat clean he guides you to the bathroom and helps you into the bath before going to chance the sheets

comes back the second they’re changed and in the washer so he can sit on the side of the tub and watch you with a pretty smile

yunho

cuddly boy!!

will literally just hold you to his chest and stroke his hand up and down your spine while the two of you return your breathing to normal

isn’t so fussy about the ‘clean’ aspect of it all, but will definitely make you go pee because we do not want any UTI’s in this house!

and once you’re finished peeing, he just ticks you back into his nice strong arms and lets you fall to sleep in his grasp

he trusts you enough to know that you’ll tell him if you need anything else; water, a snack, all that jazz

he also knows you enough to know that is so incredibly rare that you’ll want anything other than him and his warm cuddles

because let’s be real, lying on top of yunho with your head tucked into his neck and his long arms holding you in place is actually the best feeling in the world

yeosang

you know my thoughts on yeosang’s sex style so i also have to assume that he takes his job of aftercare very seriously

it’s half a guilt thing because baby boy went so hard that now he has to take care of you; he needs to know that you’re okay and he didn’t do too much

he starts by wiping you down and you’re guaranteed to be oversensitive, but he just shushes you and tells you how well you’re doing

ideally he’d like you to shower, but you’re too boneless right now and he doesn’t want to leave you for long enough to run a bath

and when he’s all done cleaning you up, he’ll hold a straw to your mouth, watching you as gulp down the water he brought you

i can see him needing his own validation as well so he asks you plenty of questions

did he go to far? did you like it when he did that one thing? were you having as much fun as he was? he really is desperate to know that you were having a good time

san

san is so fucking clingy that from the moment he goes soft, he will not let you out if his sight

he won’t send you to the bathroom yourself with promises of cuddles when you get back; why would he when he can follow you in there to hold your hand while you pee?

and while you’re in the shower you better let this man wash your hair, your body, your face, anything he can, unless you want him to pout

sits you on the toilet seat while he brushes your teeth; it’s cute but you can’t help but feel shy as he holds your jaw and looks down at you

and then when he’s sure you’re squeaky clean and happy, he bundles you up in his arms and drags you back to bed with him

from which there will be no escape, by the way; if you even dream about getting out of bed, san will be pouting and complaining

mingi

i like to think that he puts his mind, body and soul into sex, so he’s probably just as tired as you when it’s over

ideally, he’d just like to stay in bed with you, but he knows you have to replenish yourself, so he sets you little tasks

“can you go get a wash cloth from the bathroom so i can wipe you down?”, “go piss, girl. i’ll be right here waiting for you.”

and you best believe that after every single task you complete, he’s praising you like you’ve just cured world hunger or something

lips pressed against yours, letting you know just how good you are for him and how proud he is of you for doing what he asks

it’s safe to say youre leave your submissive headspace any time soon, not when mingi has you in his grasp, whispering sweet praises in your ear

wooyoung

wooyoung likes to do everything for you and if he even catches you lifting a finger he will become the most annoying person to ever walk this earth

like he’ll be getting you a glass of water and he’ll come back to the bedroom to see you with a tissue between your legs and all he can thing is how dare you?

literally storms over and takes it away from you before continuing the job himself, muttering under his breath as he cleans you up

“you weren’t so independent when you were begging for my dick, hm?” he scowls, “you need me to fuck you properly, so what makes you think you don’t need to help you with this too?”

like honestly, he’s kind of mean with it but with his gentle touch and the tiny kisses that he’s pressing to your thighs, you know he isn’t actually mad

just being his regular wooyoung-ish self…

jongho

oh you think he’s a teddy bear? wrong; during aftercare you’re his teddy bear and there’s nothing you can do about it!

because he’s way too strong for you to escape from the grasp he has on you, no matter how much wriggling you do

it’s fine though, because jongho always keeps. a bottle of water by his bed and a few snacks in his drawer and a pack of baby wipes too

you literally don’t even have to move from his arms for him to take care of you; everything you need is right there!

of course when you tell him you need to use the bathroom he’s pouting, but then you tell him he can come with you and he’s happy again

he doesn’t consider the fact that he can’t squeeze you to death when you’re actually on the loo, so when he realises that he’s pouting again

literally clings to you the moment you stand up, wasting no time in dragging you back to bed for more cuddles

#ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez scenarios #ateez fluff #ateez fic #ateez headcanons #ateez blurbs

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loveyjelly · 3 months

Text

To Be Patient

slightly angsty but good ending

"You can do whatever you want to me. You can think of him while you fuck me. Please just don't leave yet." Rafayel had both of of his hands wrapped around your wrist.

Truthfully, he knew he wasn't the only man you were interested in but it was enough for him that you were with him right now. You've been spending so much time with your missions, Xavier, and Zayne. Where does he fit in your schedule? Because it always seems like you only come to him when he reminds you of his existence or when you're finished with everything you needed to do.

"Rafayel" You mutter under your breath. Seeing this side of him was something you never thought you'd see. "That wouldn't be good for you."

"I don't fucking care." Rafayel tried to make his voice sound stable to try and hide that he's desperate to be with you in any way he could. "Everything you want to do to him, you can do to me for now. If he's too busy for you then just use me instead."

"Rafayel, this is nonsense" Your breathing slowly became ragged. Why would he say such things? Surely, he'd be better off with someone that is not too busy to spend time with him.

"Is it?" He takes your hand and placed it on his chest, on top of where his heart is.

The sudden lack of distance caught you off guard. "If this is too much for you then I'll st- mmh"

You brought your lips to his, cutting him off.

"Does that mean…" He couldn't even dare to finish his sentence out of the fear that you'd say no.

"I'll stay."

The words rung in his ear. He couldn't believe you agreed to stay, not when he just showed how pathetic he can act just so you can keep him company.

You kiss him again, this time deeper. His lips were warm and soft, parting slightly to let your tongue slip inside. You pull him closer by his collar to let your body be fully pressed against his.

Warmth blossomed in Rafayel's chest as he felt your arms wrap around his shoulders. If he had to give up his life to spend a day with you, he would do it without hesitations. Even if he knew you wouldn't have the same answer if you were asked the same question.

"Rafayel."

The way you said his name makes up for your lips separating from his. He noticed how genuine you look and sound right now but maybe he was just seeing things. Every time he longed for you, his heart felt like a stone you were slowly chipping away. You made his heart this way.

"Please, let's just keep kissing." His eyes sparkled with tears, a few blinks away from spilling out.

"I wish you told me you were feeling this way." You ran your hands through his hair.

"I'm sorry. I wasn't sure if you felt the same." His head nuzzled your neck, hiding his tears away from your view.

"You paid me to be your bodyguard, Rafayel. I didn't want to make things complicated since I'm working for you."

"You think too much." He sniffled and tightens his arms around your waist. "Do you feel the same way?" He lifted his head to see you again.

You give him a quick kiss. "I do. I've been so busy the past few weeks it feels like I haven't made you feel like you were as important." Tears pricked your eyes as the weigh of your guilt settles.

"Do what you need to do, you know I'll always be here. Just let me know where you are and what you're doing so I don't have to wonder all time." He kissed a stray tear rolling down your cheek. "As long as you promise to come back to me, I'll be patient."

(this was supposed to have a smutty angsty ending but someone asked me to be their valentine and my mood changed lmao)

(alexa play Love Me Back by fromis_9)

#love and deepspace #rafayel x reader #love and deepspace rafayel #loveanddeepspace #love and deepspace x reader

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taegularities · 11 months

Text

colour me in: blurred | jjk (m)

Summary: Funny how things never stay the way they were. You navigate through a life without Jungkook while wading through buried memories – and realise that every path leads back to him.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: fwb/f2l, fake dating, partly college!au; angst, fluff, smut ➳ warnings: artist jkkkkk, still a birthday, a present, exhibition and artwork reveal!!, memories, flashbacks, talk about exes, talk about guilt, ...frat party reveal i mean whut, jung hoseok lol, flirting, sexual tension, “how i, jk, met your mother” lmao i’m kidding, alcohol, insecurities, mean people, an absolute mess, yearning, we love tae, deep convos, overthinking; explicit sexual content: kissing/making out, grinding, stripping, fondling, tiddie sucking, oral (f. & m. receiving), fingering, they’re dorks ??, lmao the dialogues :’’), they play a game, protected sex, drunk (consensual) sex, dirty talk, biting, sl*t mention, teasing, jk moaninnnng, partly rough sex, big dick jk, dom jk, aftercare, weird ass bets lol, i was blushing real hard writing the smut; “the ending” warning has become a constant too so :’) ➳ word count: 31.7k 🥲 ➳ a/n: what a big damn sigh i left out after finishing this one !! ugh, guys, thank you so much for sticking with me and waiting for this one. i truly hope it’s worth the wait… and their story shall only get better. thank you for betaing my love @missgeniality <3 as always, do lemme know what you guys think !! 🎨🤍 ➳ a/n2: keep in mind that every past tense scene is a flashback !! 😁 ➳ listen to: the only exception by paramore | full collaborative playlist 🤍

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs

The very first day of September begins with a letter between your fingertips.

Or, perhaps not quite a letter — more a memory.

The pages of the diary aren’t older than two years, but they feel ancient when you skim them. A little dirty.

Maybe because the remembrances feel eons away, beginning in the middle of the second last year of college and ending sometime this spring. Mere months ago when cherry blossoms bloomed, along with a dozen other emotions.

You didn’t need to remember those days anymore, because you were gradually losing yourself in something and someone else. Not in love, not infatuated. Just distracted.

That is, until distraction became warmth.

Somewhere in the middle of this diary, you find words of a lost night. You don’t think of it too often; for a while, you felt too embarrassed and timid to reminisce.

Today, you can’t scan the memory, because it hurts.

This very entry is the worst of them all.

Contains all those damn hours in the gentle drizzle, followed by absolute heat, finishing off with glimmering lights in the sky and cold surfaces beneath you.

You don’t know all of it anymore.

But you know who tip-toed around you that night.

The frat party was never quite a frat party at all.

More a private thing hosted by some popular frat boy. It didn’t make much of a difference — half the campus was there, and the vibes were as fraternity as they could get.

You didn’t spend tonight under your fake starry ceiling as you usually would. This time, you sought an escape.

Honestly, everything was a get away these days, because you preferred running from reality rather than facing it; yet, you never quite landed where you wanted to be.

The hot party air was suffocating at first.

Cheap booze spilled into standard red cups, screeches accompanying the music. Despite the mind-numbing ambiance, you thought that’s where you belonged tonight.

With Eun’s concerned eyes on you round the clock, you kept the smile firmly plastered to your face. At times, you’d squint your eyes shut when the lack of lights tired you too much, but the unwavering noises kept you awake.

It was supposed to be a night you wouldn’t just flee your daily responsibilities and studies you weren’t sure you wanted, but from something else, too.

Someone else.

And that someone had dodged tonight’s party because of you. He hadn’t admitted it explicitly, but you knew he wasn’t one to miss such an event. And in some sense, you were relieved.

It was selfish of you. You felt awful, because he’d never proven to be anything but kind to you. But his absence forced at least an attempt to enjoy tonight. Knowing not too many faces around felt nice.

You weren’t particularly familiar with the frat boy community; you knew barely a handful of names in general. Like Eun’s. Jimin was supposed to be somewhere, too, because he told you he’d come. But you couldn’t see him anywhere.

Then, there was this Choi Yeonjun dude; the host. Very young, but already known around college. Also, senior year hottie Cha Eunwoo.

And ah.

There was another guy you could match a name to.

Anyone who hadn’t heard of him before probably didn’t do much else other than head straight to class and then straight back home.

But you’d seen him in serene libraries before, hiding behind thick art books. And in departments that he had nothing to do with in order to meet his friends; to converse with girls.

You remember that he hadn’t been as popular or noticeable a couple months ago — he shot up like fireworks.

And right now…

He was leaning against the white wall on the other side of the room. Calm and collected, confidently talking to some girl; letting her brush his cheek; closing his eyes with crinkles around them and a tilted smile.

As she reached up to his temples, her intentions seemed genuine. The smile she flashed and the way she spoke — perhaps she was still sober, locked in the illusion that she could actually capture whatever beat behind his chest.

You didn’t want to seem judgemental — but you knew the reputation he fostered.

And even now, he seemed to be enjoying this. Like a puppy being spoiled.

You would’ve watched a bit longer to find out how things would play out. It was an interesting scene; so transparent and clear. These two seemed to strive towards the same goal; it was written all over their faces.

But then, the sound of absolute crap infiltrated your ears; all of a sudden, shaking your world view.

“Hey!” you reflexively shouted.

The self-proclaimed DJ had spoken into the mic prior — apparently, he was replacing the originally invited song mixer. And he didn’t notice you until you waved.

You’d probably seen him before, but you couldn’t really name him.

Full pink lips, a full dark mane.

He grabbed the mic with long fingers — where had they gotten a mic from anyway? — and holy, his voice was deep. A little unfitting to his gentle, handsome features.

But god, was his choice terrible.

You lifted your hand a little higher, and he pointed at you, ready to speak some DJ-esque motivational words to you before you yelled, “Go back to the good stuff!”

A couple nods around you affirmed your suggestion, but the guy only granted you one slapdash shrug before he went back to vibing to atrocities. The people who had murmured approval a moment ago resumed to whatever they were doing with a sigh or a headshake.

But there was one voice who didn’t quiet back down — its rise in volume was stark and clear, and your eyes immediately ripped open when you heard Jungkook howl, “Tae, I told you to not play shit!”

When you looked at him, he was cupping his mouth. The girl next to him giggled, but one of Jungkook’s eyebrows was cocked, hands raised as if to say, “Am I always just talking to a wall?”

He disregarded the girl’s laughter and shot you a stare instead; matched the light smile you didn’t know had crept upon your face; raised one shoulder in what you assumed was an apology.

Amused, you lifted the corners of your lips a little further. The warning hadn’t moved Tae at all, but the scene had been, admittedly, fun to initiate and witness. Even though it lasted a mere thirty seconds.

Because a moment later, the girl caught Jungkook’s attention again; her finger moved his head by his chin, her face closer to his — you took a few steps back and walked away.

This wasn’t your territory; you were an uninvited observer who happened to temporarily catch the target’s attention. And the target was in the wild, in a beloved habitat, so all you could do was leave him basking in his joys.

There had to be an activity you could dote on, or a familiar face you could approach. Eun had left with an excuse you hadn’t heard, and now, she was nowhere to be seen. It didn’t take long for you to realise that your search for her would remain fruitless.

And just when you were cottoning to the idea of roaming the party alone, an unexpected form materialised next to you. Like a hallucination, sneakily.

His hand coolly sat inside his jeans pocket; yours lamely stuffing snacks into your mouth — the dichotomy was all too present. Your big eyes ogled at a friendly smile and a tiny nod. You covered your mouth, looking a little longer, and then dropped your gaze again.

Jeon Jungkook was probably just fetching a drink for his gorgeous date. You wouldn’t have to grant him much attention.

But when a minute passed and he still lingered around, possibly unable to choose a delicacy, you looked at him again — as if on cue, just the moment he opened his mouth to speak.

“I’m sorry for the music.”

He shook his hair to the side, leaning in with a radiant smile; you didn’t know why he felt guilty enough to approach you for such a thing, but you were ready to forgive him anyway. Admittedly, it was hard to deny his charms.

Your pupils moved in confusion; with raised shoulders and a cocked eyebrow, you asked, “Why are you sorry?”

“Taehyung,” Jungkook started, a thumb pointing behind him without breaking eye contact, “he’s my best friend.”

You’d forget Taehyung’s name the next morning again; the apology wasn’t necessary and you bet he knew. But your mouth still formed an ‘Ah’, head nodding just a little as you confirmed, “Well. That is a reason to apologise, I guess.”

Registering another nod and light chuckle, you averted your eyes politely and shifted them to the table.

You filled your palm with trail mix before your stare drifted across the room — Eun was still not in your periphery, but you guessed she’d find you soon enough.

Perhaps she was testing you. Getting you out of the shell you’d retorted into in the past days, fearing everything and nothing at once.

Tonight was the first breath of air you got; something about all happenings this summer suffocated you.

The man next to you, albeit still a stranger, seemed to want to provide further distraction.

Because when you whipped your head back into his direction, you found him munching on snacks — still here, smiling at you once more. Was he waiting for something?

“So,” you started; the moment you spoke, big eyes focused on you curiously. Wow. “Where did you leave your girl?”

His face fell. Not in the melancholic way, but you thought you still found insecurity and something not too pleasant in it. He puffed out air, looking over his shoulder and then back to you.

“Should still be where you saw us last. But the room got smaller by the minute,” he said. You understood — even a rich frat boy’s house fills up at some point. “And I’m not in the mood to go back.”

“Oh. Why?”

“She was uhm… saying things I didn’t agree with.”

“Like what?”

You bit your tongue the moment he laughed. Playfully, as though he knew you inside out, he nudged your shoulder, teasing, “Wouldn’t you like to know?” You blinked slowly. “Nothing, really. You wouldn’t care about it.”

He was probably right.

So you digressed.

Hummed, though you were sure he couldn’t hear it; even in this big ass kitchen, the sound of the music reverberated.

You shuffled your feet a little, ready to move on and find your friend. Maybe learn a thing or two about her pals to integrate yourself. You still couldn’t quite say how a law student like Eun knew so many people at all.

Extroverts have it easy.

You reached to the back pocket of your jeans, fishing out your phone and unlocking the screen to give her a call.

Jungkook, still unmoving, had to be peeking, because he exclaimed an excited vocal, questioning, “What was that?”

A tattooed, lean finger pointed to your device, and you looked down, voicing a timid, “…My phone?”

“No,” he shook his head, suddenly shy for snooping. “Uhm. Your wallpaper.”

“Oh,” you looked down, eyes frozen on the dimming screen before they landed back on him. “Well, just… the night sky with some lyrics. Very basic stuff.”

“What lyrics?”

He seemed genuinely curious. It was sweet — but judging from how he’d left another girl in the other room just a moment ago, you couldn’t quite figure out what his intentions were.

So you pulled up your guard just a little, straightening your stance and covering your mind in some ice to cool it down.

And then, you answered, “You wouldn’t know them.”

But he shrugged, tilting his head, and challenged, “Try me.”

For a moment, you stared.

Then, you cleared your throat, exhaling a breath and lit up your phone again. As you held it into his face for him to read, you saw the sparkle in his eyes for the very first time — the beam of your phone allowed it for just a second as he read.

“You and I were bright, shooting through the sky daily.”

And then, he started nodding, sporting an impressed expression. His body movements were open — eager to engage in conversation, sincerity clear.

He simply said, “Good one.”

To which you squinted your eyes, stuffing your phone back. What did you take it out for again? Didn’t matter — it was locked again.

“Do you really know it or are you just acting like you do?” you asked.

Jungkook’s sudden laugh took you off guard — he wasn’t irritated but amused. His snicker was accompanied by tiny dimples and wrinkles around his huge eyes; the sound was lovely and pure.

And you nearly expected a delightful compliment before he clicked his tongue and said, “Damn. Stuck up, aren’t we?”

Well, fuck.

The way he eyed you, still enjoying your company with those rude words of his — was he the distraction you needed tonight?

He was amusing.

“Damn,” you said back.

“I do know The Neighbourhood,” he argued. He sounded calmer again; his voice dropped deeper. “I may look stupid, but I’m not.”

Internally, it made you laugh. Externally, you kept yourself at bay.

He didn’t look stupid at all, and his humour was on point. You bet that’s how he wrapped all the girls around his inked fingers.

Literally.

“I mean,” you said, unintentionally moving closer to him when someone approached the table. He smelled like soap and lotion. Looked at the vanishing distance in surprise. You moved to the side. “One doesn’t need to be stupid or smart to know a song.”

And suddenly, he chuckled again.

“What?” you asked.

“Goddamnit.”

“...What?”

“Nothing, just. You’re funny. Witty.”

You couldn’t say why he found it funny, but you felt charmed. Ugh… no. That’s how things started, you were sure.

So you were quick to state, “And you’re not my ty—”

Which was a blatant lie.

Jeon Jungkook was everybody’s type. A wandering deity with a Greek God’s body and a face carved in heaven. Splendid rizz game.

“I’m not hitting on you,” he quickly interrupted, right at your tail when you approached the door, “spare me the I have a boyfriend talk.”

You knew where this was going — you weren’t stupid either. Those subtle statements demanded a response, and idiotic enough and two red cups down, you said, “If I did, I wouldn’t be here.”

“What?”

“What what?”

“No, like,” he started. As you halted in your steps, right next to the couch and looking at him, he took a seat on the couch’s arm. “I fully expected you to give me the boyfriend lecture.”

You took a deep breath. No matter where you went, this… reality followed you.

Half frustrated, half tired of it, you shook your head again, looking into the depths of the cup you’d grabbed, and said, “I do not have a boyfriend.”

“Right.”

“Not quite at least.”

You kept adding things. Why?

The stored up misery escaped so easily now — but why with him?

He stared at you with actual attention in his eyes; God, he could feign it well. Even worse when he spoke and you heard the interest in his mild voice, “Quite?”

“I just do not, okay?”

The words didn’t come out rude. Hastily maybe, but not vexed.

But Jungkook’s expressions still changed. The curiosity from before faded bit by bit; realisation dawned on him that you were here for something else tonight and not… whatever you were fleeing from.

Maybe, you thought, he’d been sincere before. Actually socialising and expanding your casual exchanges.

But now that you’d closed the topic once and for all, he dropped the puppy gaze and transformed back into what you thought he was. A beloved presence on campus, always relaxed and always popular.

You saw his peer change in slow motion — baffled when he opened the path to his cocky self again.

And confident and with the tiniest of winks, he said, “Cool. So then… not to hit on you, but,” he lifted a hand, big and masculine, “I’m Jeon Jungkook.”

Jeon Jungkook and the liquor made the house look and feel twice its size.

After wandering around for over half an hour, you thought the hallways and rooms were expanding exponentially — until you passed the same plant you’d definitely seen a while ago. Some by now familiar faces were still roaming around the same place.

But the conversations you began kept shifting; time became relative. Subtle teases and little laughs kept you busy.

“By the way,” you asked. The lights were starting to burn into your eyes. Too neon and painful. “Are you gonna follow me all night?”

Jungkook tsk-ed, comical sass in his expression as he clarified, “I’m not following you, I’m literally walking next to you.” He tilted his head once, tongue poking the inside of his cheek. “So rude.”

“Sorry.”

“Besides, you’re not necessarily doing what you were supposed to, either.”

Tired eyes blinked at him, an eyebrow cocking. For a moment, you found yourself lost, but the realisation that you were going to look for Eun dawned on you a mere second later.

In all honesty, you had walked past by her once.

She’d raised both eyebrows when she’d detected him, wearing a mirthful look, and you nodded as a fleeting greeting, but let him blabber on. Kept walking.

You didn’t tell him any of this, though.

“Yeah, well,” you crafted a careful excuse, vaguely gesturing across the badly lit, crowded living room, “easy to get lost here.”

He squinted, eyes flitting across the chattering bodies. You barely heard the hum, but you saw the shrug as he asked, “Is it really?”

“I mean… It might be easier for you since you know almost everyone here.”

“That’s not true.”

“Really?”

Another shrug; softer this time. Blooming lips curved into a pretty smile, and he nodded towards you. Let his eyes scan you head to toe before he finally said, “I don’t know you.”

Hm… True.

Seemed like he didn’t want to keep it that way.

You nodded with tightly pressed lips, averting your gaze and shifting it to the back of the room, out to the backyard. It was one of those semi-rich houses with French windows; you could see the cleanly cut grass and part of the treehouse from here.

“Anything you’d like to know, then?” you finally asked.

“Keep going.”

Jungkook gestured to the staircase in the hallway. You looked around; you guess you’d been blocking the entryway to it. Partygoers gave you a weird look.

You stirred, clearing the traffic jam, and navigated towards the staircase. Jungkook, hot on your trail, answered, “Uhm. Yeah, actually — be honest. Do you know The Neighbourhood from social media? TikTok and shit?”

“God, no,” you immediately defended, secretly outraged, “I’ve known and supported them since high school.”

“Oh.” Now that you were steering towards the first floor and away from the music, you could gradually register his words clearer. “Okay. What else?”

“What else? Like what other music? Uhm… Avatar: The Last Airbender soundtrack.”

He rolled his eyes, rocking a little as you approached the end of the staircase. People floated by you quickly, roaming the entire place.

“Come on,” he replied.

“What? It legitimately counts!”

You still felt the vibrations of the beat. It wasn’t so bad from here; kind of pleasant, fitting the rhythm of your conversation.

Or his laugh when he puffed out air, leading you down the hallway; a couple steps from here, you detected a small balcony. But as you neared the exit, you found it busy; two friends drinking, chatting the night away.

Jungkook halted, pressing against the wall with a glimpse to the ground. He rubbed his eyes; you understood. The hallway was lit a million times better than any room downstairs. Balm for your eyes.

“Alright,” he asked, looking up to you with an inhale, “another trivial question as we wait,” he tilted his head towards the door. “What’s a superpower you’d choose?”

You contemplated on suggesting a walk outside the house, but you knew why he’d possibly led you here — it was quieter. The crowd not as tense.

So instead of muttering the question, you relaxed your spinning head; your heavy eyelids fell a little as you said, “Oh, uh… let me think.” You swallowed, drifting your gaze to the ceiling; and eventually, you challenged, “Tell me yours first. And make it as useless as you can.”

For some odd reason, you were eager to hear his question.

You found yourself wondering about him and his little habits a lot.

Jungkook took a moment to ponder, and then declared with a miniscule hint of sarcasm, “Ah. Never spilling my drink. Knowing every dance move to every song.”

Maybe the alcohol was truly showing its effect, because you burst into simultaneous laughter that forced the strangers’ eyes upon you. From the balcony, they looked at you, chuckling just a little before they turned back.

You covered your mouth with the back of your hand, hearing him ask, “Alright, your turn. What’s your superpower choice? Uselessness is the key.”

“Okay, easy,” you said, shifting up the wall you’d slid down a bit, “I’d choose the superpower of persuasion. Would use it for the greater good, like––”

“That’s not a useless power—”

“––To convince everyone that The Last Airbender soundtrack deserved more recognition.”

“Okay. Way to make it as useless as possible.”

“Soundtrack of the century.”

“Okay. Sure, why not?”

Short pause, but never awkward.

In truth, you found a moment of respite from the chaos underneath your feet. The wall you leaned against was cold against your bare arms and calves, and for the first time tonight, you thought you could think.

Nevermind your foggy brain, and the way his company made reality blur.

You were enjoying yourself.

That is, until Jungkook spoke up again.

“Okay… one more thing, and you can fully tell me to fuck off if you don’t wanna tell.”

You turned to face him, eyes filled with intrigue, mustering a sole, “Hm?”

“You’re… escaping something tonight. Aren’t you?” He took a deep breath, words dangling between you. Your eyes widened ever so slightly, brief surprise flickering in them. “Do you want to vent?”

His probing was delicate, not overly curious. He was being careful, ready for rejection, and you appreciated it, no matter how caught off guard by his perceptive observation.

“What?” you still voiced.

“I don’t think that’s your type of environment, right? Nothing seems to catch your attention for long enough.” He paused again, meeting your gaze intently. He tumbled to the other side, pressing his back against the wall. “Except me. You’re still talking to me.”

There it was — you were sure it was.

That fleeting moment of vulnerability that passed over your face. Not just due to the circumstances but to everything that they evoked, too.

Jungkook wasn’t wrong, and his keen understanding of your inner life surprised you.

Slowly, you let out a soft laugh, just a little fragile as you admitted, “You’re right. I’m escaping the responsibilities of adult life and the upcoming doom of my last college year.”

Yeah… but beneath the surface, there was more.

You didn’t know whether he saw it; you knew you weren’t too drunk yet to decode expressions.

But he only nodded, offering a gentle smile. Told you, “Sometimes that shit does weigh us down. But isn’t it worth it? Don’t you like college?”

“I do like college,” you argued, “I just don’t like the thought of finishing it. Because then you’re deep in that… life thing. You probably understand, don’t you?”

“Yeah, no doubt. I just don’t think of it yet, because I want to like what I do.”

Want to like what I do.

Was that what you were doing to yourself? Making something miserable for yourself that could or could not have ended half as bad as you thought?

Hmm…

“That’s good,” you said.

“I mean,” Jungkook started again. “You’re still young. If you can’t be passionate about what you’re doing, you can look around for something better, you know? Like—”

His shoulder rose, and he clicked his tongue, “You don’t have to go with whatever’s forced upon you, no matter who you are.”

Your eyebrows kissed; you felt a sense of relief the moment the breeze blew through the open door. Two fresh inhales at once.

You were in for surprises all night, it seemed.

“Do you… know who I am?” you wondered; your voice was cautious, intent on not spilling too much.

Which wasn’t necessary after all.

“I told you I’m not stupid.”

Yet, he didn’t mention it. Didn’t care for it, either. It was kind of nice.

A corner of your lips tugged into a little smile, hands folding behind your back as you digressed, “Is there anything else you’d like to know, Jungkook?”

He huffed, shaking his head for a moment; folded his arms as he teased, “You didn’t even answer my question.” He bit the inside of his cheek; seemed amused. A little fascinated. “But okay. Something else then. Do you like games?”

Huh.

“Like what?”

“Mmmh. There’s spin the bottle,” he suggested, albeit immediately taking it back upon taking in your grimace. “Okay, no, but there’s also like… two truths, one lie?”

“Oh, uh—”

“We don’t have to play—”

“No, I…” You sighed, delivering a reassuring smile. He was truly so polite. “I was just thinking, but…”

He was waiting with those big eyes. Shaking the hair off his face with slightly parted lips. Those things — they felt like tiny habits; you wished you’d been sober enough to pinpoint all of them.

You gathered three ideas in your head, and after careful contemplation, you said, “Okay. I have shotgunned a beer in under ten seconds.” He looked impressed. Fun. “I snuck into a music festival without a ticket. And… I prank called an ex once.”

“Shotgunned a beer,” his answer came immediately, no trace of doubt, “I tried that once and it took me over fifteen seconds.”

“Well. You’re wrong, noob,” you answered, delighted by his mock annoyance, “I never called an ex to prank them. That’s disrespectful.”

For a second, he looked embarrassed — and then, he nodded, accompanied by, “And I respect that.”

He shifted against the wall, inhaling a breath with a hiss as he thought. His eyes travelled to the ceiling, and then to the people wandering about. No one was approaching the balcony, because you’d already patiently reserved your spot.

Jungkook squinted his eyes shut, and then released the lips he’d pressed together with a plop. Finally uttered as his fingers counted, “‘Kay uh, I have pulled an all-nighter for a major exam and still aced it. I have performed a belly flop off a diving board—”

“Those are so specific.”

“And, I’ve been part of a flash mob before.”

No clue, and no point in thinking about it. So you guessed, “I’ll say the flash mob one isn’t true. We’ve all pulled an all-nighter before, and the other one was too distinct.”

“Well damn,” Jungkook said, stretching the last word as though you’d solved a century-old riddle. “You’re right. You already know me so well.”

“I could do a quiz show on you, I’m sure.”

He laughed. Whenever he expected you to roll his eyes at him or to dismiss his foolish jokes, you joined his bullshit instead. Sweet.

The boys relaxing outside interrupted your game, finally flooding out. Apparently, there was a third you couldn’t see, and he flinched when you made your way out, almost bumping against you.

You didn’t know who it was, but he seemed to know Jungkook.

Flashed a gummy smile when his eyes moved back and forth between your conversation partner and you. His cheeks were red, but his stance and walk were still stable; high-tolerance drinker.

But a little, teasing “Enjoy yourself,” was still in the interaction as he passed you by.

Walking out into the summer night immediately evoked a sense of serenity. The warm breeze caressed your skin, wafting the scent of blooming flowers towards you. Under the moonlit sky, the world was alive — or at least, the one you were visiting right now.

It was a little louder here again, though the noises came from chatter and conversations rather than music.

From here, you had a better view at the neighbourhood; and tragically, at the people making out in that children’s treehouse. You laughed.

Leaning over the railing, you inhaled the wind, watching Jungkook follow suit before you said, “Okay, moving on — I’ve never sat on the roof of these… detached houses. I am not a procrastinator… And I’d really like some more of that cheap booze right now.”

He looked at you in disbelief, though charmed enough to chuckle and wonder, “You actually do?”

“That’s on you to find out.”

“I mean, maybe you are sick of wine and champagne.” Well… true. But when he saw bits of your expression fall, his laughter subsided a little, and he added without hesitation, “No, but you might actually mean that. I feel like those are all truths, but… I’ll go with the procrastination one.”

You stomped your feet in light excitement when he guessed wrong, glimmering eyes staring into starry ones. “Nope.”

“No?” His forehead wrinkled; and then, his eyes ripped open. “What, the roof bit?”

You nodded. He asked, “Oh? Wait, what?”

More than two decades, and you’d only seen these things in movies and TV shows. People sharing lunches and thoughts on roof tiles, soaking in the sun, building up to a big, character-developing moment.

No real life occurrence for you.

“Why does it surprise you?” you asked. “Isn’t it dangerous?”

“Yeah, I don’t know, I…” He leaned back, rubbing the nape of his neck. “I’m a country boy.” Interesting. The more you knew. He pointed to the sky. “More stars down there, so we used to do it a lot in the summer. And a friend of mine… she and I, we liked spending nights like this.”

You ignored the pause after the mention of his friend — you wouldn’t have noticed anyway if he hadn’t dropped his gaze to his hands.

“Oh… that sounds nice.”

A nod confirmed your statement, short-lived when he said, “Alright. One more.”

He turned towards you, placing his lower arm onto the railing. His smile was genuine; he looked beautiful like this. Messy hair blowing into his face, covering his eyes until it didn’t and you finally saw—

That.

This man had an entire night sky in his eyes, diamonds sprinkled all over.

So sincere. Maybe that’s what lured them all in; not just his charm.

“Okay,” you more mouthed than said.

“So,” he drew in a breath, licking his lips, “I’m a cat person. I’d rather drive than shotgun. And…”

Once more, he hesitated, bringing back his thinking face, and you used the moment to declare, “These are tough.”

He stalled. You waited; looking at him in anticipation until he smirked, leaning in to nudge your shoulder and utter the most outrageously riveting confession of the night.

Your heart stood still before he’d spoken the last syllable.

“I kinda wanna kiss you right now.”

A fever dream, wasn’t it?

You blanked. You would’ve been lying if you’d said you didn’t think about it tonight.

Obviously not a top priority, but it’d crossed your swaying mind, undoubtedly. Not that you knew too much about him — but he drew you in, like a hook-up with chemistry.

Because that’s what that night seemed to develop into.

All that your throat spit out was a little, “Damn—”

He held up a hand, and then pointed to his chest, innocently stating, “But that’s me. I won’t even touch you without consent.”

The balcony was rotating a little. Either the ground or you.

Probably you.

Because your mind was blurred, too; the air charged with tension. The witty banter and lighthearted remarks weren’t supposed to shift like this; where had all this appetite come from?

“So you’re… confessing one of your truths now?” you asked.

A playful smile tugged at your lips; you angled your head, waiting for a response.

His chest moved inwards, holding the breath before he choked it out in a laugh. Embarrassed with himself, he lifted a shoulder, saying no more than, “Well, shit.”

Ugh, the playful tone.

The thirst pooling in your stomach subsided a little when you saw his eyes sparkle like this. Images of his lips on yours faded just slowly as you found enough courage to tell him, “Not that easy to just snatch a kiss from me.”

A frisky challenge appeared in your eyes and he took it all in patiently as he inquired, “Okay… what would I need to do then?”

If he truly meant his little admission, were you going to let him dive into it? Allow the little adventure, swaying from your original plans for tonight?

Did you have any at all?

Your voice daring and just a teeny tiny bit mischievous, you proposed, “I’ll kiss you if I fail at guessing the lie. If not, then I won’t.”

A smirk danced on Jungkook’s lips as he leaned closer, a surge of excitement mingling with a touch of nerves. Quietly, he mused, “Fifty-fifty chance.”

“Right.”

“You could just…” His voice dropped the moment his eyes did, following the fingers that reached out to your arm but never touched you. “Walk away if it’s too weird.”

“Nah. I’m too invested now.” A grin spread across your voice, hiding the fog his expression elicited. “Kiss me when I lose. And I’m saying that, because I do feel like I’ll win.”

Stupid, usual, drunk blabber.

Too courageous. Too daring.

“I choose,” you tried to focus on your sentences, only mildly distracted by the bite of his lip, “drive rather than shotgun. You probably do like cats.”

And the moment you voiced your option, victorious crinkles formed around his eyes. Doom became crystal clear to you, though you couldn’t help but embrace it with open arms.

And the thought stirred something in you.

“Wrong. I like cats, but I have a dog and I love him to bits,” he remarked, triumphant and teasing.

Holy fuck, he was good at this.

This wasn’t just a game anymore.

He was too exhilarating, his effect too undeniable. And each of his words strengthened that desire in you, luring you in like a seductive melody, enticing you to surrender to its rhythm.

“It’s okay,” was what it entailed, “I know you don’t want to kiss me,” he backed away, and you released the breath, “so I won’t.”

The smirk stayed glued to his face. Unspoken words remained just that, and you let the night evolve, aware yet oblivious to how it’d unfold.

And as he leaned back again, his expression promising, you allowed the spark to keep dancing between you. Patient and curious when you let him know—

“Jeon Jungkook… that’s incredibly thoughtful of you.”

The letters on the paper barely make any sense.

You read through and over them, putting them together to syllables and relating them to the other words in the sentences.

You still remember rushing through your narrative. Half excited and half indignant, you jotted down all you could remember before you wouldn’t. The lines and curves of the alphabet are messy and nowhere near constant.

Exhausted and still feeling remnants of the inebriation, you didn’t have it in you to indulge in poetry or eloquent prose.

You remember it got worse as you proceeded. You remember your words became blurrier, incoherent, your thoughts jumping from one idea of the night to another.

To sentences he said, to things he did.

Only now, it has all escaped your memory — and it seems that your past self didn’t have any particular intention to let your older being recall it all.

Because in the middle of the page, your thoughts finish in a cliffhanger.

I think at the very end, it wasn’t the time we spent in the bedroom that messed me up. It was the goddamn roof.

And that’s it.

When you flip the page, another day has started. Several dates skipped, you talk about a cosy study session in a coffee shop and the faces you saw. About the waitress who praised your hair style and ended up chatting for half an hour.

Little things. You didn’t mention Jungkook again anymore until he joined your class and crept under your skin. Evoked all emotions you barely knew before — a pain in the ass but an introduction to… whatever has developed now.

An alternative to the reality you lived. Never out to fix you but to pull you out of your shell.

Maybe that’s why you ripped out all the pages. Behind the lost memories, you still know the humiliation you faced — but you don’t know about the little dialogues anymore. The things he said and how you perceived them.

Where are those words you scribbled down?

You look around your room. Your bed and desk are a mess; numerous objects scattered enough to make you uncomfortable. The sun is still high in the sky, but you know it’ll set eventually.

And by then, it’ll be too late.

Maybe you should stuff the diary back to the place you pulled it from. Maybe you should leave this smothering room; that spot on the bed where you sit, sunlight burning up your skin.

You hold your breath when your phone vibrates against your thigh, and let it out when your heart has calmed from the sudden intrusion.

The lit screen is unreadable against the sun; but when you lift it to your face, the message jumps into your face and attacks you like a wild animal.

Hoseok [6:23PM]: Work was slow today, but I’m not doing the night shift this time!! Hoseok [6:23PM]: So we could grab dinner if you’d like?😁

A kind, genuine question shouldn’t grip your chest like this. The way your heart is leaking and your lungs emptying — when someone really cares for you, that shouldn’t happen.

But when you don’t care back just as much, it still does.

You remember feeling just like this a year ago; at the stupid party with its stupid music and then on the dumb, stupid roof.

An active dodging of one presence and a silent yearning for another.

It makes you sick.

The twisted feeling in your stomach lingers; and when you look at your diary again, you feel it everywhere. In your guts, in your chest, in your throat.

Something burns behind your eyes; tears are missing in action, but you think it’s your melting brain. On fire as you keep overthinking, fingers curling in, legs restless and urging you to stand.

Hoseok’s dinner dates aren’t what you crave, and you know it. Everyone knows it.

He, the cause of all misery, must, too.

And when the ache becomes too poignant, nearly unbearable, you lift yourself off the mattress. You flatten your shirt, pull up your jeans and grab a thin bolero just in case.

If you hurried, you could make it, right?

Rushing down the stairs, you shoot a message back to Hoseok; simple and quick. Hints of regret penetrate the back of your mind, but you shove them away to focus on the situation on hand.

You [6:25PM]: Ahhh I’m at an event today but… tomorrow? x

Your eyes dart to the top of the screen. Numbers sting more than they should; the date looks unreal today.

September 1st.

You’re stupid. And you will reprimand yourself for this later.

But… That's for you to worry about later.

Ripped pages and a fervent night still floating in your mind, you step into your car. It’s hot inside, considering you left it standing on the road after work instead of parking it in the garage.

It’s baffling how lazy heartbreak makes you. How tiny tasks leave a body immobile, forcing it to stick to the bare minimum.

You grip the wheel hard, only now realising how breathless the short way down rendered you. The prospect of seeing him again stirs your insides and your mind. Doesn’t let you start the engine just yet.

In the moments that you use to relax, you imagine how things might go.

You’d enter a climatised, sophisticated building. Walk past art that people worked hard on, admiring every stroke and colour. Would approach the place he invited you to with a wobbly body; ready for whatever pain he’d inflict on you.

But.

Pain.

Isn’t that what has kept you away for all those endless days since you escaped the dark alley?

Pressed against the cold wall, flush against him, hot lips parted and a hotter breath mingling with yours. Only to crush all you’d hoped for. He did this to you.

You begged. And he kept doing it to you.

Do you have the capacity to hurt again?

Your head moves to the side. Slowly peeking over your shoulder, you catch a glimpse of the squared object, wrapped in silver; you don’t have the heart to look at it for too long.

No.

You’re stupid. And you will reprimand yourself for this later.

Perhaps it’s better to not allow such a later at all.

So you remove your trembling hands from the steering wheel. Look down to them; feel your body fall again. Whatever hope you’d gathered evaporates at the idea of the same, damn ache.

And it feels awful. So fucking awful.

The bare minimum. That’s what all of you wants you to do. With the energy gone, you want to become weightless. Want to press against the pain in your chest.

So you walk back in; lay down without attending dinner.

One last glance at your phone before you put it away. Still the damn first of September.

An hour later, notifications light up your phone, but you, pulled in by the same uneasy slumber, won’t see them anymore before the morning breaks in.

Those darn treacherous lips of his had lied to you.

He’d said he wasn’t hitting on you; wanted you to spare him all talk of boyfriends and affection.

Instead he kept talking — kept drinking with you.

Rendering you breathless when he pushed you against the wall of an empty room, shoving his tongue down your throat like it was all he ever knew how to do.

You remember giggles — an ongoing, addictive streak of childish laughter. Coming from his touches and silly words and from how it tickled when he kissed that sensitive spot on your neck.

With a sigh, you put a hand half on his jaw, half on his cheek. His features were sharp; in your drunken state, you wondered if you’d cut yourself if you ran your fingers across them fast enough.

But everything was foggy and insane; it was surprising enough that your legs weren’t giving in under his actions. And when your brain enabled a coherent conversation, you felt even prouder.

“Are we gonna stay here?” you asked.

It must have been the first time tonight that you could hear your own voice properly. The music sounding from downstairs was a lot dimmer here, muffled through the door.

Your head felt a sense of relief that he took very soon again; the tiny but sharp bite on your neck made you gasp in anticipation. He was doing whatever the fuck he wanted to, and you let him.

“I mean,” he whispered; his voice was low and raspy, and its effect shot straight under your skirt, “I can totally take you against the door.”

Which was menacing enough as it was. But the promise to take you at all left you wanting so much fucking more.

You rubbed your legs together as a heavy hand pushed against the small of your back. He lifted his head to look at you, teeth digging into his pink, lower lip. His eyes looked so damn thirsty that you felt your own tongue dry up.

As he stared at you in question, fingers digging into your back, you said, “Nah… door too cold and uncomfortable.”

“‘Kay,” his fingers snuck to the hem of your skirt, only pushing under the material for a brief moment before they retreated, “get to the bed then.”

Your body felt like a feather when he let you go.

As you obliged, taking languid steps to the mattress, your voice was still enthusiastic and you were still bubbly, “It’s so much calmer here.”

You sighed when you dropped onto the bed, not quite noticing that he didn’t deliver an answer. You didn’t have it in you to focus on much at all when you looked at him again — because he was locking the damn door.

And something about this little, harmless gesture was so devilishly sexy.

You looked at the ceiling; then closed your eyes. He was too much to bear; so you continued your zany ramble, “I usually get a headache at such dark and loud places.”

No answer. But you heard steps inching closer.

You had to shoot a glance.

And when you did, he was undoing a few buttons of his shirt, including the ones of his sleeves. Then whipped out his belt and threw it to the side haphazardly, grinning down at your awaiting body.

He was so hot.

“But not today,” you continued, “I was too distracted to get a headache today.”

“Mhmmm.”

The tired glimpses of him walking to you had your heart beating at an unreal rate. You knew he was just as drunk as you, but he was oddly calm for now, as opposed to you. Or maybe, he just acted that way.

When he suddenly dropped onto the bed, knees digging in and a torso and lips hovering above you, your breath hitched.

Fuck.

“Keep talking,” he ordered.

His smile was inviting and on purpose. Big eyes were half-lidded now, wanting and hankering. You were putty in his hands.

“What?” you mumbled.

“You said you were distracted.”

“I… I still am.”

“Yeah,” a smirk lifted his lips; his fingers freed your forehead off a few hair strands. In return, his bangs hung into your face. “Tell me about it.”

You gulped.

Your hands itched to grab him by his collar, but you felt so powerless that your digits didn’t move. A sole kiss wasn’t supposed to fuck you up like this, but you were already a hot mess.

And when you finally gathered a full thought, you said, “I don’t want to.”

“Oh?” He lifted an eyebrow, letting his face drop a little more. “Why?”

“We’ve talked enough.”

“Fair enough,” he responded, laughing, closing his eyes as his breath fell against your shoulder.

The tip of his nose ran a trail along your neck and then down to your clavicles. You didn’t have much to say; mostly because you couldn’t grant language much attention anymore.

Not when he took the strap of your top between his teeth and started pulling it off your shoulder. Baring your skin as his soft voice questioned, “What do you wanna do, then?”

“Mmmmh,” you said, finally managing to sneak your palms onto his broad shoulders. “What can you do?”

Bit by bit, your exhaustion faded. The more he touched you, the more he lit your veins. You felt electrified; sleep was vanishing fast.

“I can do,” he murmured, placing a gentle kiss onto the newly naked skin of your shoulder, “a lot.”

“Like what?”

“You know… I can just show you?” His voice sounded so pretty. So alluring and pleasant to listen to; you wanted it to talk you to sleep. “I dunno what you like, though.”

You could barely remember when exactly he’d bewitched you like this; but you didn’t have it in you to care. Only admitted, “I think I’ll like anything you do.”

He smiled. He had a confident laugh — probably knew how gorgeous he looked.

“We can find out. No worries.” His eyes shifted to your top, and then down to your skirt. “Just need to get all of this off first.”

“Mhmmm. The best part.”

The intimate atmosphere settled in the bedroom; strange to think that just a while ago you were standing on a balcony, playing a game. Seemingly harmless in theory, leading to a locked room in reality.

Which reminded you.

He was so eager to take off your clothes so quickly, but you didn’t consider him the type to rush things. Why the hell would you give in so fast then? Allow him that bit when you were sure that man liked to tease?

So your expressions changed when an idea formed in your mind. A mischievous glimmer flickered in your eyes when you proposed, “What if we played another game?”

And this seemed to grab his attention.

“I’m all ears.”

Your voice dropped to a husky whisper as you pushed yourself off the bed, waiting for him to sit up before you began outlining the rules, “Strip according to correct guesses. We take turns asking questions, and whenever one guesses correctly, the other removes a piece of clothing.”

The idea ignited a sense of thrill in you; perhaps he felt the same. He sat back against the headboard, curiosity lacing his adjective features, and you went ahead and kneeled next to him, hearing an intrigued, “Sounds easy enough, right?”

“Right. We can set boundaries, if you’d like, but—”

“I do trust you. It sounds… kinda fun.”

You exhaled relieved; more keen by the second. “Yeah. I wanted to say it sounds fun.”

Jungkook thought about it for another moment; then, he straightened his stance, exchanging a knowing glance, crossing his arms as he said, “Let the games begin, then.”

You jubilated.

With the air thick with beguilement, you crawled an inch closer until your knees hit his waist. He immediately put a hand on your bare knee, charging the atmosphere.

For a minute, time stood still, his touch warm and inviting. You’d delivered boldness, acting as a catalyst. Further tension brewed between you, simmering at the surface, ready to be acknowledged and explored some more.

“You were going to hook up with someone tonight,” you said. A statement, not a question.

He paused for a second, staring, slowly blinking at you. Hesitation lingered for a good while before he finally mumbled, “Maybe.”

You cocked an eyebrow.

Despite the fact that Jeon Jungkook was still a stranger, you’d clicked somehow — you liked to think that he’d had his focus fixated on you tonight. That you weren’t just any fling, at least not before the night ended.

So it was oddly relieving when he noticed your questioning gaze, clicking his tongue before he said, “Well, I thought it could happen… but I wasn’t really planning on it. Because anything’s possible at this place.”

You couldn’t bite back your curiosity, and spat immediately, “Are you hooking up with me, because you considered it possible? Were you gonna do it with just anyone? The girl downstairs—”

“Nah,” he was quick to counter, “not her.”

Right.

You believed him with a shrug, licking your lip; watched his gaze follow. He moved closer just a little; as his hazy doe eyes moved back to yours, you knew he was struggling as much as you.

So you fuelled the fire, suggesting, “So I’m special tonight, is my guess. You want me a little more than anyone else.”

He pushed forward — the sudden movement transported his lips so unbearably close to yours, and you flinched. He fumbled with something, and only when you peeked to the left, did you see him taking off a damn sock.

Then, he leaned back again, relaxed when he repeated the statement from earlier, “You’re escaping something tonight.”

Well damn. He didn’t need to go so hard right from the start.

You rolled your eyes, pushing his body further back. Putting a gap between him and you, you crossed your arms over your torso, gripping the hem of your top to slip it off swiftly.

Which seemed to baffle him. The dark red Fenty bra caught his attention — and his breath.

And all he could mutter was a weak, little, “Wow. Going all in.”

“Not yet,” you argued, shaking your head. “But I’m also just trying to encourage you to do the same.”

“Right…”

You cleared your throat, rubbing his dark grey, black shirt between your fingertips. “Your favourite colour is black.”

“Hmmm.” He thought for a moment. And then imitated his action from before, once more eliciting a gasp out of you when he took off the other sock. “One of my favourite colours, so I’ll take it.”

“You’re a coward for this.”

Fucking socks.

Laughing in mock, you ran a finger down his leg. To his knee and then up to his hip again. Only barely missing the bulge very slowly forming under the dark pants.

Breath escaped through his teeth; it seemed that he was a fan of such teasing, because his eyes sparkled.

And then, your brave mind formed this brilliant, easy yet effective idea.

You were already so far gone — taking it a step further wouldn’t be awkward at this point. So you shook your head in disbelief, looking at his feet and then at the fully clothed body.

And the moment after, you lifted your body and straddled him.

Hah.

There it was.

The restrained breath and the clenched fists. The suddenly open mouth and wide eyes; you could play his game, too.

Before he could speak, you sighed at the palpable beauty growing underneath you, remarking a sweet, “What now? Still gonna take it slow?”

“I… dunno,” he said, “make me do it differently.”

You moved your hips over his dick just a little. The movement was subtle but did what it needed to; the tiny moan he voiced was too fucking beautiful to regret and the bulge, while faint, was definitely there.

You loved this a little too much.

With a strained, nearly hoarse voice, he spoke, “You’re a 2000s hit girl. You uh— you don’t like the shit that comes out today.”

His speech kept breaking, and you felt beyond proud of it. If you managed to make Jeon Jungkook stutter even once today, you’d bestow a badass title upon yourself—

“Wrong,” you said with a confident smile; for now, he wasn’t getting what he needed. “I’m a Frankie Valli girl.”

“That’s so hot of you,” Jungkook said. He lifted a finger to your bra, hooking it into the space that connected both cups. Pulled a little. “But. Just fucking take something off, please?”

You grabbed his wrist, removing it from your body. “That’d be cheating.”

“I’ll take off my jeans if you do the same with your skirt…?”

Fuck.

If Jungkook hadn’t been so stubborn with his control, you knew you could’ve made him falter beneath you. Something about him suggested that he was very well able to become a begging mess.

But not today.

Today, you were giving in.

You wetted your lips, clenching your jaw, and then finally said, “...Alright.”

The process of pulling down your skirt was a hassle. You basically pushed your tits into his face as he attempted to kick off his jeans, constantly distracted and letting you know that he was.

He missed your touch as you threw your skirt aside and only breathed out in relief when you found your way back onto his lap.

It felt good, feeling his bare legs against your ass. To diminish the hurdle that his jeans were. To feel his erection pressing into your dampening panties, hard and firm and ego-boosting under you.

You bit back how amazing it felt, because you knew you’d be spilling praises shamelessly all too soon. Somehow, you were sure he’d make you do it — so for now, you kept the craze to yourself.

He, however, didn’t.

“My God,” he whispered. A warm palm brushed along your sides and across your back. Toyed with the hook of your wine red panties before it dropped to the curve of your ass. “You look so good. How did you know I liked this colour?”

Lifting the shoulder he pulled the strap down from, you joked, “I asked around campus.”

To which the roaming hand dug underneath your panties, pulling out a tiny moan as he left crescent moons in your flesh. Soon, his hand was gone again, and he nodded towards you, saying, “Look at you…”

“…What?”

“You’re a goddamn tease, and you don’t even need to think about it.” His hips lifted, pressing against your cunt. “You’re so fucking sexy… you know?”

You didn’t; but it wasn’t bad hearing it out loud. Feigning all poise, you answered, “Business student confidence.”

“Uh-huh. Some of y’all are so stuck up, but… you’re cool. Gotta be good to you tonight.”

You scoffed, affected by his length — were you truly ready to have him ram it into you? Because he felt… huge.

“You…” you began, choking on that word before swallowing the clump and starting anew. “You could just fuck me and leave.”

But he, adamant and eager to stick to his plan, shook his head immediately. Hair flew into his face as he answered, “Nah. I need to leave a good impression.”

What a statement.

Was there a doubt about it anyway? If he’d fucked you and left, you might’ve remembered, too.

But you weren’t going to decline the offer, so you simply challenged, “Do it.”

“Right. Fuck the stripping then.”

Jeon Jungkook was a beast ready to devour you. He showed early signs of his insatiability when he kissed you first — and now, he still kept proving his point when a harsh hand cupped one of your tits.

He didn’t unhook the lingerie just yet; instead, he tugged the material over your breasts, letting it settle it under them. The change in temperature made your nipples perk, and judging from how he looked at them, he noticed, too.

Because a second later, his mouth hung open; his breathing was stagnant and infuriatingly hot. Lustful and insane, he kept staring at the pebbles, rounding the tip of his finger around a nipple as he said, “You’re full of surprises.”

Your eyebrows furrowed — as far as you were aware, your desires lay in front of him like an open book.

“How so?” you asked.

“Just. Whenever I think you can’t get prettier—”

Slowly drawn to you, his eyelids dropped. Your hands grazed his naked torso until they reached his jaw, and you cupped his face the moment plush lips wrapped around your nub.

Sensitive.

A wet, burning hot tongue snuck its way through, the tip of it rounding your nipple. When you cracked your eyes open and looked down, inhaling the scent of his hair, his eyes were shut comfortably.

The arched upper lip looked pretty from here; his mouth wrapped around your tit so gorgeously. No matter what he was going to do with and to you tonight, you already knew he’d look stunning doing it.

And you, while driven by the sound he voiced against your breast and the thrown-back head, couldn’t help but feel self-aware. This was the first time you were seeing Jungkook naked; and the first time vice versa.

For a man who’d bared enough pretty women before, were you good enough? Or did he not care, drowning in desire and led by the hardness of his length?

Why were you always like this?

“I’m…” you breathed, tilting your head. “I’m a little insecure.”

Jungkook’s teeth captured your nipple ever-so-lightly, pulling just a bit — then, he sucked one more time before he let go with a plop. He shook the hair off his face, and then asked, “You? You don’t seem insecure at all.”

“That’s what you see,” you said, ignoring the way his breath hit the wetness on your tits. “I have weaknesses, too.”

“Oh… well. Like what?”

“Like. I’m insecure about my boobs.”

He shot a stare down. Analysed them, taking them in — probably the first time properly since he’d pulled that damn bra down. It worried you; was he still seeing something he liked?

Maybe.

Because confused, he wondered, “Why?”

You shrugged your shoulders. And his interest piqued, his voice changed, a little more inquisitive and sober now when he asked, “Has anyone ever said anything bad about them?”

“Well,” you took in the genuinity in his eyes. Starry and sincerely curious; his touch around your waist was gentle. “No.”

Your response didn’t seem to surprise him. Much like he didn’t expect any other answer; at least, that’s what the slow nod, accompanied by a stretched hum, suggested.

“Good,” he said, putting a hand under one of your tits, flush against your ribs, “because… you’re beautiful head to toe.”

This was a fling, you told yourself, but you moved farther and farther from that belief — especially with those praises he showered you in. And the click you’d previously felt, the budding connection…

It was a fling, but boosting your ego, you hoped he was affected by it, too.

What was superior to a hook-up you would remember? One where the other person exuded and demanded respect and trust?

“Thank you,” you told him. A daring finger travelled to his jaw, tracing the sharp line; you’d wanted to touch it all night, and now you couldn’t stop. “You’re pretty, too.”

Slowly, he pulled you closer, wet nipples touching his toned pecs until you were flush against him. Warm… he was so warm.

“Yeah?” he whispered.

You smelled the alcohol in his breath, only half as hypnotising and intoxicating as him. Breathing in sharply, your body shivered as you choked out a weak, “Yeah…”

And a moment later, he was kissing you.

Deeper this time, eating you whole. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, your own rising; you didn’t need to see the goosebumps to know they were very much present.

This… he… felt too good.

He put his palm on the back of your head, messing up and knotting your hair and angled your face to dive in harder. You could barely breathe with him so close to you.

His torso pressed against you; it felt as though he was squishing your lungs. And this tongue of his — rolling around yours. Lips enclosed yours and made oxygen a foreign concept.

And he only pulled back when you whimpered unintentionally, nails deeper in his skin. As he looked at you, you were long out of it — and it amused him. Made him laugh as he asked, “What’s wrong?”

Nothing. You didn’t think anything of it felt even remotely wrong.

You answered, “You’re just… such a good kisser.”

“Oh,” he voiced, suddenly all confident when you nodded hastily, still drunk and horny. “Oh?”

“I’m serious. How much practice have you had?”

Jungkook halted for a while. Not to think, you assumed — but his expressions changed. Like he hadn’t planned on gaining practice, and now your question was catching him off guard.

And after a while, he finally said, “Some.”

Not that you could dissect this odd behaviour of his. All you knew was that you wanted those lips back on you — so you led your hand to the nape of his neck, tugging him in as you plead, “I… wanna keep going.”

Spinning just a little, his eyes slid down from your gaze, already parting his mouth. But when the softness of your lips barely touched his, he reclined a little yet enough to dodge your kiss.

“Now wait,” he mumbled, changing back to a smirk. At this point you wondered whether he did it on full purpose. “If you really like it so much, I… can’t just give it to you so easily.”

What.

“Why?”

“Because you’re amazing to look at.” One of his tattooed fingers drifted to your chin and flicked it. “So hungry for more.”

“Jungkook—”

“And you’re an amazing kisser, too,” he said as smugly as an inebriated man could, delighted by your sudden pout, “so it’s not just hard for you.”

“Jungkook,” you emphasised, hissing in impatience, grinding against his erection, “take off that damn underwear.”

“Then guess something correctly about me.”

“Right.” You groaned in frustration, lifting the hand from the nape of his neck to his hair, pulling in slight irritation. With gritted teeth, you spat, “You want me. You want to fucking flip me around like some damn pancake. You want to fold me in half, don’t you?”

In truth, things you wanted. In theory, things you hoped he desired just as much.

“Want to pin my wrists to the bed and pound and fuck me into another universe until you’ve left a dent under me. To bruise my skin and leave scratches deep enough for me to feel tomorrow and… I fucking promise I can give you even more than that.”

Silence.

He stared at you, holding a breath. The sheer disbelief in his eyes satisfied you; the lack of words was soon made up by the twitching package underneath your folds.

Gulping and unblinking, he ogled at you like you’d handed Area51’s secrets to him; and then, half a minute later, he finally said, “Fucking hell.”

“Wha—”

“That was fucking unfair.”

This made you smile. For once, you were certain you had the same power over him as he did over you.

“C’mon,” you said, once more rolling your hips over his length. A delicious grunt left his lips. “Wanna know what you’re hiding in there.”

He puffed out a breath, kissing his teeth. “Something interesting. You might like it.”

“You’re…” You rolled your eyes, but immediately stopped. It made you dizzy. “So full of yourself.”

“I mean…”

“Underwear. Please.”

It took some begging and a throw of puppy eyes, but this time, he obliged. Chuckled a bit and then patted your thigh, signalling you to get off of him to ease the process.

And once you did, you waited. For ages, it seemed.

Because those veiny hands were as teasing as they were skilled. Pulled down the Calvins torturously slowly.

But when he did… oh, boy…

He was big. Incredibly so.

You felt your heart in your pussy.

“I’m not full of myself, by the way,” he said. “I’ll ask you again in fifteen-ish minutes. Tell me I was wrong.”

You can’t remember anymore, but you’re sure you sat there with your tongue out. Eyes big, drooling, leaning forwards with tits pressed between your arms. Your body was a mess, and he hadn’t done anything much to it yet.

You wanted him to. ASAP.

“Ah,” you voiced, only reluctantly ripping your gaze off that glorious cock to fixate it on his eyes. “So you do want to fuck me for real.”

“Baby,” he paused. Gave his dick a stroke as he pushed towards you, sneaking a hand to your waist. “I won’t leave a piece of your body intact.”

Chills everywhere. The current shot straight down to your dribbling cunt.

You breathed a singular, “Okay.”

And a moment later, you were in his grip.

The fingers previously wrapped around his shaft pressed against your back, throwing you onto the bed in one swift motion. He positioned himself immediately, dropping low to pull your legs apart and lick above your panties just once.

He was ruining them. Fuck.

And… were tongues always so wet? Or was that just you?

Because the panties stuck to your poor pussy like they were fusing with it. And the pad of his thumb suddenly dipping between your clothed folds didn’t help.

“Take them off!” you commanded, so breathy that it was high-key embarrassing.

Your frustration didn’t deter him in the slightest; if anything at all, you thought you saw that dangerous glimmer brighten in his eyes.

He nodded towards the garment, chin so close that it grazed your covered clit. You flinched, though distracted by the absolutely ruthless demand he uttered, “You do it.”

“Why?!”

His tone and expression were cheesy; you were so done with him. “Wanna see you struggle.”

What an ass.

Intentionally, you rolled your hip, shoving your damp pussy into his face before he backed away with a laugh. He allowed you a moment to pull back your legs and stretch them to the ceiling, stripping off the thin barrier once and for all.

It rolled along your legs, and you already knew you’d be having a gloriously horrible time fixing it and putting it on again.

Whatever.

You stored this thoughts for after Jeon Jungkook had railed you to the moon. All good.

He waited for you with his head propped up, fists digging into his cheeks playfully. The Joker–esque smile made you want to wipe it off his face, ideas clear in your head.

Or maybe it wasn’t the smile. Maybe you just wanted to sit on his face.

“Okay,” he said once your legs dropped again, sniffling once before he crawled closer. You wished you could’ve seen how his cock twitched, but he had it sandwiched between his body and the mattress. He gripped your thighs, and then said, “You’re already shaking.”

Your face warmed. You pushed your head into the pillow, shifting comfortably as you positioned your legs on each side of his head. Closing your eyes, you shrugged, shoving all visible timidity away.

“Felt good,” you said.

“I licked you just once. Over those pretty, little panties, too.”

Did he ever shut up?

“So what.” You moved further down the bed, breathing in when his fingers touched your waist, and ordered, “Give me more. Please.”

You heard a chuckle, again.

“Make a mess for me, ‘kay?”

You felt his presence closing in, his hunger evident in the way he licked his lips. Nimble fingers pushed his hair back, but it fell back into his face, teasing your clit along with his nose.

With a tantalising roll of his hips, he matched your desire, grinding into the bed. His perfect ass, a tapered waist and strong shoulders filled your view. Hands pushed your legs apart, driven by a clear purpose.

Your brain was functioning on its last cell — you couldn’t say much more than a hazy, “Not messy enough yet?”

“Far from it.”

Slowly, he kissed your inner thigh, travelling close to your knee and then up again. The pecks were soft, accompanied by the gentlest bites; never too rough. He blew wherever he nibbled; and then repeated the process.

His lips felt like the flutter of butterfly wings against your skin; so tender and sweet. Though you were sure the delicate manner wouldn’t last too long.

You sighed constantly.

“So far from it,” he repeated close to your pussy, brushing along the junction that connected your leg with the rest of your body. “You’ll be twisting soon, I promise you that.”

“Ah… huh—”

Senseless sounds escaped you as he kept his pace slow. Kitten licks soon circled your pussy before the tip of his tongue tasted the dripping arousal between your folds. He used the gesture to part them — that was all.

Because he soon moved to the bottom of your cunt, exhaling against the dampness. You attempted to force your eyes open, but never quite succeeded — you wanted to see him, but you wanted to feel him just a little more.

“All of you is so pretty to look at,” he praised, and you blinked slowly. “Like, genitals are whatever, right? But you’re so pretty.”

What the fuck was he even saying?

No matter.

You’d take the compliment.

“Thanks,” you said quietly, and he chuckled at your vulnerable voice.

You felt the snicker against you when he dropped his wide tongue and flattened it. Started at the bottom where he’d settled, collecting extra saliva that soon flowed down your pussy when he finally moved up.

The touch was expected, but you held your breath. He was soft yet firm against you, and so, so wet.

You pressed your lips into a line, muffling a moan when he stopped right below your clit. The base of his tongue kept applying pressure, and you literally felt your pussy clench.

He removed his mouth for a moment, patting your sides as he said, “Good. Stay like that for me.” You assumed he meant your lack of defiance; but you were on the edge, nearly closing your legs around his head. “Will make you see heaven, alright?”

“Or hell, really.”

His laughter was constant. You didn’t think you were that hilarious, but his humour aligned with yours. Perhaps, however, you were just still too inebriated and your humour cracked.

But Jungkook, you’d decided, was cool for now.

Especially when he repeated his action. He didn’t curl up or flick his tongue; just licked, never applied more pressure than necessary, because this fucking man knew it didn’t equal more intensity.

He looked up at some point, gauging your reaction, only letting his eyelids flutter shut when you delivered the sound he’d awaited. Jungkook was sure you felt the smile that emerged — it was hard to hide his pride.

To realise how your fast breathing, clutching of sheets and heavy rise and fall of tits was his doing.

You were too sweet, too awesome, too pretty to not feel proud.

And you were so responsive — he liked listening to your body.

Which you noticed immediately; he was taking in every movement and sound. Actually did. Responded to them, got faster when you reacted, slowed down when you whispered little Nos.

And then, reaching the peak of consent mountain, he asked, “Does this work for you?”

Your nod was immediate, words tumbling out, “Keep going.”

Only, he didn’t quite keep going as you expected — just as your orgasm built up, your exclamations intensifying, he stopped. Rendering you hyper-sensitive.

Nice tactic. Guess that’s what he wanted — to flood you with more craze until he was ready to give you what you needed.

Instead of continuation, his mouth formed a small ‘O’, just enough to enclose your clit. Wet, shiny lips wrapped around the nub and started sucking gently, the rhythm pleasant and constant.

Then, he held his mouth there, tongue licking your clit, like a massage. He was never harsh like you were used to — men had, to your discomfort, even used teeth on your clit before.

Not Jungkook, though.

He was as vocal as you, sending vibrations to your pussy, groaning and moaning expletives as he sweetly confirmed your comfort. All accompanied by dangerous gestures — a pinch of your folds, raising your clit, licking from side to side.

And a minute or two later, he pushed two fingers into you; so effortlessly, so smoothly as he said, “Holy fuck. No friction at all.”

Between the mess he’d predicted, you tittered.

“Are you… this hard, too?”

“God,” he breathed; you felt the shake of his head against your leaking sex, “I’m the hardest I’ve ever been.”

“As if.”

“What?”

The surprise in his voice was funny; filled you with confidence, because he seemed to mean it.

You answered, “You’re good at this. This talk thing and… everything.”

“Thanks. But I’m actually the hardest—” His fingers fucked into you once, interrupting his words to hear you moan, “I’ve ever been. Fuck.” More pumps, not hard or long, but pressing against your walnutty spot diligently. “Shit… come for me.”

And you did.

Hard.

Your legs trembled, your lower body drowning in chaos. Your movements were unsteady, but he held you down, aiding you through the progress until—

The snapped coil vanished and the earth-shaking, mind blowing orgasm subsided.

The stars you saw were real — he’d actually caused his very own Big Bang behind your eyes and created a new universe.

Holy fuck.

“Oh, holy fuck,” you repeated, sensitive as hell, brushing quivering fingers along wet thighs.

Jungkook’s cheek was pressed against your leg, and he kept moving to kiss your flesh, rubbing your outer thighs, massaging them gently. He was taking care of you thoroughly — he didn’t come to play for three minutes and then leave.

“Good?” you heard his voice ask.

“Good,” you confirmed, nodding slowly. You were still in your post-frenzy haze, and it truly felt like it would never leave. “Very. What now?”

“Gonna wait a couple seconds until you’re ready to move on. In the meantime,” he moved his body up along yours, leaving a kiss here and there, “wanna know what I had the pleasure to taste?”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you wrapped weak arms around his neck, pulling him in almost aggressively as his lips crashed against yours.

Half his body weight fell onto yours, but you didn’t care. Not with this strange, unfamiliar taste against your tongue, sucking it up eagerly. Or the cock, still rock hard, pressing against your stomach.

You wanted him so bad, it hurt. Everywhere.

As he parted, the touch of his hand contradicted the wild kiss — soft on your cheek, feeling your heat, his voice intriguing as he asked, “Ready then?”

“Mhm,” you voiced, “yes, please.”

One more butterfly kiss and an intrigued smile, and he moved away. The missing warmth left your body shivering, and you wrapped your arms around your body, pushing your tits together.

In comfort, your hand settled over your mounds, and you watched as he drew back the jeans half hanging off the bed. He fished out his wallet — from where you lay, you could make out a small murmur. Something about how he was lucky he didn’t lose it.

It made you smile.

And a moment later, he was sneaking back to you again, waving a condom between his fore and middle finger to show it to you. You couldn’t see the size description on it, but… you could imagine.

With his teeth, he ripped it open, moving towards you to replace your touch on your tits. A finger moved around the pebble, hardening it until it stood tall and perky enough for him to swoon.

But… that was also the very moment your drunk insanity hit the hardest.

Whatever triggered it, you still can barely think about it today.

Because a miniscule moment later, you complained, “One of my tits is bigger than the other.”

Which didn’t deter Jungkook; today, you wonder about it — back then, you barely registered his lack of care, his admiration for both sides as he said, “Oh yeah? Let’s see.”

“Promise you won’t find it weird once you notice.”

“I bet I barely will.”

He dropped low to kiss your flesh, fiddling with the nipples, but you pushed his shoulders away again. A confused expression danced across his features, and you shot back a timid stare as you worried, “No, I’m serious. It is strange.”

“No, it’s not. They’re perfectly gorgeous.”

“You… think?”

What a thing to be concerned about. You reached peak awkwardness that night, you’re sure — but he still stuck around.

“Mhmmm,” he voiced.

“Okay, but touch them lik—”

You screeched when he bit into your nub, planting you firmer against the bed. A final, oddly sexy order fell off his tongue, his teeth gritted when he said, “Enough. Shut up.”

And what better way to eliminate all your unspoken words than to start with a delicate brush of his mouth against the expanse of your neck?

There was something about the way his lips felt — taken care of, hydrated, pillowy soft and plush. Did every girl he touched feel that strange tingling sensation, the shiver down her spine?

As he explored the contours of your neck, pressing in, his hands wandered down. You closed your arms around him, pulling him closer, breathing a hushed, “Jungkook?”

No answer yet.

Instead, his fingers purposely grazed down your body before he wrapped them around the length poking your belly button. Distracted eyes met yours for a moment, as if in question, half-lidded when he started stroking the thick shaft.

The swollen lips parted, and you saw his tongue curling in briefly before it peeked out, wetting the dry, rosy pout. His head descended back to your neck, the kisses harder this time. Accompanied by damp smooches and a hot breath.

The tender nips sent waves of sensation through your body.

“Jungkook,” you murmured again.

He groaned against your skin, but looked up properly this time, still pumping himself harder than he already was as he hummed, “Hm?”

“Let me suck your dick,” you finally voiced. “I’ll fucking show you bits of your own medici—”

An innermost wish, lingering in the back of your mind the entire night. You wanted to return what he’d provided. A world-shattering, limb-numbing orgasm; all of him in your throat, thick and salty.

But when you attempted to sit up, he pushed you back again, dick-hand between your clavicles as he said, “Stay like this. You can use that sweet mouth of yours later.”

God. He made those cringey sex talks hot, too.

Your pulse quickened; intensifying a thousandfold when he lifted himself to his knees, looking down with shallow breaths to roll the rubber over his cock.

It twitched gorgeously. So curved, smooth; the colour of its tip mouthwatering.

You wanted him. You wanted him. You wanted him.

When he covered his palm in spit, spreading the saliva over his dick, you reached out. A silent offer to help, but it seemed he was finally done.

Because he grabbed your wrist momentarily, returning to his position over you and pushed one of your legs back. Angling it until your pussy spread for him.

Eyes closed, he came back for another messy kiss, and then said, “I’ll start slow… you tell me if it hurts, okay?”

Did it usually? You could imagine. With the package he carried around, you could truly imagine.

You nodded slowly, grabbing onto his shoulders, already breathless in anticipation.

“I will,” you promised.

“Okay.” He inhaled. Looked down between your bodies again, leading his cock to your entrance to poke it a couple times. Rubbing the tip between your folds. Then again, “Okay…”

The curve slid up to your clit and back down one more time, and a second later, finally—

The head slipped in slowly. Split you and turned the feeling of emptiness into something entirely else within a second.

You hissed, overwhelmed by the change in your body, and he immediately asked, “All good?”

“This is gonna be… you are so—”

A proud smile danced around his lips; they twitched in amusement, but he cleared his throat. Looked at you with a nod and assured again, “We’ll start slow. Don’t forget to speak up… yeah? Lemme know.”

“Mhmmm…”

Your mewls grew in pitch when he pushed further in, taking in your gasps until he was nearly sheathed inside you. And only when you realised he still had a bit to go, did you say, “Wait—”

“Hm? Why?”

He looked concerned and out of it, but listened immediately. The kissing eyebrows indicated genuine care; though the expression changed the moment you said, “I can’t breathe.”

Of all the reasons you’d told him to stop, that’s the last he expected. A laugh tumbled out, breathy and broken.

“See?” he said. “That’s why I didn’t want you to suck me off just yet. You look so done.”

“Shut up.”

He moved — shoved the dick in more. Fuck, you felt every ridge, despite the skin-thin condom. Felt him so deep, you could faint.

Your eyes rolled back, closing slowly as you heard him command, “Take a deep breath for me.”

You did.

“And breathe out.”

You did.

He closed the gap between your lips some more, bottoming out, and wiped the stray hair out of your heated face. His member jerked inside you, shifting, and it made your eyebrows twitch.

The whimper jumped out unintentionally; you felt self-conscious about it.

Not that he minded.

Quite the opposite.

In the heat of the moment, he let his forehead fall onto your shoulder, moving down to your tits as he muttered a single, “Fuuuck.”

“What happened?”

“That sound you just made,” he whispered. His breaths against your chest were tempting; the blood-filled cock inside you too still. “My God. So sweet… but so hot. Wanna ruin you so bad.”

“Can’t more than you already did, but… please still do—”

“Are you okay now?”

You gulped. You were. You were longing — he couldn’t see that in your eyes? In the tremble of your hands, laying on his back?

“I am,” you promised, “won’t be more prepared than I am now… Please.”

You held onto the broad back; he was so freaking warm. And so naked.

“So I can move?” he asked.

“Please. Fuck, please do.”

And when he did…

You thought you felt him poking your guts. You knew that anatomically, that was a thing of impossibility.

But he was huge. Heavy. A big fat cock pushing into you in missionary, a hand parting your legs more and pressing them into the mattress.

With your eyes rolled towards the back of your head, you dug your nails into his torso; a little more insane with each rhythmic, punctuated thrust.

He reached so far inside you, fucking seriously—

And those words he uttered. The little praises. The tiny, “You’re so fucking pretty.”

Hell…

The alcohol and his body heightened your senses — you couldn’t remember a single affair from your past as rapturous as this one.

The way he provided reprieve, sliding in and out of the slippery smooth entrance. The way his pelvis brushed along your engorged clit. The way he moved swiftly, controlled, applying pressure at the perfect spots…

For someone who could barely think, you registered so many bodily sensations, the little details, how he felt and made you feel. Lighting up your nerves.

Your elevated breathing made your words more incomprehensible when you asked, “Can you go a bit faster? Ple—”

“Wait.” Reaching up, he grabbed one of the two pillows, a hand sneaking under your ass. “Lift.” You did, allowing him to place the cushion under your butt with a grunt. “Hold onto me, baby.”

The new nickname triggered another rush of blood through your body; your muscles tensed when he dug in deeper. Propelled into you harder. Still rhythmic, not jackhammering into you yet, but clearly faster.

And it was enough for you to call out his name.

Which set off another cascade of pleasurable phenomena; gentle tingling to waves of desire. Breathing a foreign concept when he pulled your mouth apart with a thumb, settling his lips between yours.

Tongues played a new game, lips moving to your jaw, back to your mouth; kissing you hard before they dropped to your tits. Suckling at your nipples, toying with oversensitivity.

Pushing you close to the edge as he separated your pussy folds more, dragging every protruding vein of his cock along your aching, lubricated walls.

Jungkook, you had concluded, was a Monster with a capital M. When you moaned for the thousandth time, he glanced at you — and you swore he looked like he wanted to bury his claws into your flesh. To rip you apart.

And you let him.

As your bodies’ movements synchronised, endorphins eliciting unmatched euphoria, half his weight dropped onto yours. His scent engulfed you, and you wrapped your legs around him, up his waist until you whimpered and whined.

“I’m…” he started; he was so hot against you. Bodies covered in sweat. “I love that so much. Those… fucking sounds.”

“Kook,” you murmured — no clue where the nickname had emerged from. But he seemed to like it; buried his fingers in your hair. “Are you getting tired?”

“I’m okay.”

“Can I—”

“You’re okay — you don’t… I mean, you don’t need t— fuck—”

Broken words and a steady rhythm. He felt so fucking good. Sounded even better. Deep sometimes, desperate and high other times.

“I want to,” you said, vocalisation increasing. “Let me do something.”

“What do you wanna do?” he asked.

Okay, another attempt.

“Wanna suck your dick.” His pounding calmed down. You’d struck a nerve. “And… want to come. And—”

“And?”

“Wanna be your slut until you come, too.”

Wait. What?

Where did that come from?

Your face heated up, cheeks and neck burning. Oh, he was gonna laugh at you; after all the bickering tonight, you could imagine that he would—

“Oh, babe…” is what he, however, babbled; dizzy beyond measure.

You had a similar hurricane whirling in your head.

“What?” you wondered.

“Didn’t think I’d find you calling yourself that so hot.” He pushed into you once more. Dragged his cock out and then in again languidly. “My slut, huh?” And then, he was gone. Your pussy pulsated. “Get the fuck up.”

You tried.

Your limbs were wobbly, struggling on the soft surface. And he kneeled over you, heaving his golden chest in exhaustion. His dick hung off his body, the condom drenched; thighs muscular and firm as he watched you fight your own feeble legs.

“C’mon,” he then said, growing impatient.

He grabbed you by your elbow, wrapping his fingers around your arm and gently tugged you up to your knees until you were facing him. Your nipples skimmed his sculpted pecs, one of his palms suddenly under your jaw, even if only for a second.

The touch affected you. Like he wasn’t done or bored yet; like he wanted more.

But—

“You don’t happen to have another condom on you?” he whispered, freeing your shoulders off your hair. He did it a lot, playing with your tresses.

Now that you were sitting up, not wrecked by him inside out, your head cleared a little. But it spun, too — you noticed for the first time in a while how slowly you were sobering up, and how blurred the world still was.

He held you; but you were swaying.

So his words felt like a fever dream to you — a strange question amidst all the mess.

“What?” you said, placing your hands on his stomach for support. “I don’t… I didn’t plan on hooking up with anyone.”

Unlike him.

“Well…”

“But I’m on the pill.”

“Oh.” He blinked. Looked at you, hands wandering to your back. He moved closer, the inches fading between you; and incredibly close to your face, he said, “Then we could just go ahead raw. Actually feel each other, right…?”

He pecked the apple of your cheek, gently but menacingly. Danger hiding in plain sight, yet disguised as innocence.

You didn’t answer. Kept staring until he kissed your jaw. Closed your eyes.

“Hm?” he voiced in question, but you didn’t quite know what to say — agreeing would’ve been stupid, but you didn’t want to stop. Plus, you were drunk and stupid.

In hindsight, you would’ve declined anyway; but when he chuckled, shaking his head, you were still relieved. Happy when he said, “I’m kidding.” He moved away, searching his jeans again. They were on the floor now. “I wouldn’t do this to a first-time-fling.”

First time?

Not like you were going to meet again. You were almost fully certain tonight was an exception. Odds bringing you together and saving you from this temporary misery.

In a while, you’d start your new semester and drown in new worries. This party would mean nothing anymore.

“Yeah,” you said.

“I should have another.” He dug into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out his wallet and yet another condom. How many did he store there? “Last one. We’re lucky.” Oh. Okay.

He ripped off the soaked rubber, crumpling it up and stuffing it in the other pocket of his jeans. You cringed in disgust and disbelief, but then you remembered that he was nearly as gone as you; he’d regret it tomorrow, but not yet.

As he placed the condom next to his body, you inched towards him, close to the edge of the bed and ready to devour him.

If you’d known him a little longer, indulging in those shenanigans for some time, the thought of him bringing not one but two condoms to this party would’ve stung.

Because Jungkook had obviously thought this through. Or, as he’d said, at least considered it a possibility.

But you were too drunk, and he too much of a stranger — all you knew was that you wanted, needed to suck his dick.

“But not for too long, okay?” Jungkook pleaded, stroking his length just once. Looking down where you moved like hunting your prey. “I don’t want to come in your mouth.”

“But I’d love that.”

“Do not. I don’t want to.”

“Why?”

He hesitated, and then smiled, straight-forwardly admitting, “Because I’m not coming before you do.”

Jungkook, you’d noticed, didn’t care that you’d already experienced the high of your young life. You were sure you’d never feel such bombastic destruction anymore — but he still seemed to be opting for something far greater.

He truly did prioritise a partner’s pleasure. Left you envious of every one of his encounters before.

You pushed your hair to one side, positioning yourself and dropping low; his cock was way heavier in your palm when you touched it, only weightless when it jumped.

Your fingers grazed along a vein on the base of his shaft, your palm tickling his balls — he reacted.

“Alright,” you finally said before—

The low hum was melodious to your ears when you delivered a momentary kitten lick over his tip. And then, slowly, patiently, your tongue drifted up his shaft, just the sharp tip until you flattened it.

Your fingers gently snuck to his balls, barely touching as you kissed down his member and then repeated your actions; slow licks from bottom to top.

“That’s good,” Jungkook praised, stroking your ego, “really good, babe.”

Tingles down your spine. Beads of sweat on your forehead.

Jungkook’s hands pushed through your hair, collecting it at the nape of your neck to form a spontaneous ponytail. As the view became clearer to him, the volume of his voice grew — his groans and exclaims sounded beautiful.

And you kept focusing on him. On his reactions, on his body.

Opened your eyes and sought his gaze — pulling the ultimate trick out of your sleeve before you wrapped your mouth around the cock’s head.

And he liked it. He liked it very fucking much.

Enjoyed the slow pace, the way his dick disappeared in your mouth bit by bit until the gag reflex kicked in. You knew what you were doing; with that tongue swirling around, tracing his veins… hands teasing his balls, edging him to the max.

Eyes still on him, breathing through the nose, the tip of it touching his flimsy, trimmed hair.

Your tactic was doing wonders on him. Your enthusiasm was addictive.

And how could you not enjoy it? He was deliciously thick, big, promising. You wanted to swallow around him all night.

But just when he started choking, balls tightening impossibly, he pulled your head away.

His cock was shiny and drenched, much like your lips, drool spilling past them and to your chin.

“Gonna finish this,” he declared with a heavily falling chest, thumb wiping at the spit on your face, “so fucking done with you. Get on all fours for me?”

The contrast between his kind demands or actions and ruthless warnings was messing with you. Like he wanted to fuck you up, but never without consent.

Delightful. So damn delightful.

You listened immediately, turning until you faced the bed’s slat. Whoever this room belonged to, you were truly hoping they weren’t missing their bed. And you’d definitely need to take off the sheets later.

In this tiny moment, you felt bad.

But only until you heard him open the second foil, taking a couple moments to do whatever needed to proceed. You dropped half your body — partly, to allow a better view to your ass, and partly, because you were tired.

“‘Kay,” you then heard, soon feeling a touch along your spine. Tracing it down to the curve of your ass, moving closer and settling around your legs, pushing them together automatically. “So pretty.”

And this very position, just like that, allowed a hell of a lot more friction.

Because when he entered you again and resumed his strokes… your breathing stopped.

You bit your lip, balling up the sheets. Your jaw dropped, your body on fire; the way he gripped your hips, slowly pulling back before slapping his pelvis against your butt was…

Not bad, to say the least.

“Can you still think?” he asked; you weren’t quite sure he’d actually said it, though.

“Huh?”

Jungkook laughed; he sounded so sweet, so pure. So different from what he was doing, a lot more tender than his words, “Thought so.”

And definitely not as alluring as when he leaned in, wrapping an arm around your tits and another around your neck and pulled you up without a warning.

He pressed your back flush against his chest, and your arm flung back instinctively, around his head to draw him close. You didn’t know how he could muster so much strength, pounding into you in a position like this.

Upwards, constantly, consistently, keeping a hand on your neck as the other fell to your clit. You threw your head back; an open invitation to your shoulder and neck.

Like this, he didn’t reach as far inside you — but it was an utmost compliment to him that he was still large enough to affect you thoroughly. A Monster indeed.

His jabs were sharp, moving in and out unhindered; effortlessly. Only stopping a single time when his cock dropped out, and he immediately fell onto the mattress, stretching his legs in front of him and pulling you with him.

“Wait,” he breathed, helping you adjust and sit back on your throne. And this time, as you straddled him, shoving him inside you all the way, you felt him in your guts again. “Move. Come for me.”

Which wasn’t hard to do when he glued your body to his. Traced your cheek, nibbling at the earlobe, down to your jaw, down to your neck and shoulders.

His breath was hot against your flaming skin as you bounced up and down, uncontrolled moans mingling as he drew circles over your clit. Not too fast, not too slow, steady and skilled.

The peak of your pleasure was arriving when his sounds reached maximum intensity; he was close, too, endlessly moaning, chanting your name. Right into your ear, eyes shut tight, muffling his exclaims when he kissed under your ear or bit your shoulder.

“Fuck… fuckkk,” you cried out, muscles of your body contracting. “Close, Jungko—”

The build up was torture — it happened slow and fast at once, and you felt it clearly. It crept from your lower stomach to your pussy, and your walls clenched, your back arching and your body winding in his hold.

And then…

“My fucking god, you—” Jungkook began, irregularly breathing. He was losing it; so were you. “That’s it. That’s it… good. That’s a good girl, you—”

He spoke whatever. Talked you through the orgasm as it washed over.

Violently, hard.

Way worse — or better? — than the first one. Jeon Jungkook was unmatched; no one was going to fuck you this good again.

And a minute later, he followed up.

Let you fuck him, and then pistoned up into you when your body started giving up. And when his release finally occurred, you thought you were dreaming.

He sounded heavenly. His thighs were shaking; you wished you could've felt his hot seed, not separated by the thin condom.

But his voice… his breaths… the way he moved and held you.

They were worth it anyway.

A minute passed as you winded down; and after the mutual climax subsided, your bodies entered a state of deep relaxation and contentment. You felt it in the way his arms became limp, hands dropping to your legs.

Kisses lazy on your cheek. Strangely intimate.

You felt pleasantly fatigued, satisfaction flooding through your body. The internal rush of warmth radiated outwards; you could’ve stayed like this forever. So tired.

And a tiny bit later, he pulled out as he started softening inside you, pushing you forwards just a little to take off the condom, tie it up and throw it to the ground next to his jeans. Then, he pulled you back in.

For whatever reason.

Seeking warmth? Maybe.

You calmed down in his hold, and then said, “That was amazing.”

You felt the smile against your skin. He had let his face drop to your shoulder, and now spoke quietly and softly, “Because you were amazing. I reacted according to you all the time.”

“And I reacted according to you.”

Jungkook snickered. “We’re a good match, it seems, huh?”

You clicked your tongue, a hand on the arms around you. Slowly and carefully, you opened them, gently falling onto the mattress to get dressed. All of this was comfortable.

Too comfortable.

But you reminded yourself that he wasn’t more to you than a stranger temporarily turned party-friend. That’s what Jeon Jungkook would part from you as, too.

Why the fuck were you cuddling?

You looked back at him, eyes widening; and once you’d taken him in the near darkness, you laughed. Pointing at him with an amused, “You have lipstick all over your face.”

“Really?” He reached to his cheeks, wiping on the wrong side; you cackled a bit more. He nodded towards you. “Yours is very smeared, too.” Pause. An unblinking stare. “You look gorgeous.”

What? No.

Stranger, temporarily turned party-friend.

“Shit,” you cursed, “I have some in my bag, though. I guess we’ll need to take a look at a bathroom mirror anyway before we go downstairs.”

“Or upstairs.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” Jungkook sighed. Shrugged his shoulders, lifting his arms to brush back his hair. The bicep flexed, and you forcefully averted your gaze from it. “Want me to do your make up?”

So lovely.

“Want me to do yours?” you said, legs flinging over the edge of the bed. You still felt a little weak. “You’d look very pretty in pink.”

He laughed; the way his head tilted was still so gorgeous. Movie-like.

“Maybe one day,” he said.

“Right. One day, yes?”

No.

You weren’t doing this to anyone like him. He was carefree, nice and enjoyed the little things in life. You weren’t going to be a burden to someone like him.

You didn’t speak on as you finally stood, trudging towards the bathroom belonging to this bedroom. As you collected your clothes, inspecting your ruined panties, he got up with a grunt, stating, “Okay. Let’s get out of here.”

And the next minute happened quietly.

He helped you clean yourself, helped you get dressed. Caught you when you oscillated, holding your hair when you drank the water from the tap, sobering up just barely.

After all he’d done to you, the moment was incredibly serene.

And you couldn’t help but think that the connection was certainly there; blissful if you could truly continue it. Clicking with someone wasn’t easy these days, but Jungkook made it seem easy.

Like he’d known you for long, knew you inside out. Like he’d been part of you in a previous life.

You saw his messages the moment you woke up.

Hours later, and you’re still staring at them.

Jungkook [7:43PM]: I’m sorry. I’ll always care about you… and i never wanted to cause you any pain Jungkook [7:43PM]: just wanted to protect you from it

What a way he has to forgo heartache. Funny how it’s insanely present right now.

It doesn’t ease as you hear the desperation in his words. The regret and wish for an alternative reality. If last time wasn’t tattooed into your mind, you’d assume he wants you back.

Truly sucks to know a person well enough to hear their voice through typed text. It sucks, because when they’re not around anymore, their timbre is all that resonates in your head. All that’s left, really.

“Hey.”

The familiar baritone makes you flinch. He went to the tiny balcony a moment ago, inspecting the place, and you didn’t think he’d return already.

You were supposed to look around, too. The landlord left for a brief call, entrusted you with the empty rooms and unpolished parquet. You shouldn’t have wasted your time, you guess.

“What are you doing?” Taehyung asks.

You dip your eyes in innocence when you look at him. With the shrug of a shoulder and a slight pout of your lips, you say, “Nothing.”

“Right.”

His side-eye feels like a warning; fleeting, however, as he turns away.

Relieved, your expressions drop again, shoulders falling limp with a sigh. But you don’t quite expect him to move his attention back to you a moment later, a hand on his hip as he catches your descending mood.

The silent stare takes you in thoroughly, studying your face until your eyes drop to the floor. And then, he dares a single step forwards and asks, “Hey. Are you okay?”

Stupidly enough, you retort with another lie, “Yes. Why?”

“You look disheartened. Do you not like the place?”

The place?

It’s still the same space that you approved the moment you stepped in. The same walls you can imagine a life between, away from pain, towards independence.

The ceiling is still at the same height, and when you look out of the sealed windows, you still see the same main street, a building on the other side of it.

The world around you is perfectly fine. Earth still spins at the same pace.

You do still like the place.

It’s just your heart that’s fickle.

“I do,” you say, “no, I can totally imagine being here.” You shift to the other leg, pushing half your fingers into your back pockets. “Anywhere but home, I think.”

“Okay. Do you want to look around more?”

You shrug. “I mean. It’s mostly empty. Except for the kitchen.”

“Which is great!” Taehyung says; his voice echoes off the walls. His smile is contagious, and his enthusiasm about your move flatters you. “Kitchens are expensive as hell.”

“Yeah.”

“I like it here, too. I love Yoongi, but moving here was the best decision of this year.”

Right. You almost forgot that they used to be roommates just a couple months ago.

Back when you made the pact with Jungkook, wasn’t it?

He’d tell you about their bickering at their small dorm again and again. Refreshing, little stories. You wonder how Yoongi feels now, alone at his place — did he ever mention settling somewhere else?

Maybe Jungkook did. Maybe Yoongi will once he’s fully recovered.

“Doesn’t have anything to do with Eun, does it?” you ask, a tiny glimmer in your eyes that must be the trigger for his blushing cheeks.

“Listen,” he says; the back of his hand rubs his face, as if he could rid it of the rosy dust like that. “At least one of you needs to be able to talk to either of us without mentioning… this.”

You laugh.

He isn’t wrong. It has become a running joke in your group; every couple teases the other. Of course you haven’t heard much of it lately — you’re more a victim to silence and moral lectures.

Which you appreciate.

But the recurring thought of this little group splitting… isn’t too nice.

“In any case, I’m happy for you,” you let him know.

“Thanks. It's been nice.” Odd expression; creased eyebrows and guilt in his big eyes. “But anyways—”

“You can talk to me about it, you know?” you assure immediately. Taehyung can’t help but notice the change in your voice. You sound different than a few weeks ago. “It won’t hurt me to know that you guys are doing okay.”

Maturity? Or maybe calmness. No.

What is it that your voice is dipped in?

“I know,” Taehyung promises, “I just… I don’t want you to feel like I’m bragging. And it makes me uncomfortable that two of my friends are…”

Unable to bask in joy.

Jungkook taught you things that life couldn’t — you could say that calling that influence temporary makes you uncomfortable, too.

“I don’t think you’re bragging, Tae.” You sigh. You hate talking about these things; which is dumb, because you were never one to close off. “Things work out for some and don't for others. That’s fine.”

But he isn’t done. They’re never done.

For a while, you weren’t, either. And right now, you’re caught in the middle — not on the ground, not in the ether.

Just confused. Blank.

“But…” he argues, “they can work out for you, too, you know.”

“Tae—”

“Did you go to the exhibit yesterday?”

You knew he’d ask.

Someone was supposed to — obviously not your parents, still upset deep within. Your house has always been a constant source of obscurity; the white walls don’t deceive you anymore.

The darkness always changes, though steady in gloom, and as you escape the current one, you seek comfort in a friend and the outside world. Questions like these, however, are seemingly still going to haunt you wherever you go.

“I didn’t,” you admit.

He must know, because he doesn’t look surprised.

But the emotion that this very truth evokes in you, a toss-up between feeling relieved and regretting your choice — he does see that goddamn pain.

“Maybe you should?”

It’s a careful suggestion. You don’t know what to do with it, except to ask, “Why?”

“Because he’s still waiting for you.”

It’s cruel. How such words still knock all air out of your lungs.

How those images hunt you down, circling your mind until you overthink them to death, or until they lose their meaning. You hate the ruthlessness of this bitter feeling, and of the sting in your chest, and the longing that it consequently triggers.

The clump in your throat blocks your ability of speech; laces up your tongue. You feel the imminent burst of sentiments in your chest, but then immediately hold it back the way you’ve done the last few days.

You work past the clogged throat, and then say, “He was the one who let me go.”

Holding shit back can be learned; you know how to keep yourself at bay in front of Taehyung.

But.

It still hurts.

“Mistakes happen,” he defends, ever the loyal friend, “he just… makes a bit more of them every now and then.”

You throw a mocking smirk, looking away with a slow blink. Your feet are aching; they want to carry you away.

To him. Home. Wherever you find solace.

How fucking tragic.

“Hey,” Taehyung says, hastening towards you, a grip around your wrist to turn you back to him. “Jungkook, he… has his reasons. Twisted ones but yet. Talking about everything might make it all easier for you.”

Communication is key, blah blah blah.

Once upon a time, you used to believe the same thing. Soft spoken and naive; filled with fears but hoping for the best.

You wondered, “What’s it, really?”

“Trust and stuff.”

Trust.

Thinking about it, you’d always put some of it in Jungkook’s palms.

Like a month ago. Or when you asked him to play pretend. When you stormed into his dorm room every time, and when you met him first, locked in that empty room.

You don’t know how the warmth of that night changed into the playful hostility once the semester started. Maybe because his competent side was a lot more infuriating than his drunk, frat party persona.

Maybe because he annoyed you on purpose, throwing away all pleasantries and sweet, tender words you’d exchanged on the roof. Or maybe because of the embarrassment near the end of the night, embroidered in your brain.

But you’ve always trusted him, you think.

“When I met him,” you say, “I didn’t think I’d ever find myself in such a situation.”

“What situation?”

“…Feeling all that shit for him. Mourning that loss. Just,” your breathing falls in rhythm, and you blink away the dampness. “Craving him, you know?”

Taehyung silences.

He looks at you with empathy and reassurance; a little bit of relief, happy you’re talking to him at all after the numbness you drowned in. Or like he’s caught you feeling something that he knows Jungkook feels, too.

He smiles, eyes drifting to the ceiling. Reminiscing, amused by the memories he never quite found as bad; and then, he asks, “Really, though?”

“What?”

“You never thought you’d ever be trapped in this moment, yeah?”

“Why…?”

“Because—”

His laugh is soft; for a second, he reminds you of the man you transiently saw that very night. Operating the music, careless of every single occurrence around him.

“I could already tell, you know?” Taehyung says. A tiny, nostalgic smile tugs at his plump lips. You lower your head to the dusty floor again. “Back at the frat party.”

Could he?

Not even you could detect a permanent feeling. A connection yes, but you were so sure you’d stick to that one night — you didn’t let yourself think further than that. Did you?

Because you were intoxicated by the booze and the summer air. The conversations and the touches. Jungkook’s scent.

Exclaiming his name while today, you can barely vocalise it.

“I was thinking about the frat party today, too,” you tell him.

He nods, glancing past you. Probably looking for the landlord who’s still not back.

And then, he continues, “When I saw you guys talking on the roof, I knew. I could just tell.”

“We weren’t in love or anything, Tae.”

“I know you weren’t. I mean, you didn’t look like you were, either. But you did look like you bonded… and that’s rare, you know? For people to still share that link after so long.”

“…Don’t know.”

Your stoic ignorance is frustrating. And new.

You’re not one to hide your emotions. Usually open with your happiness and open with your grief.

“Go today,” Taehyung suggests again, puffing out air, “to the exhibition, I mean. Play around with your choices, okay?” Silence. A press of your lips. You don’t answer, and he can’t read your mind; so he doesn’t prod, and asks instead, “Why were you thinking about the party?”

Easy: because, distraction.

“I was cleaning,” you answer, “clearing my head. Found an old diary while dusting.”

Which was a pure coincidence. It wasn’t supposed to fall into your hands, and you weren’t supposed to open it. Seek out the pages you subconsciously still knew were there.

Why were you cleaning your desk anyway? It was flawlessly organised, dusted by a trusted staff.

It’s crazy.

Insane how even in the tidiest corners of your room, he’s left a mess.

“Okay,” Taehyung simply says, “anyway. Please think about going tonight. And on another note… do think about this place, too. I think it could do you good. And it’ll be nice to have a friend nearby.”

And that’s it. You leave the building with a thankful nod and a genuine smile.

Only to fall into deep contemplation when you arrive home.

Could tonight change something? The way the party did last year?

What exactly did the two of you say to each other? Does Taehyung know it all? Does Jungkook? Perhaps you do, too — maybe you need to dig far enough.

Brooding on the corner of your bed, you shake your head. Get to your feet, scouring your desk, reaching to the very back of every drawer and scanning through every file. Notebook. Diary.

And you don’t stop until minutes have passed, ripped pages falling out of a second semester course book. Its edges are worn out, carried in your bags a hundred times.

But the pages are intact. As slightly yellow as the other ones. You knew you didn’t throw them away.

There it all is; less descriptions, more dialogue — you were tired out, yet kept going.

There, the narrative continues.

Because on that goddamn roof, I think… that Jeon Jungkook truly saw me. You know, it’s been so long since someone did.

The light air brought relief from the day’s heat.

You couldn’t remember how he’d persuaded you to climb up to the attic and then out of its window, leading to a platform to sit on. But as you revelled in the ambient sounds of chatter and distant laughter, you couldn’t complain.

And Jungkook’s conversations kept lulling you into a state of tranquillity. You had no clue how he did it.

“I can do a handstand, and I can show you,” he said; why you’d slipped into talks about athletics, you can’t recall.

“No. You’ll die.”

He laughed, his smirk ever-present. “Would you care?”

You eye-rolled at him, instantly regretting it when the world started spinning again. The effects of the booze were dwindling, but you weren’t quite there yet. Your head and eyes still felt heavy, your tongue still loose.

Maybe he registered your drowsiness, because he soon suggested, “You should go home.”

“I’m okay,” you, however, argued. The night was too serene. “I’m sobering up a little.”

“You look tired, though.”

His words triggered a reflex, and you yawned on cue — unable to hide your fatigue, you admitted, “I am.”

Jungkook drifted closer, arms touching; his voice was light as the wind, and his suggestion as teasing as it was soft, “Wanna sleep on my shoulder?”

“Nah,” you declined, playfully pushing at him, “we’re not that close.”

“We did fuck each other’s brains out just now, though.”

A pleasant reminder, but wholly unnecessary. You doubted you’d ever forget the insanity that transpired downstairs — and once again, you felt incredibly sorry to Yeonjun for ruining one of his bedrooms.

You shuddered.

“We… hooked up,” you argued, muffling a laugh when he scoffed.

“Alright. Whatever.”

His syllables carried a chuckle; contagious and captivating. Mixed with your own, it dragged into the next seconds, lingering as you enjoyed the breeze. Rocking back and forth, gazing up into the vast darkness.

You barely saw the stars in the city and on campus. That’s why you liked those outskirt houses; the sky was clearer here, not disturbed by city lights and their reflection.

And for as long as you were going to remain here, you decided to keep your eyes glued to the glimmer above. Watched it with a melodious hum. They twinkled one after another, like winking, whispering confessions to you from the cloudless, infinite expanse.

Pretty and soft; painting a full picture along with the sliver of the moon you saw. A celestial, silver beacon.

You smiled.

“You’re enjoying yourself,” Jungkook said.

Your instrumental died, though one last sound indicated a question, “Hm?”

“You’re liking it here.”

“Ah. Yeah.” Your eyes narrowed in wonder, head on your shoulder. “Why would I not?”

“No, I just mean…” He moved his feet on the platform, shoving them forwards. “You looked different when you got here. Not too happy about tonight.”

“Oh. Right… I’m sorry if it dampened the mood.”

But he shuffled on his spot, wrapping an arm around one angled leg, dropping the other and fully turned towards you. Guaranteed, “No, it’s okay. You were perfectly fine throughout the entire night.”

With him.

“I did have fun,” you said.

“Did seem like it.”

You delivered a hazy nod, blinking your tired eyes.

Even today, you remember the silence that descended, and remember how comfortable you deemed it.

Despite the haven that the roof had become in record time, the retreat couldn’t keep your mind off the bustling world anymore. Thinking about it, even the existence you’d bolted from resided at a suburbian, quiet place like this.

He swam in money, just like you, and you’d seen a similar greenery and heard a similar quietude as you were here. Yet, being with him didn’t compare to being with Jungkook.

Why?

Maybe because that friend understood your lifestyle too well, but not your emotions.

You clicked your tongue, peeking at Jungkook. He lifted his head at the sound, big eyes questioning; and after a moment of contemplation, you finally said, “There’s this guy.”

His ears perked up.

He sat straight, never questioning where it came from; instead, he listened as you spoke, “He and I hooked up during freshman year and then not too long ago. We met through friends, and he’s just… you know, an amazing person and all. Takes care of me and texts me and… keeps asking how I’m doing.”

Fingers of your hands locked, arms firmly enclosing your bare legs.

“He takes my ideas and thoughts and tries to make them more optimistic. Or attempts to actively talk about my flaws. To fix them.” You met Jungkook’s eyes, tender and attentive. “He gives me advice all the time.”

“But?” Jungkook asked. “I think there is a but.”

“Well…” You sucked air through your teeth. “He said he wants to be with me. And I told him that I don’t.”

“Oof…” He grimaced before he hissed, voicing deep empathy for a man he didn’t know. “But why?”

Jungkook was a stranger, but you talked like a soft, hushed waterfall. He emanated a sense of trust; some magic that permeated the air.

You felt comfortable.

“I tried, it’s just. I might sound ungrateful, but I think I’d… rather like someone who wants to love and appreciate me instead of trying to fix me all the time,” you confessed.

There was a hint of annoyance in your voice and you hated yourself for it. The man in question was heavenly — just not ideal for you.

“He is a sweetheart. Keeps buying me gifts and all, but… I think I’m a construction site to him. And that,” you snickered, sporting what you were sure was a sombre expression, “keeps reminding me that I actually am.”

Jungkook paused. You didn’t blame him — it was a sudden revelation, and his possibly still tipsy brain couldn’t quite fathom his thoughts into a response just yet.

He smacked his lips; you’d seen him do it a couple times today. Bangs flew into his face, his eyes suddenly sentimental.

And then he told you, “I understand.” He thought again, looking past you. “I wouldn’t call it ungrateful. I mean, you are thankful for him as a person, yeah? Your personalities and ideologies don’t have to align, y’know? That shouldn’t be an expectation.”

“…Yeah.”

Time ran differently now. The movements you saw in the garden were in slow-motion, but in this dreamscape that the roof was, where you laid out every damn word haunting your mind, the world suspended in time.

It was solacing in some way. Your heart was still clouded, but… you didn’t feel horrible anymore.

“So that’s what you were escaping tonight. Still are,” Jungkook then concluded.

Your mind suddenly raced.

Back to the first words you exchanged with Jungkook; back to the reason for you coming here tonight; back to how delighted your parents seemed when you first mentioned Jung Hoseok.

When Hoseok had stepped over your threshold for the first and only time, back during freshman year, they’d enjoyed the sole glimpse of him. Had adored that he’d brought you a silver bracelet, because it showcased wealth.

If you’d let them, they'd have interviewed him — nevermind that he was just a rare hook up and you barely even knew what his parents did.

Lawyers, weren’t they? He’d mentioned lawyers at some point, you thought.

You’d kept it lowkey; away from the campus. You hadn’t imagined he’d come back this year, whirling your thoughts, lost in freshman nostalgia.

To you of all people; and he knew so many. Which is why you didn’t mention his name to Jungkook — judging his and Hoseok’s popularity, they probably knew each other.

“I just feel… terrible,” you eventually said, “because I know he likes me, and I can’t quite say why. We just kept meeting over the years, so—”

“You don’t owe anyone anything,” Jungkook interrupted. “Like, I’d feel bad, too, but… if the reciprocation isn’t there, it’s not there. And it sucks but that happens sometimes. Things don’t always work out.”

“Yeah. It’s worse when they could, but don’t.”

Jungkook’s demeanour changed. A fog of melancholy settled in his gaze, brief but impactful. If you’d been fully clear-headed, you might’ve registered the slight flinch.

For a second, he didn’t expand on his thoughts, voicing a simple, “Mhm.”

But as the air thinned, affecting his chest and his mind, he couldn’t help but think back to how life had developed for him. From when he was a child and had spotted broken relationships to shattering his own.

Under easier circumstances, love could work. Why had he always been a witness to it crumbling?

“Jungkook.”

Your voice broke his trance. You watched him drift more and more into it, and now that he was awake again, his muscles relaxed. He smiled a little, and then asked, “I can vent if you did, right?”

Eyebrows flashing up, you stared in silence; you didn’t expect this.

“Yeah. Of course,” you said, legs unconsciously lowering towards his. “Are you okay?”

He nodded. Pressed his lips into a thin line; your eyes fell to his mole, and then back to his starry pupils.

Half distraught, half calm — much like you — he began, “One reason why I left that girl downstairs standing was because… she was looking for the first best thing tonight.”

“…What do you mean?”

God, for someone who’d been cheerful all night, he looked incredibly downbeat right now. You felt sorry without knowledge of the context.

He shifted.

“I separated from my ex a while ago. That girl,” he nodded towards the window you’d climbed through, into her general direction, “she knew. And she wanted to use my,” he made air quotes, “loneliness to have fun.”

“That’s… terrible. I’m sorry about your ex.”

Jungkook kissed his teeth, shaking his head, “Nah… we parted on good terms. I just regret that we let the end of it all drag for so long.”

“Hmm,” you hummed. You wrapped your arms tighter around your legs. “Do you miss her?”

Prolonged silence later, you darted your head in his direction; he was squinting his eyes in thought. And then, he inhaled the summer air, and said, “Sometimes.” Pause. Then, “Sometimes I miss feeling like I’m… enough for someone.”

Enough for someone. Right for someone.

Jungkook wasn’t missing her. He was missing being loved.

“Time heals all wounds,” you said, nudging his chest, “etcetera.”

With a rub over his pecs, he tugged his lips to a crooked smile, promising you sincerely, “That goes for you, too.”

The exchanged beams introduced another break in conversation.

There’d been a dozen of those pauses today, but none of them had felt out of place. In fact, you felt at peace. Tonight was a respite from the demands of everyday life, because pain faded away.

The still bubble of comfort around you felt like a sanctuary; you appreciated the simplicity of the present.

You thought, there was something about the air. And the stars. And all those scents.

Fitting to the softness of his voice when he eventually spoke, “Hey… You were humming a song just now. When you were looking up?”

“Oh, uh…” You thought about it, rewinding time; he was right. You remembered the melody. “Maroon 5, was it?”

“I think so. How does it go again?”

“Uhm…” Putting you on the spot like this, you forgot every word of the song. You mumbled the melody, du-du-du-ing your way to the first verse, and then sang, “Beauty queen of only eighteen, she—”

His face lit up.

“Had some trouble with herse— yeah!” His finger conducted the two of you through the song before he wiggled it. “Yes, but there’s that part. The ugh— bridge? It’s my favourite part.”

“Uhm, wait.” Fast forwarding, you sang your way through the chorus, close to the bridge until it dawned on you. “Out in the corner in the… broken smile— ah, yeah. I know where you hide, alone in your car.”

Jungkook got into gear, sitting up properly, nearly shifting off the platform. Instinctively, you grabbed his wrist, but he was too into his narrative to acknowledge it, “Yes! Ah, I love that part so much. My mom used to sing it with me when I was in elementary school.”

He was so fucking sweet.

Contrary to every touch he’d delivered today, he was like a puppy. Forlorn and pure and kind.

“That’s so nice,” you said, nodding when he did, watching as he prepared his vocal cords.

“Know all of the things that make you who are— that’s what it was, yeah? I know that goodbyes—”

And then you broke into a duet, falling into a rhythm… catching strangers’ attention wandering around the house’s garden. You weren’t loud enough to disturb the party, but you did see a flash of smile here and there towards you.

Your singing and laughter grew in pitch; you started the last line but never finished it. Instead, you quieted down, hearing his timbre indulge in the song; his eyes were closed and his head tilted. An incomparable spell in his voice.

“—Catch her everytime she… falls.”

Omitting Adam Levine’s soft Yeahs, Jungkook replaced them with hums, and for the teeny tiniest of moments, your heart jumped.

Radiant warmth spread in your lungs. It surrounded your beating organ and tied your throat, and against all you’d expected today, you wondered—

Did temporary, fleeting party-hook-up crushes exist?

As he finished, leaving out the rest of the song, you told him, “You sing well.”

An understatement, but he took it anyway. Blushed a bit as he said, “Thank you.” And then, “Why this song of all you might know?”

Why this song?

You didn’t know. Because you’d grown up with it. Because every second of it, every beat, every melancholic word about hopeful love resonated with you.

“Because,” you said, shrugging your shoulders. A weak smile took over your features. “She shall be loved? Everyone shall be loved.”

Jungkook deadpanned at you. Glassy-eyed. For a couple heartbeats, he blinked at you, and then he broke into a chuckle.

You puffed out a breath; the desire to end the night vanished bit by bit.

That was, until another doom crawled around the corner.

Whenever a day passes flawlessly, misery is close, and this time, it arrived in the form of an older, equally drunk male friend of Jungkook’s.

It was the guy who’d DJ’d prior that night; the one with the deep velvety voice, ogling up at you with a hand in his pocket and a cup in his hand. He made you wonder where your friend was.

Had Eun left any messages? Perhaps it was you standing her up now; you hadn’t checked the device in a while.

From the garden, the dude — Taehyung, was it? — squinted up into the sky, yelling over the sounds, “Aren’t you the girl from before?” He pointed between Jungkook and you. “What are you two doing up there?”

You felt enthusiasm in your veins. Rapture, leaving your nerves alight. Despite all the sentimental talk, you remembered again that your filter was long abandoned, and with a dazy mind, you leaned forwards.

In hindsight, you shouldn’t have gotten more of that liquid bullshit after your hook-up. Jungkook had insisted on it — perhaps you should’ve gone for water and sobered up properly.

But as sloshed as you were, you brought out your funny bones, half your body dangerously pressing against the platform as you exclaimed, “I was having the time of my life with this one.”

A thumb pointed back to Jungkook — if you’d seen the man’s expression, you might not have risked your well being like that. Because his hands floated over you, finally gripping your sides with knitted eyebrows when you moved further forwards.

“Hey,” he called quietly, but you were already immersed in the conversation with Taehyung.

“He wanted me to suc—”

“—ceed in every aspect of life!” Jungkook wrongfully finished, leaning in to whisper to you, “I don’t think you should be saying this.”

Okay. Maybe he was a little more conscious about the situation; but you felt too ecstatic to lay down your jokes.

Grave mistake.

People started turning to you. Heard you clearly.

Taehyung, in his own world, still understood, ignoring Jungkook and asking with a laugh, “Really? Lucky son of a bitch.” He halted, and then pointed a finger at you, “Are you the Charmante girl?”

“Uh-uh,” you rejected, “not tonight.”

Fuck.

Even today, you’re adamant on keeping this part of your memories locked.

Because in a few moments, a mess would occur, followed by Jungkook’s kindness, and it would mentally make you push him away.

You just never expected to see him again in the fall.

During senior year, you concluded that he didn’t deserve the chaos of your world, fearing that your connection might destroy the both of you. But throughout all these months, your heart only held back until it couldn’t.

And today, he has wreaked havoc in it anyway.

“How so?” Taehyung asked.

“Because,” you asked. Stress and hangover incoming. Words a rich, popular future heir like you definitely wasn’t supposed to utter. “Fuck that imperium for tonight, okay!”

“Hey—” Jungkook’s voice again. “Lean back. Don’t do this.”

Taehyung shook his head, slowly caught in the awkwardness you called forth. Your deep-rooted trauma was doing a number on you, and you didn’t seem to realise just yet.

“You should go home,” Taehyung suggested; the second tonight.

Why did they want you to leave so bad?

Cocking an eyebrow, you looked at him weird, stoically staying at your place as you bantered, “I don’t want to.”

“I… I think you should, though?”

“You try going home to misery,” you said, laughing through the ache creeping up. Shit, shit. “I’m fine riding his di—”

“Stop it!”

The firm warning pumped sudden intimidation through your body.

Jungkook said it through gritted teeth, hissing it, a sliver of a grunt in his voice. His hands tightened around you and pushed you back up, catching you when you swayed over the edge.

He was irritated; and you were baffled. Puzzled by his concern.

You creased your eyebrows and gulped. Jungkook knew who you were; had confirmed that he did — but he hadn’t spoken about it a single time tonight.

Was he trying to protect you? Why was he trying to protect you?

“What the hell was that?” he asked, lifting his hands off your body.

You didn’t answer.

In fact, you didn’t quite understand the worries anyway. Yes, you had a reputation, but it wasn’t like anyone on campus cared. Right?

Wrong.

Because when you looked down, registering a faint chatter, you froze. Understood why Jungkook had constantly held you back. And why loosening your tongue had been a bad idea tonight.

You wished you could’ve gone back to singing with him. Not live through… whatever crap you’d caused. Nothing you would’ve done on any other day.

But Taehyung had been talking to you — you weren’t thinking anything of it.

The others, however, were. In fact, they were still laughing and recording when they looked down, some of them shamelessly filming with the flashlight on, pointing in your direction.

And there were quite a few of them…

“Wait,” you muttered, eyes flitting from one stranger to another.

Eun had to be inside, because you couldn’t find her face among them. It took a moment — but then, it started sinking in.

“Oh,” you said, and Jungkook, helpless, kept looking at you. “Oh fuck, no.”

“They won’t do any—”

“No.”

Your body felt immobile and it took more exclaims from downstairs that certainly weren’t Taehyung’s to finally move.

As your limbs came alive, you rushed your way back into the attic; humiliated, fire in your cheeks.

Your legs felt wobbly, but adrenaline kept you on your feet. Your mind awoke, your eyes burning. It took a moment to realise you had Jungkook in tow, storming downstairs with you; he was saying something, a soft hand on your elbow that you shook off in panic.

You’d done this to yourself. Stupidly, idiotically.

Never, never in a million years could you’ve opened your mouth like this in a sober state. You’d trained for this, for fuck’s sake. Knew media attention and how to behave.

The descent to the ground floor took ages; or so it felt.

You traced the faces of the people you’d seen from the roof. Nonstop thoughts of regret flooded you — in the contentment Jungkook’s presence had wrapped you in, you’d lost track of reality.

And now you were rushing from person to person, vehemently warning them and begging them to not put that shit online.

Only to meet a worse fate.

One that, within a moment and without a warning, arrived in the form of a plastered party-goer. Shoulders clashed until you stumbled and fell against a neck-high object. Synthetic plastic bounced against your body, the inflatable pool filled with water and people.

Had they been swimming all night?

Had this thing always been here?

Did it matter anyway when a wave of water broke out of the pool, splashing onto you and half your torso? Probably not.

What mattered was that you were drenched immediately. That Jungkook was still calling your name, albeit further away from you now. Or that a random guy was whistling, mumbling something about your white, soaked top.

Fuck…

Your head darted around; you pushed wet strands out of your face. You weren’t entirely dripping, but enough for people to remember for a while. That was, if they could recall tonight the next day at all.

And if they couldn’t, they’d have it on their damn phones…

Seeking the light crowd, you found Jungkook near the entrance to the house.

He was throwing an empathetic smile, eyebrows scrunched; nibbled at his lower lip and then—

Walked away.

One blink and gone.

You were disappointed. A little hurt. The connection you’d shared felt trivial now; had you enjoyed tonight just to be abandoned by every friend you’d come with or met?

Tears burned in your eyes, there without a notice. In your helplessness, you stood in the middle of the garden. A few people felt sorry for you — you knew.

And other, selected, a handful ones were too drunk to remain respectful.

The attempt to ignore them remained futile; they kept going.

You tried to search for the elusive people who’d recorded you; another handful who had now vanished into thin air again. Hiding their phones to evade you.

And when your search turned out fruitless, you redirected your attention to instead. She had to be nearby. Or Jimin; you hadn’t seen him tonight at all.

Just as you opted to enter the house, a stranger touched your bicep; reacting swiftly, you instinctively dodged his touch. Disgusted and weirded out.

He didn’t attempt to reach out again, but his persistence to struck your nerves was overwhelming; awkward as he tried to compliment, “That was kinda hot of you to say up there.”

To say what?

That you were a victim to your own imperium — that you were seeking company in others?

What was?

Twisted people, you didn’t understand — as much as you didn’t comprehend your own stupidity.

Your fucking fault.

Feeling a wave of chagrin wash over you, you hurriedly made your way to the door, hoping for another escape; hearing another dumb, “Listen, I’m not trying to offend you, but you—”

The sentence dangled in the air; broken by a sudden interruption. Raw cotton grazed your arm as Jungkook stepped next to you, a white towel thrown over his hand as he intervened, “Enough, man. Don’t.”

His tone was gentle, but held a fragment of a warning. Like he was annoyed, frustrated; tired of the people here.

Surprise was an understatement of a word to you.

There he truly was…

He handed the towel to you wordlessly, a hand on your back. Looked at you with a nod and concern in his eyes. You sighed in light relief, though cringing internally as the water trickled down your spine.

Jungkook sensed your unease immediately; said your name as if to take you away the moment you heard Eun’s voice.

In that moment of gratitude, you felt a renewed sense of a link to him — oddly calm as you said, “Thank you.”

The room you stand in is dark.

You’ve walked through several bright and vibrant halls, passing modern pieces. The ceiling was high so far, so this very room, containing art of the stars and nebulas, hit pleasantly with change.

The dimmed lights match the mood of the paintings; and you’ve noticed that visitors are way quieter in here than they were before.

Probably inhaling the silence of space and time. Diving into a world unknown with a curious fascination.

You glance at your watch, squinting to make out the tiny hands — half an hour left until closing time.

Drawing the millionth breath of this evening, you let your arm drop, curling and uncurling your fingers with a sickening feeling in your stomach. Lightly, you rub the spot, head darting left and right.

For some reason, you expect him in this room.

You can’t quite guess what he might’ve come up with after all; the exhibition showcases various genres and styles, and you haven’t found the room exhibiting his creativity yet.

Seems this isn’t the right place to look either. And you’re getting more nervous with each step.

You scold yourself. This better have been the right decision, because you don’t think you’ll be able to opt out anymore.

Your soul is still fractured and afraid; but Taehyung’s words float in your mind. Perhaps this will do something. Make clear that you should stay away. Or make clear that you shouldn’t.

Wrapping your arms around your body, you pass more art, more fresh artists, moving to the next room; irritated by how far he seems and of how cold it is here. Museums and their exaggerated air conditioning.

But the shiver the cool air elicits doesn’t compare to the white, blinding, bustling hall. This must be where the main attractions are displayed. Namjoon’s pride, you imagine.

Because people are still talking to the artists. Fingers on their chin, nodding; fancy tote bags and interested hand gestures prove that they’re fat greater art connoisseurs than you.

You don’t need to comprehend techniques and art jargon, though.

All you need to understand is that in the middle of the room, many feet away from you, stands who you seek. Suit-clad, though he has discarded the black jacket, he’s nodding towards other guests, smiling softly to send them away.

They point to his work one last time, and the next moment, they’re chatting among themselves, walking on.

He’s deep in the moment, tracing their steps, frozen in place.

And you, looking at him from afar, are frozen in time. Like everyone around you is barely moving.

Only your blinking eyes. Only his legs as they shift the balance. And then, only his head when he finally averts his gaze and lets it drift over the room. Stops when he sees you, and…

Remains there.

Your heart jumps; the twisting guts melt and dissipate. Fingers start shaking.

The knot in your throat won’t let you breathe properly; and you think he must be struggling much like you, because even from here, you see him gulp hard.

His longing, sorrowful gaze is killing you. Are you looking at him the same way?

Unsure, you close the gap between your bodies. Slowly, you near him until you’ve become his official guest, taming a wild heart with tense eyebrows.

He’s looking at you like he’s scared to blink. Like you might vanish if he does.

And eventually, you muster the tiniest of smiles, not letting those big, stellar eyes drop you to your knees. But they’re relentless. And…

Red. A little swollen.

“Hey,” you say.

He doesn’t bother for a greeting aside from a little nod. His pink lips are slightly parted, his expression so innocent; so achingly pure. And his voice so weak when he says, “You came.”

“I… almost didn’t.”

He nods lightly, much in understanding. “…I’m glad you did. I’m sorry if my message put you under pressure, I ju—”

“No, no, I thought that— Taehyung told me you’d like it if I dropped by,” you say. Your words are dipped in courage; if he wasn’t looking at you like a yearning puppy, you might not have muttered them. “And also…”

You drop your head, clutching the straps of your purse.

Try not to think of who the both of you used to be.

You clear your throat, gaze flickering up. “I want you to know that I still support you.”

Those puffy cheeks and the younger face, lacking a smile — you’ve only seen that expression before as he slept. When you woke up next to him, observing his dozing form. How helpless he looked. So faultless.

You now know that Jeon Jungkook isn’t perfect, either. But despite all that — or perhaps because of all that — you crave him more.

Because he’s always known he makes mistakes; yet, he’s always been your steadfast anchor.

And maybe that’s all that love ever requires.

No.

Don’t fall back into a spiral.

“Thank you,” Jungkook says. “This means a lot coming from you.”

The first button of his shirt is open; you see the chest rising. The mole on his neck. Last week, in that dark alley, your palm was still covering it. And now, you’re standing at a safe distance.

“So…”

You move, looking past him. The first thing your eyes settle on is a smaller painting.

Jungkook’s eyebrows shoot up, and his tangled fingers let go of each other, open palms gesturing you closer. He steps aside and says, “Oh, yeah. Yeah, please take a look.”

He’s nervous. You hear it in his voice.

Why, though?

There’s no need, considering how gorgeous the sunset is. Perhaps a little standard for such exhibitions, but it still carries his touch. The preciseness and soft details.

You lean in, taking in the colours he worked with. There’s no skyscraper or traffic light in sight — the scenery differs a lot from the city you know.

“Is that your hometown?” you ask.

There are white fences and wide fields. Trees afar, a cottage at the right of the canvas. In the right bottom corner, you see a fluffy little cloud, white and serene.

“It is. Not exactly where I live but… a little outside of it,” Jungkook explains, shifting close enough for his shirt to brush against your elbow. You shiver. “I used to ride my bike to this place and watch the sunset. Took me twenty minutes to get there, so my parents weren’t always too happy about it.”

You laugh quietly, straightening your stance again. Pointing to the tiny cloud, you guess, “And this? Gureum, was it?”

He keeps looking at you. You don’t notice until you register his silence; eventually meeting his gaze that screams affection and tenderness.

Whispers, You still remember.

He catches himself within a second, and then says, “Yeah. Gureum. I’d sneak him into the bike basket and take him with me. He’d enjoy the wind. Jump around there,” he nods to the place in the painting, “and enjoy dusk with me.”

“So sweet.”

You hum in pleasure, ready to move to his other piece.

Most of the artists here are boasting two pieces; some one big object, some several smaller ones. Jungkook settled on the choice in the middle; and you immediately realise that his second work is far more elaborate, in details and in size.

And you’d voice fascination, gasp in admiration — you swear you would.

But what awaits you instead is a masterpiece that renders you mute; baffled, and maybe a little heartbroken.

Because you immediately know what it is.

You remember it from a foggy memory; not too long ago but eternities away.

That day, you brought him and his new boss Namjoon lunch. You chose to barge in as a surprise, sitting on Namjoon’s couch, eyes flitting from artistic canvases to dirty brushes.

Back then, you properly talked about Gureum for the first time. Jungkook was working on drawings, carrying around his sketchbook. You swore you saw a glimpse of something familiar flashing that day, but Jungkook closed the book too quickly for you to decipher it.

And now, it’s here. A damn painting on a museum wall.

A pretty artwork for anyone else, a young, incredibly skilled artist’s talent. But to you…

To you, it’s a peek into what you used to be. And proof of what you’ve become.

You’re hurting. You’re fucking hurting.

“Jungkook…” you choke. You keep staring at it; blink twice; shake your head in disbelief and then voice, ”Wait, what?”

He doesn’t respond. Facing the ground, he’s wading through the pain silently; his bangs are covering his eyes. But your emotions are swimming at the surface of your pupils, an absolute mess.

“Jungko—”

“I had a full speech prepared yesterday, you know?” he says, looking to the side. His jutting lower lip makes your chest burn. “But you didn’t come, and… now you’re here and—” He brings an inked hand to his eyes, rubbing them for a moment. “Now I can’t fucking think.”

You can’t either.

“I didn’t know how to come,” you admit.

You gulp down the tears, looking back to the painting.

The background is blurry, like a rainy window. In focus, you see two hands reaching out to each other. One’s palm facing up, the other’s towards the ground.

Fingertips are inches apart, delivering the illusion that they’re touching without ever doing so. His must be the hand hovering over the softer one. And the latter… It's you. Isn’t it?

Digits reaching out to him, never quite grasping him — the same bracelet around your wrist that he brought you from his vacation among so many other things. Blue and sparkly, no actual gemstones but gorgeous nevertheless.

And in your hand—

Forget-me-nots, slowly drying.

Your memory might not be serving you right, but you think that the brief peep you caught back in Namjoon’s studio was fully blue. Have the flowers withered in his mind?

“What does that mean…” you whisper.

You think you know. But you still wait.

Yet, the only hint Jungkook gives you is, “I had this idea in my head… and the night we drove to that small town and I gave you those forget-me-nots? The way you held them got stuck in my mind and—” He shakes his head. “I knew I wanted to paint them like this.”

“But… you didn’t.”

“Because…” He shrugs his shoulders, but the gesture is anything but nonchalant. The melancholy in his eyes betrays him. “Things changed.”

Right…

That’s why the flowers wilted.

Don’t those blue wonders signify remembrance? True love and devotion?

Does Jungkook think you’re forgetting him? Or that your devotion is fading? That whatever tied you two together is diminishing…?

Whatever used to be a symbol of blooming endearment is now a metaphor for broken hearts.

But you bite back the sentimental talk, the questions and statements infiltrating your mind. Keep them in, for your and his sake. Hearts need to stay glued together for as long as possible.

No scene in front of a crowd.

So you say, “In any case… It's beyond impressive. You painted it beautifully.”

Jungkook sighs; recovering from the tension of the moment, and then answers, “Thank you. Since I had you in mind, I’m… honestly glad you came.”

“…Of course. Thank you, too.”

The moment you gulp, more people approach Jungkook’s spot. They’re talking to each other before they greet the artist, flashing tender smiles.

When they immerse themselves in his paintings, murmuring something not directed to either of you, you ask, “Should I go?”

But Jungkook’s reluctance emerges immediately. His eyebrows skyrocket, chest tensing; his words are rushed when he tells you, “Oh, you don’t…! You can stay.”

You look around. The hall is emptying; security is leading people out, probably informing them of closing time. And suddenly, you remember that Jungkook doesn’t possess a car.

“Did you take the bus here?” you ask.

“Yeah.”

“…I could bring you home.”

Why are you suggesting this? Are your lungs not failing you enough? You’re on edge as it is.

And even when he assures, “You don’t have to,” you shake your head, softly promising that, “Yeah, but it’s no problem. If you want.”

With his turn to glance around, Jungkook licks between his lips. Then, he sneaks a look at his watch, contemplating before he says, “The museum closes in ten minutes, and then I’ll need to find Namjoon. Wrap it all up and stuff. Are you uh… okay waiting for half an hour?”

Are you?

Despite all the pain? You shouldn’t be. But for him… achingly and stupidly, you are.

“Yeah,” you voice, keeping your tone stable. You’re dying of nervousness. “I am. If that’s okay.”

Jungkook nods, stepping to the guests; seems they have a question, waiting for their turn. So he redirects his focus again, giving you a little, “Alright. Thank you again.”

But without ever letting his attention fall from you fully. Not even when you finally step away.

The noises of the streets and vehicles keep the silence away.

Music quietly sounds from the radio, and your finger taps the steering wheel slightly to its beat. Jungkook is staring ahead, sometimes looking out of the window; probably as unsure as you about what to say.

The car comes to another halt in front of a red traffic light, and the silence increases your discomfort. From the side, you watch for a tiny moment as he cards his fingers through the soft, long hair.

And involuntarily, you think back to when you’d bury your fingers in them, too. Would pull him to your lips like that; hear him hold his breath.

Your body trembles, goosebumps on your arms.

You immediately rub at them, focusing on the green light, and once the car comes back into motion, you tell him, “You should save up some money and get a car, too.”

He nods, barely looking at you as he responds clipped, “On it.”

“It’s just late.”

“You don’t need to worry about me. And it’s not that late at a—”

“Just,” you interrupt. He’s right — it’s not too late in the evening. But fall is approaching, and the sky is grey; the sun hides these days. “I’d feel better if you had a car.”

You’re aware that it doesn’t matter what you think or feel anymore, but your concerns still seem to resonate with him; maybe he’d feel the same towards you, too. Because he assures softly, “I’m working on it. Don’t worry.”

Another pause in conversation. Another five minutes pass in silence.

Half of the distance to his place conquered, you grow more nervous by the second. This isn’t a casual get-together or you calmly bringing him home.

Right here, next to you, is literally the man you fell for.

Who confessed his feelings in the pouring rain. Who kissed you through the afternoon the very next day. And who forced you to leave the moment his dam broke.

The one who hasn’t allowed you solace in a while; who touched your lips just once since then, only to shatter every piece of you again.

This is him. Still no one but him.

Equally as nervy on your damn passenger seat as you, going back to an exhibition tomorrow that presents the very hand he used to hold.

This hurts like a bitch.

“Jungkook,” you spit.

“Hm?”

“How long…” You draw a deep breath that comes out shakier than anticipated. You calm your chest. “How long had you been working on this?”

Surprised by your question, he doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he bites his full lip, toying with its skin before he admits, “Not long. As I said… had the idea for a while, but the day I saw you holding them, I… I kinda cemented that picture into my brain.”

The night of your trip is a firm part of your memory, too.

Piling up bravery, you press your tongue to the palate, clearing your head before you ask, “Why did you make it your main painting?”

Jungkook’s laugh is quiet and insincere. Pained when he answers, “What do you think?”

“I just mean… doesn’t it hurt?”

No response.

You sit up straight, clutching the wheel until your knuckles pale, and try again, “I guess I just didn’t expect you to—”

“What about you?” he questions instead, dodging your inquiry. “Did it hurt you? Seeing it?”

“…Why are you asking?”

“Because I still can’t really decode your reaction.”

Yes… because you’re fighting transparency. The last time you made your vulnerability visible to him, you crumbled.

But does it matter anymore? You thought tonight would give you a clear answer to what to do; but so far, nothing has changed.

Might as well be exposed.

“Those things don't stop hurting so easily, you know?” you say. Talking proves hard. "But. At some point, you get tired of fighting the pain, and instead, let it happen until it gets better."

“Has it gotten better for you?”

His questions are sudden. Different from his determination to leave last week. He feels vulnerable to you, too, as if he’s fighting himself.

“I didn’t think you’d care,” you tell him.

You make a right turn and miss the absolute grief in his eyes. After all the moments you spent together, he didn’t reckon his care for you would escape your mind. But in hindsight, thinking of all the despair he’s put you through, he understands, too.

“Seeing the exhibition today… seeing my piece,” he begins, eyes drifting to his lap, “you still think I don’t care?”

God, your chest feels heavy.

You lift a hand from the wheel, rubbing between your clavicles, but the strange feeling won’t pass. Utter discomfort spreads through your veins, dizzying your head; but you need to concentrate on driving.

You should be almost there.

So you say, “I don’t think I want to talk about it.”

To which he dares to ask, “…Why?”

Another stupid traffic light. No excuse to keep looking away, but you still evade his gape.

“Because.” Unblinking, you stare at the tail lights ahead until the red becomes an unpleasant afterimage. "You'll hurt me." Resolutely, "Again."

No answer.

That’s the problem, isn’t it? His reluctance to say something.

Goddamn, you’re frustrated. Uneasy.

“I think the best way to fight more uncomfortable situations is to not talk about them anymore,” you then say, firmly and certain. “At all.”

“Okay.”

You crane your neck to busy yourself, looking for a parking spot when you finally turn into his street. Frustrated when none is empty, you click your tongue, driving around the block in vain before finding a spot near the tiny park close by.

“There goes,” you say.

Jungkook doesn’t get off immediately. Much as though he still has something to say, something to plead for. His eyes are staring ahead, his breathing deep.

In your lovesick illusion, you imagine him gritting your teeth and then reaching out, pulling you into a kiss.

But the version of you that wades through reality doesn’t want him to; wants to swerve the pain you’re already combating every damn day.

All he says, however, is a timid, “Thank you for coming today. I really was hoping you would.”

You think back to yesterday, picture a lonely Jeon Jungkook, awaiting your arrival without the desired result. You think of his messages last night, and of the desperation in them.

But you don’t mention any of this. Not his apology, not his yearning.

What you do instead is recall the date, taking off the belt; and when he reacts with surprise, you clarify, “I forgot something.”

You open the door of the vehicle carefully, shooting a glance to the empty road. That’s a cool thing about this area — it’s quiet. You think a lot of families and old couples live around here, because it’s usually serene around this hour.

You get out the moment he does, rushing the one step to the backseat. In a corner, right behind the passenger seat and out of Jungkook’s gaze, you find the same silver object from yesterday.

The silky, shiny paper is soft under your touch as you take it out, and you round the car to a positively confused Jungkook. He doesn’t know what’s awaiting him, but he doesn’t ask; only hums in question.

You brush the non-existent dust off the white ribbon, and then stretch the gift towards him.

Which is when he finally speaks.

“What’s that…?”

Suddenly aware of the gesture, your eyes flit to the object. You try not to stutter but fail, “Your birthday present. I… I had it made a little after you came back.”

He keeps staring at it, like it’s an unidentified item, dangerous to touch. But once he’s caught himself, his muscles relax. He closes his mouth, cautiously taking it from you; the brush of his fingers against yours is warm.

As always.

“You can open it now,” you suggest, “and if you don’t want it, I can just uhm… return it or something.”

It’s hard to return such a present. But you know this might be your only chance to take it back, should he not like it.

It’d be a shame, though.

You watch with bated breath as he nods. Pulling at the ribbon, stuffing it into his jeans pocket before he’s unwrapping the present. He’s so gentle with the paper, as if it means anything.

But if your roles were reversed, you’d cherish every bit that carried him, too.

A moment later, the little, squared thing comes into view.

A new sketchbook, matt black.

His name is golden on it, elegantly and swiftly engraved in the middle of the cover.

“You…”

He utters this sole word. And then looks down again.

His fingertips barely touch the cover for another moment, and then, he ever-so-carefully opens to the first page. It’s an index — has a black and white print of a tiger lily behind a box that says—

To fill these pages with every curve and contour you desire, and to colour them in. Like you do with me. Happy Birthday, Kookie.

His breath visibly hitches. He opens his mouth again, audibly exhaling, eyes glued to the words and reading. Rereading. Internalising them.

The shake of his head is barely there, and you think you imagined it. But when he bites his lip again, an old tiny habit, you start worrying.

Maybe it pains him too much after all. You know that’s what it did to you every time you looked at the wrapped package.

Hurriedly, you explain, “I thought it could be something to remember me by. But I understand if you don’t want i—”

“No, I—” He lifts his gaze, your breathing suspended. His waterline glistens. “It’s an honest present. And you had it made just for me, so I… I’d be an ass to not accept.” He pulls it to his body. “Thank you so much. It’s… incredibly thoughtful.”

“So… You like it?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“I’m glad. Happy Birthday, Kook.”

The peace in your voices is briefly interrupted when Jungkook suddenly raises the hand with the notebook again, speaking louder as he assures, “You didn’t have to.”

You think back to all his little gestures; the stuff he brought you from his vacation. The freaking tattoo on his arm; the sleeves of his shirt are rolled up, and you see a fragment of the orange and blue.

Even now, he carries around his sentiments for you. You’re not accepting his humility this time.

“I’ve never given you a present,” you say, “there was no way to not do that for your birthday.”

Only tonight, he’s wearing his heart on his sleeve; you can see the heaviness of it, tell yourself you’re hearing its beat. Matching yours. Falling like yours.

But you brush it all away, landing back in reality; once more taking in that you’re actually standing here and actually looking at him but reminding yourself that he and you aren’t what you used to be.

It takes enough strength to believe that he’s here, breathing in the same air as you. You won’t dive into delusions that might crack anyway.

You watch as he nods, putting the notebook into his bag in soft, watchful motions. Careful to keep each corner intact.

When he looks back at you, his eyes are glassier than before. Aching to utter something, preparing for something with an open mouth; words fail him, though.

They have been all evening.

What is he waiting to say?

You halt. Keep standing there. Smiling a little, biting the inside of your cheek. And when nothing comes, you finally conclude, “I should go.”

And that’s it.

That’s when his entire being finally breaks.

Because the moment you walk around your car again, he follows immediately; the rushed steps you hear behind you increase the pace of your heartbeat. Hammering against your throat, loud and clear; your head spins.

Worse and worse when you open the car’s door and he appears behind you, shutting it again with a flat hand.

You don’t know what he wants, but you know you’re not ready for it.

But…

You did come here for answers.

So one inhale. One exhale. You calm your head and unflex your muscles. Let your shoulders fall, shut your eyelids, and when ready, open them again.

Your fingers are still gripping the handle, but your gaze is fixated on your window. It’s darker now, and his reflection in it is clearer, albeit still a bit fuzzy. Doesn’t do justice to his incomparable beauty.

Better for your heart, maybe.

Or not?

Because you still catch his sombre stare, meeting your eyes. His nearing body doesn’t contribute to your health. You promised yourself to not spiral, but you are.

And he’s so close.

Because you feel his breath, hear him so near when he mumbles, “I’m sorry.”

Another breath in. You can’t do this.

You stand at your spot with drooping eyes, only half scared that an approaching car might run you over; your other half is dizzy and whispers, “What are you sorry for?”

“That… I hurt you. I know you don’t want to talk about it, and— if you want me to shut up… I’ll do it right now.”

You do. You don’t.

He’s tangling up your thoughts; he always has. Does it matter whether he speaks or not? It won’t change anything about your wretched heart… about the sting it suffers.

If he keeps talking now, you’ll dismantle each of his words for the rest of the night. And if he doesn’t, you’ll keep wondering what he would have said.

You wait. Let him decide what he wants to do.

And when he takes your silence as permission to go on, he says, “I didn’t want to hurt you. And I… I wasn’t being completely honest with you.”

Nightlife starts chirping already. It’s getting darker by the minute.

“When I said things have gotten easier for me without you. I lied.”

You swallow, torso nearing the car. You watch as his hand slowly lifts to the vehicle’s roof, close to your face. If you were in such a position to do so, you’d step back, fall into his arms.

Instead, you merely say, “It sounded true.”

“It was true that people are off my back… but. Nothing’s fucking easier without you.”

You gulp; there’s urgency in his voice, and it’s ruining you thoroughly.

You tell him, “It should be a reward. You’ve won more than you’ve lost.”

A chuckle moves a strand of your hair; it’s still not as sincere as you’re used to, but rather sad. Troubled as his words as he asks, “Let me guess… Because it’s just you?”

You only shrug one shoulder, listen as he adds, “You’re a lot more to live without than you think.”

Are you dreaming? Are his words real?

And the subtle, sudden touch, fingers against yours. Real? A fantasy?

You let out a tiny gasp and then hold your breath, seeking his warmth as he grazes your digits. His question is breathy and hushed when it falls, “Can you look at me?”

You don’t know if you can — yet, you oblige. Somewhere in your head, subconsciously, all of you would still do anything for him, no matter how small or harmless of a command.

“Jungkook…” you murmur, looking at his chest. At its rise and fall. At the buttons. You can’t meet his eyes yet. “What do you want me to do?”

“Nothing.”

“Then why…”

“I want to say that I’m sorry. And—” His next words are daring. Incredibly ruthless, uncaring of your heart. And you can’t believe he lets them slip. “I know it’s far too late, but… if there’s a way, any solution to stick here with you after all…”

Your eyebrows knit together, and you raise your head a little, looking at his shoulders with a feeling akin to irritation. Confusion?

“…What could it be?” he finishes.

“I can’t tell you.” You close your eyes when he moves in; once again hearing the pounding of that treacherous organ in your ears. This is driving you insane. “I knew some solutions. They came easy to me, because you… you felt comforting to me, you know?”

You rub your teeth together; your throat feels dry when you comment, “But now I’m caught up in life and—”

You drop your head lower again, unable to finish the remark.

You’re caught up in emotions and craze, you think. They’re creeping in slowly but surely, and consuming all of you. The way he was supposed to.

His touch stops toying with your hand, allowing a moment of relaxation. Only to come back worse.

The back of his fingers rise high, brushing against your cheeks, down to your jaw. You stand in front of him frozen, unable to defend yourself — or maybe, unwilling to refuse him.

You shudder again; it rolls up and down your spine, tickles your brain. Drains your lungs.

You blink your eyes fully open, and then let him lift your chin with a finger.

Two specific syllables of his sentence render you broken to the core, all of you in agony when he asks—

“Did I make a mistake, angel?”

The question echoes through your mind. What happened for him to reflect on his actions and reevaluate his choices?

How did he come to such a drastically opposite conclusion than he did last week?

Has he realised it takes two to move on? To break off things? That none of you is as free as you could be without each other?

That separation and distance fuel pain instead of destroying it?

Your lower lip quivers. Pulling yourself together, you manage, “Yes. You did.”

“Because of the comfort…?”

“Not only. You know why.”

“…Tell me.”

He’s reckless.

Perhaps he’s milking it to lead the two of you to a common understanding. One where it’s clear to either of you that you need each other’s presence around, navigating towards a final verdict.

So, so different from the words that cut you last week.

“Why?” you ask.

“Because,” he begins immediately, “I’m an idiot who chose for us both. I should’ve heard you out, because… this isn’t benefiting us, right?”

“You couldn’t see that before? When I told you tha—”

“I’m an idiot,” he repeats, “who thought he knew what he was doing. And I didn’t. I want to steer towards a decision we can both agree on. So tell me,” he tries again; you sigh. The whiplash is too much. “Why was it a mistake?”

The cool evening breeze rustles through the trees and your hair. The faint glow of the streetlights starts settling in, casting a soft illumination on the surroundings. Helps you see his face clearer.

His words weigh on your heart; you could ramble down a list as to why it was a mistake.

But you settle on the obvious, “Because… I’m working on getting out of my house.” Your voice is tinged with resolution; and the statement seems to surprise him. Eyebrows shoot up. “I’ve found an apartment and… started planning out every detail of how I want it to look and feel. But…”

His eyes fill with curiosity and concern; his voice, despite all the mess, is a soothing presence amidst the uncertainty, “But?”

“But it still doesn’t feel like home… It's strange.”

“Did I feel that way to you?”

“Being with you was the first time in my life that someone or something truly did.” Your words start breaking; your voice a dwindling sound. This requires as much strength as you expected. You take a deep breath. “So yes, you… you made a mistake.”

You wait, working on your tone, steadying it with conviction. And then, you say, “I’ve never needed anyone to survive, you know? I trained myself to be as independent as I can be. Just—”

Your lungs seem to shrink; they feel tight and knotted. Maybe you’re saying too much and not hoping enough. Perhaps that’s the perfect formula for further heartbreak.

But you communicate these thoughts. You will go insane in this little head of yours if you keep them in any longer.

“I crave your comfort,” you mumble. “Whenever I feel like shit or empty, I think— if he was here, he’d know what to say or do. He’d listen. And I hate that. The only warmth I’ve ever known shouldn’t come from you, and I– I shouldn’t be missing you like that.”

You huff out a breath, accompanied by a frustrated and exhausted sound. Your fingers rub your tired eyelids, your head moving to the side. The tips of your digits keep the dampness in, and you focus on proper respiration.

Say, “I hate that I’ve grown to crave you.”

You should’ve known, back in someone else’s bedroom; pressed against him; on the damn roof.

This thing you started with him wasn’t going to end any other way, and you should’ve known.

Wasn’t it the biggest reason you opted for distaste instead? For playful loathing, showcasing it in every class and whenever you met him once the semester started.

It was easier than being fond of him — like when he pulled you to your feet again; back when you were drenched in pool water, staring at the towel he handed you.

“It was much easier,” you echo, “when you weren’t part of my life. I pushed you away with some stupid academic excuse, because I knew we… this would hurt. So much fucking easier to keep you at a distance.”

And when you marched into dorm room 7, asking him for that dumb deal, what were you thinking?

Diving into risks head-first, despite all the knowledge you possessed of your miserable little world.

But the worst confession you might admit to yourself today is that — you’d do it all just the same again.

When you open your eyes once more, you see stars. Might be the rubbing you provided them, or the pupils you’re staring into. They are drenched in enough pain to fracture every teeny tiny bit of your soul.

Desolation swims in your waterline, but you don’t dare to blink; wait until it’s gone back. It proves hard when he keeps looking at you like that.

Almost impossible when he asks, “What do I do to make it right?”

The answer has always been the same, and he has never liked it. What else can you do but to repeat it over and over again, hoping for it to sink in one day and trigger change?

“You open up,” you say, “you tell me how you feel. What you feel.” Your chin trembles; you pull the evening air through your nose. “You stop keeping secrets from me and tell me what’s wrong.”

“I have never opened up with anyone as much as with you.”

And the worst truth is that he means that. No hint of hesitation and deception in his eyes.

It breaks you that this is the most he’s ever been able to disclose. What happened to him that forced him to bury every revelation in his ruptured heart?

His fingers slither to your cheek. He keeps the balmy palm under your ear, as he’s always liked to do. So many habits you caught; all of them pricking your skin now.

“Why have you never before?” you question, hoping for answers. Any of them. “To anyone else?”

His expressions change, much as you expected — feared.

The hand on your face moves a tiny inch, somewhat restless and uneasy. His exhale is desperate. And you, still clueless and suddenly anxious, prod, “Can you tell me?”

Hope trickles through your skin and into his — because for a moment, he looks like he can. There’s hesitation in his stare, but his veiled thoughts seem to sneak to the forefront of his mind.

You’re close, you think.

Unimaginably close to figuring him out.

But then, all the sparkle withdraws again. Like a lightbulb shutting off, his eyelids droop again, and he utters, “I can’t.”

God.

“Why not?”

“Because it hurts.”

“I want to help you, Jungko—”

“You can,” he hastily promises, fretful, as if you’re slipping away again — and maybe, you think, you are. “Just not now. Please just.” He downs the clump in his throat. “Let’s fight through this, because I want you to be able to help me, too.”

Fuck.

Why is this worse?

Wanting the aid, wanting the support; wishing for relief but not being able to accept it.

His lips draw closer, pillowy when they graze yours. Stalling the kiss as he mumbles against your mouth, “Can we fight through it?”

You don’t answer; drop your head to the side. A flicker of your old stars returns, but then it dies again; much like a candle in the wind.

He steps back slowly. Carefully. His chest deflates as he asks, “Is it… because of Hoseok?”

Hoseok?

That foolish conversation you had at the movies; his insecurity and the hints of jealousy. Has he been thinking about it?

Hoseok.

Unbelievable.

Of all things plaguing your mind, Hoseok is the last to keep you away from Jungkook. No. Fucking no.

“What?” you voice louder now, slightly piqued.

But he immediately retreats, kissing his teeth as he assures, “Nothing.”

You’re not done, though.

“No,” you tell him, “no, it’s not him. If it was, I’d chosen him years ago. And last year, I wouldn’t have come to the party but rethought his offer. But— Jungkook, fuck, I’m standing here with fucking you, because you never tried to fix me. Just… you just accepted me. Lived through every fucking day with me.”

He’s surprised. Expected the burst as much as you.

“I—”

A single pronoun escapes him before you interject again.

“It’s not because of Hoseok. It’s because of me. And because of you.” Your breaths are irregular when he caresses your jaw. Your thoughts are jumbled. “It’s because the hurt sits too deep to think about this now.”

“I… I know.”

“I can’t think about it, or anything. Or about you.”

Your forefinger presses against his chest, but his touch doesn’t falter. He keeps his palm planted on your face, another one joining on the other side as he repeats, “I know. I know.”

You’re agitated.

Want him away but closer. Silent but confessing his innermost wishes.

So bewildered, unable to make sense of this. Because what’s happening? Where are the two of you going?

Since that very frat party, what road were you on?

You don’t know. And maybe you shouldn’t think about your timeline. How you developed and how you got here.

But you can’t help it when his thumb comes back to your lips, parting it, preparing for another bittersweet kiss.

Like he always does. Like he did months and weeks ago.

Or…

That very night after the unspeakable humiliation, when he parted from you.

No matter how much you’ve forgotten, you still remember that time’s farewell.

The towel didn’t dry your clothes faster, but you were thankful for the gesture.

Jungkook rubbed your half-damp hair, insisting on helping, and the summer and its heat did the rest. Your back faced the wide bathroom mirror; you didn’t want to look at your miserable reflection anymore.

Eun was standing outside — her folded arms and the tapping finger spoke volumes, and her squinting eyes sought the assholes who’d ruin your night for you.

According to her, she’d already seen you with Jungkook; and not one to spoil your first good night in ages, she’d stayed away, instead looking for a certain blacked out Park Jimin. He was already home again, she said.

Now that you were leaning against the sink, she was seething on the other side of the door. Ready to bring you home; ready to thrash a couple people’s heads, only resisting because you’d told her to.

“Are you done?” you heard her from outside.

You looked up at Jungkook. You didn’t quite understand his willingness to stay with you, but you appreciated it. Stared at him with big, questioning eyes as he said, “Almost.”

“Eun,” you mumbled through the door, surprised when she heard you; hummed. “Could you get my stuff? Just my purse and cardigan.”

No hesitation.

“Where is it?”

“Attic. I forgot it there.”

She didn’t say much; grumbled something and then stormed away, once again leaving you with the kind presence in front of you.

In some way, you hoped you weren’t going to see him again. He was popular on campus, and you were a joke. The rich, little girl who made an idiot of herself at a private frat party.

If he wanted to keep his reputation, he wasn’t going to cross ways with you again either.

Right?

“People are so dumb,” he said, vexed as he put the towel away. “That was an absolutely inhumane thing to do. Thought we’re outta high school.”

You scoffed. “Are we ever?”

Jungkook shrugged his shoulders, shaking his head. Maybe he felt the need to reassure you a little more, because he said, “They’ll forget about this in a day or two. Fuck them and keep living.”

Huh.

It was such a harmless statement, wasn’t it?

But… you weren’t used to it.

What you knew were strategies to help your image; to drown the rumours and delete online humiliation, which would undoubtedly happen again this time. You knew of staff that spoke to journalists or pacified magazine publishers.

But not of encouragements to forget about it and live on.

“Thank you,” you said, timid and quiet.

The way he stood there, leaning back, looking at you. Waiting for you to finger-comb all knots out of your hair… you had to say something. So you did.

“I think I told you so much today, because I needed it out. And you said all the things I needed to hear, so… I truly do feel thankful. For everything.”

More of the dialogue is broken. Your diary didn’t delve into details of the bathroom scene; all leftover pictures your written words evoked today are fragments now.

Like how he looked at you.

A bit of surprise, mixed with endearment. A smile that followed and a nod; one step closer and then another.

Or the tilted head and the tired doe eyes. The thumb that lifted to your lips, parting them — you didn’t know back then that he liked this tiny detail, and that you’d grow to love it, too.

And you recall the way he moved closer.

Leaving a gap between his own lips and then settling them between yours. Unprovoked, unannounced.

Softly, slowly. No craze, no insanity.

Just a touch. Fingers on your jaw, mouth moving just a little.

And then, him backing away again, bringing the night-long conversation to an end until you met again that fall.

“Go home and be well,” he said. “Fuck everyone else, okay? If they can’t treat you right or love you the way you wish, then just fuck it all.”

You felt hazy and warm. More sober than before, but drunk on confusion.

Something told you that he wasn’t just talking about the immature public down in the garden, but everything you’d confessed on the roof, too.

Hoseok.

You simply voiced, “Huh?”

“She will be loved, right?” he asked one last time. You smiled; the giddy feeling was unmistakably present. “For sure one day.”

Nostalgia is a bitch.

It’s supposed to be a sepia feeling. Comforting and sweet. It shouldn’t hurt like this.

The memory is poignant; you want it back, but you don’t want to trudge through the pain again. You want this to be over. Want to dive through the agony and surface to a better time.

If fate and the world let you, with him by your side.

Is it too much to ask for? You don’t know.

“Can you ju—”

You look at him immediately.

The same doe eyes you know — soft, tender, dry but despondent. There’s not a single tear in sight, but his words and voice still break. The fear in his pause smashes your heart into smithereens.

“Just… once,” he begins, “could you look at me like that again?”

“…Like what?”

“Like you didn’t stop falling for me.”

Still. Everything stays still.

You don’t think you could ever look at him like you stopped. You can’t imagine you’re staring at him right now like you ever did. How do you make clear to him that you orbit around him?

You keep standing still. Not an inch moves; your heart might give out.

Words fail you when his hope collapses and his shoulders drop. A deflating chest, a sigh of dispiritedness; and then, his touch is gone.

He nods slowly, a hand sinking back into his pockets. Clutching the strap of his bag, he steps away, keeping your gaze for a moment before he turns around.

His falling head makes you sick to the stomach; the way he’s walking away, no other word uttered, is gut-wrenching. You know he’ll text you again; thank you for the present at least.

You are so certain he will.

But you hate how this played out. Hate that nothing is resolved.

And maybe it’s that loathing towards this very outcome why you don’t want to leave just yet. No matter how this might end — whether you part or find your way back to each other again.

There’s just one thing you somehow want to remind him of again.

“That night at the frat party… last year,” you start. He halts in his steps, moving to face you. “We were dumb to treat it like nothing.”

He blinks at you.

“It’s where it started, don’t you think? And it’s where we should’ve been truthful with what we wanted already.”

“Why are you saying that now?” he asks.

“Because I just remembered that… you kissed me back then, too. You kissed me like you didn’t want me to leave.”

It’s when your tale already started. Pointing at one outcome: no matter what hurdles, you were meant to end here together, but without the pain, as one unit.

It was clear back then. It should’ve always been clear; break ups were redundant. You know — does he, too?

His gaze feels heavy on you. The silence lingers, tension mounting as he takes in your answer. Doesn’t say a single word until your face is hot and your heart is bursting.

Maybe you’ve pushed him away, wounded his heart. He looks… disoriented. Have you said too much? Or not enough? Did you utter something not true at all?

False.

Because a moment later, his features change; endless longing as clear as the sky when he speaks again—

“Angel…”

Your breath catches; every damn piece of you implodes.

“Stay the night.”

alllllright :’) worth the wait? :’’’) i’m sorry if not but YAY if yes !! tbh, more things were supposed to come to light, but the chapter was already too long, so i had to split it. you shall find out more and get some relief in ‘cmi9: blue’ !! another reason i focused on the flashbacks more was bc… i need us to process the big reveal >:) how was it? what do you think?

as always, thank you so much for supporting this series. it means a shit ton to me that you guys are still here and loving these two as much as i do. as per usual, this one required all my brainpower and my free time, too; so if you liked it or want to say literally anything, please keep interacting with the series – motivation to work on this is always boosted by you guys tremendously !! so please like, reblog (on desktop since the post’s so big!!), comment aaaand send an ask !!! i shall answer them all this time >:O

thank you and i love you. here’s to more <3

#jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jeongguk smut #bts smut #jungkook angst #jungkook x reader #bts x reader #bts x you #bts imagines #jungkook scenarios #jungkook x you #jungkook fic #jungkook imagines #jungkook fanfic #bts angst #jeon jungkook smut #jungkook #jungkook au #jungkook series

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chuuyasheaven · 2 months

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RAAAAAAAAH idk if this counts as an ask but this specific scenario has been marinating in my mind for WEEKS and i think you might enjoy it :3c

to put it shortly ive been thinking of hot-headed reader who has trouble containing their temper (im not projecting whar do you mean) x chuuya (established relationship) that goes from angst to smut…. teehee

basically chuuya and reader begin arguing bc i hc that EVEN THOUGH CHUUYA IS EXTREMELY LOYAL AND DOTING TO THE ONES HE CARES ABOUT…. his temper often gets the best of him. Recently, chuuya had been very busy, and reader knew that, and continuously made an effort to help him in whatever ways they could, be it making dinner/lunch for him, offering to help with paperwork, etc. BUT thing is.. chuuya isn't really noticing this and treats them like a nuisance. He hasn't said anything outright insulting or upsetting, but he treats reader so differently, like he's silently blaming reader for his own temper and mood. He doesn't even call them by their nickname/petname anymore, everything feels so distant now.

So in an attempt to yk, NOT give up on their relationship, reader decides to confront chuuya about this in a calm manner, but he blindly lashes out and reader is NOT having ANY of it… cue a petty back and forth between him and reader, and reader gets out of the house to cool off and meanwhile chuuya finally comes to his senses. He tries to reason with reader when they come back, but they end up doing exactly what chuuya did to them, dismissing him and not accepting any form of half-assed apology. and so,,,,,, chuuya tries to make it up to reader,,,, if ikwym :3c

cue chuuya eating out reader like his life depends on it /jjj ((THIS IS SO LONG LMAO IM LITERALLY SOSORRY))

"You're not getting tired of me, are you?" // C. Nakahara

Summary. Recently, Chuuya has been kinda distant lately, mostly due to his work. This also resulted into you mostly overthinking— what if he isn't at the office all the time just like says? With this thought at the back of your mind, you tried to make an effort to be nice and caring as possible, only for Chuuya to decline the food you make him, denying any help you offer and barely spending time, which made the thoughts even more scary. When you can't take it anymore, you snap, at first he didn't get what your problem was until he thought about your earlier attempts. Now driven with guilt, Chuuya wants to assure you're the most important thing to him and makes up for his actions in the process.

Tags. Chuuya N. / afab! Reader, the summary pretty much already tells the story, angst to smut to fluff maybe, miscommunication, Reader prolly has anxiety, swearing, ooc! Chuuya, suspicions of cheating, Chuuya didn't notice at first but it's okay he'll make it up by licking pussy ^_^, might be cringe, short too idk, Reader might be KINDAAA based off me, petnames (baby, doll, darlin', sweetheart), oral sex (afab! receiving), praising, overstimulation? , p in v, who knows maybe i fucked up the ask and wrote smth else, for the first time ever porn WITH plot, might have a rushed end, might contain grammar errors, etc.

"Hey, Chuuya, wanna eat? I made your favorite!", you said with a nervous tone painted in your voice, which Chuuya didn't really notice. "No, baby, I can't. Sorry, maybe next time?", he answered without even exchanging looks with you, just doing his paperwork as if it was more important to him. It's been like this for several days already and you did nothing but trying to help Chuuya to make things easier, but he didn't budge. You slowly started to get annoyed and just walked away to eat by yourself, silently.

With all kind of negative thoughts which caused you to overthink. These "thoughts" didn't leave you alone since he's become more distant. What if he's losing interest? What if he's not always late in the office? Am I annoying him and a burden? After you finished eating, you just put his plate into the fridge and sat alone in your living room. Some while later, Chuuya came to see you for a few minutes before returning to work. He tired hugging you but you rejected it. Confused, he looks at you before asking. "What's wrong, doll?", did he seriously just ask you that? After pushing away for the— what? The millionth time for his work? At this innocent question you snapped, well, not really but you were beyond pissed.

When Chuuya told you that he was probably busy for the next days, you understood, at first. Knowing Chuuya, he could make some time for you in between, right? He was your really loyal, sweet and loving boyfriend, caring was he too, of course Chuuya should be able to make atleast a little time. And to his credit, he did, at first. He took breaks in which he spent time with you, cooking your food with you, and also other activities you guys normally do. But with time, Chuuya got more and more work and spent less and less time with you. You also understood at first, and trying to be a good girlfriend, you tried to take some work off his back by doing some paperwork with him, only to deny you. Don't get Chuuya wrong, he appreciated it, but he'd rather do it himself. You understood, leaving him be, but then he started to work late, staying behind in the office. That's when you started to overthink a little. You really didn't want to let you thoughts get to you, Chuuya is loyal and so loving he would never, right? Why was he even staying so late in the first place? Was it because you constantly asked him to help to the point he wanted to work in the office at work? These thoughts would slowly consume you later on, and instead of speaking with Chuuya about it, you kept it to yourself, you didn't want to annoy him anyways. It's been 3 days later and he didn't even say a single word to you, just work, work, work. Were you even Chuuya's top priority at this point? You just let him distance himself, in hope of him noticing your presence. All this did was make the situation worse, to the point where you cried yourself to sleep at night feeling unwanted. Did Chuuya finally notice? No, his head is still drowned in paperwork. "Chuuya, do you have time right now?" — "No. Go do something else, doll, I still have work left." His tone had some harshness to it, a hint of annoyance too. But maybe it was because of the stress because of work. "I could help him maybe.", you told yourself, you don't want him to overwork himself, has he even eaten today? "Well, maybe I could help with the paper—" — "You can't, so please go. I still have a lot left." — "But I could—" — "Just go, I'm busy. I can't really talk with you 'cause you're gonna distract me." What a reason, but you can't let him push you away now, can you? "Chuuya, please, I just wanna help you—" — "Just leave me the hell alone and do something else. Look, I love you for trying, I don't need your help the only this you're doing right now is distracting me." "If you say so." Was all you said before leaving his home office without saying another word.

That was the last time you talked to him during these days, but today, was the day you finally snapped at him for pushing you away all these days. And for what did he push you away? For trying to be nice and take some shit off his back? "What's wrong?! What's wrong is that you pushed me away for— what? A week and a half?!", you explained with anger behind your voice, which Chuuya wasn't familiar with. "Doll, I didn't push you away—", before he could speak you went on. "Stop with the bullshit. Whenever I tried helping with anything you always denied me! I can't do this anymore.", you said with a crack in your voice, now Chuuya slowly got pissed too, was it his fault for having an asshole of a boss?

"Do you think I want to do this? Who in the hell would participate in such work as a fucking joke?!", he said rather louder than you. "Your damn work seems to be more important that me, when was the last time you looked me in my face?", you stood up from the couch. "You wouldn't even know what to do!", "I could've if you took some fucking time to explain!", you shouted back, this is where Chuuya might have lost his temper. "Why the hell should I? You won't even understand when I tell you to leave! I'm sorry if the world doesn't fucking revolve around you, some people have other priorities?!", his voice got angrier and louder.

"Appearently I'm not your first priority, which is what I'm supposed to be?! I just wanted to spend time with you, but if I'm so fucking 'distracting' then I'll leave!", "Oh, so now you can take a damn hint?", he called after you tried to walk away. "What?", you stopped and turned around to face him. "Fuck you, then. I'm done, go do your work which is more important to me! All I was doing was to try—", "I don't give a fuck if you were "trying" shit! Just fucking don't because it won't matter anyway all you're being is annoying and desperate.", Chuuya shouted at you.

"So I'm annoying you now?", you said, your voice going quieter. "Yeah, with the way you were constantly up in my shit. You're not the most important thing right now, just stop trying to stress me more than you already are.", when he said that, you were facing the floor, fighting back the angry tears that were building up. "Alright, go do your work. I'll leave you to it.", you muttered, walking towards your door to take a walk. Chuuya just tsk'ed and went back to his room. It was quiet in the apartment, Chuuya was working on some papers left when he thought about your earlier argument. Wondering why you started it, he thought about what you said and slowly realized that what you said was true. He has gotten more distant, he was a little rude to you about leaving him alone and barely paid you and your attempts to help attention.

Knowing he probably fucked up in those past days, hurting your feelings and calling you 'annoying and desperate' probably caused the biggest guilt he ever experienced. Chuuya tried calling you but you hung up instantly. Okay, reasonable. The second time he called you took you're time to pick up. "Hey, baby—", "What do you want?", you asked coldly. "I thought you wanted to be left alone.", Chuuya could hear the pain in your voice. "Look, darling, you know I didn't mean what I said. It was the stress—", you really didn't wanna hear him right now, especially his excuses. "Sorry, Chuuya but I don't really wanna talk right now, since I'm annoying you anyways, talk to you later.", before getting another word out, you hung up. Chuuya just took deep sigh and thought of ways to apologize and make it up to you.

You first left at 6pm but returned at 8pm, you were a little tired after walking a lot so you looked forward to lay in your shared bed, alone again probably. You changed into Chuuya's shirt just like you have been these last several days for some missing closure, not forgetting your shorts before you sat on the bed to be on your phone. Not even five minutes later, the door creaked open, revealing Chuuya with a guilt driven face. "What?, you asked him once again. "Can we talk, please?", you just stared at him before nodding. He sat down on the bed, patting the space next to him, you moved to the edge of the bed to sit down next to him.

"I'm sorry,", Chuuya started. "I'm sorry for neglecting you these past days, didn't mean to make you feel like a burden.", "So you finally got the hint?", you ask sarcastically. "Baby, I mean it. I shouldn't have priotized my work over you and pushed you away during it. I never wanted to feel unimportant.", he held your hand now, gently caressing it. "The stress made me act this way probably and i shouldn't have lashed out at you. You forgive me?", your gaze was still as cold. Chuuya just pulled you close to him, finally after a week, this made you realize that you missed him more than you thought.

Chuuya stroked your back, kissing your forehead first, then your cheeks, and lastly, your lips— those lips he hasn't kissed for something which felt like an eternity. He just wanted to make it up to you one way or another. "Lay down, dollface, wanna make you feel good.", Chuuya said to you while he was holding your chin. "I haven't fully forgiven you yet, y'know that, right?", looking away while you said this, Chuuya just had to chuckle. "You're gonna when I'm done with you, trust me.", you rolled your eyes and just laid back like he wanted. Chuuya moved himself between your legs, removing the shorts and panties blocking his path and letting your legs hang over his shoulders.

"No need to tense up, pretty, jus' relax,", he whispered, pressing kisses to your thighs, never breaking eye contact. Those kisses started to get closer and closer to your cunt, which was waiting for his tongue. Once his mouth got to it's destination, Chuuya started his work. He ate you out like his life depended on it, but he made sure he won't make a big mess. You where quietly moaning, trying to not be heard by him. "Why so quiet, sweetheart?", he lightly teased, you just looked away again. "C'mon, look at me. I wanna make you feel good, remember that?", you looked back at him, your cheeks were slightly flushed and lust was filled in your eyes. Chuuya dived back in and kept his eye contact with you, looking at you while you try to bite down your moans. This only made him suck on your clit, which also broke your silence.

It didn't take long for you to finish with Chuuya looking at you while pleasuring you. As you came on his tongue, still breathing unsteady, Chuuya got up between your legs. "You're so perfect like this, darlin'.", he whispered before kissing you, you could loosely taste yourself on his tongue. While he was kissing you, he freed his cock out of his pants. Chuuya stopped kissing you for a second to insert his dick inside you. He stroked your folds with his tip to catch some slick and entered almost easily, as if your cunt was sucking him in. "Fuck, I forgot how good you felt around me. Forgive me for neglecting this perfect— oh, fuck!", he cut himself off by starting to thrust.

If you weren't loud earlier, you definitely were now. Chuuya was kissing you while being inside you, thrusting while his lips were on yours, whispering "I love you"s and apologies to you. "You're so good for me, fuck— I love you so much.", his thrusts got sloppier, meaning he was close. Your arms were thrown around his neck as you threw your head back, you could feel your upcoming orgasm. "Chuuya— shit, 'm so close, please don't stop!", "Wasn't planning on it, you feel way too good for that, baby.", as your cunt clenched down around him, he surprisingly moaned, instantly cumming inside you. He thrusted once more and that's when you came undone a second time.

"So. . did you change your mind, doll?"

@moth-of-mythos // @pretendtobesick04 // @alastors-deerest // @shi-nakano // @samutoru // @munnaitorei // @sjsnsidream // @shuwyyx // @skelitea // @xaviawinter // @cvidy // @cherrytreegrove // @skk-lover // @pe4rl-diver // @walking-simp

Sorry if ur tag didn't work 😕 also sorry if I fucked the storyline up

#chuuya'sheaven ♡#chuuya nakahara #chuuya nakahara smut #chuuya smut #chuuya x reader #bsd chuuya #bungou stray dogs chuuya #bungo stray dogs smut #bsd smut #chuuya angst

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forcemeanakin · 1 month

Text

Right where you left me.

•WARNINGS: Angst. Situationship. May trigger people with abandonment issues or that have intimacy problems. Not technically cheating, but it may be triggering. Anakin's a douche bag.

Pairing: au!Anakin Skywalker x you!reader.

Summary: Anakin decides to pursue things outside of your relationship, breaking your heart in the process.

Word count: 1.7k.

A/N: NOT PROOFREAD, english is my second language, so please be gentle. If there are any mistakes, pls let me know in private so I can correct them, thanks :) Also I have a serious issue between differentiating “in” and “on” situations, so bare with me lmao.

☽⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯✳⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯✺⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯✳⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯☾

You ran into the coffee shop, in a hurry, which is a normal state for you and your continuous tardiness. “Fuck.” You muttered under your breath as you forced the door open with unnecessary strength.

Anakin must’ve been waiting for half an hour now.

On your tippy toes, you scanned the room, looking for the golden curls to stand out from a booth.

Bingo.

Trying to hide your excitement, you rushed to the table where your -relatively- new thing was waiting for you. You cursed your bag for making so much noise and told yourself off for packing so much shit. Maybe there was no need to bring all the stuff with you, but you couldn’t help yourself in your excitement to show Anakin all of the activities you had planned for you two and the remaining part of the summer.

“Hey.” You whispered loud enough for him to listen to you, but your shortness of breath didn’t go unnoticed by him. He gave you a toothless smile as you sat down in front of him. “I’m sorry I’m late, I was at work and my manager-” You didn’t finish the sentence, instead, your face let him know everything he needed.

“Don’t sweat. I haven’t waited long. Five minutes to be exact.” He checked his phone carelessly.

Oh.

“Training ran long?” You hoped.

“Oh, no, just ran a little late.” He shrugged his shoulders. Like it was of no importance.

At least you felt ashamed for being late. He didn’t seem to carry the same guilt.

Sometimes Anakin did this thing that stung your heart a little. His number one priority had always been him. And when you agreed to try things with him, you knew that was implied in the contract. Part of you had been hoping that you were going to be the reason that changed.

So far, you had failed in your mission.

“Oh, right.” You tried to fake a smile.

“And how’s life outside of work, baby?”

And just like that, your heart felt a little lighter and spark returned to your face. Especially when he reached out to hold your hand and play with your fingers. Especially when he used that nickname that you loved and you hadn’t heard in a while from his lips.

“It’s fine. My summer classes are always boring.” You rolled your eyes, chuckling at the end because he knew how much you hated to take extra courses.

“I told you to give yourself some time off in the summer.” He raised his eyebrow.

“I know, I know…” You huffed. “Actually, I’ve been working on that.” You smiled, turning to your bag and taking some of the things you packed.

Tickets for one of your favorite movies, that he insisted he wanted to watch with you. It made you smile so hard when he had proposed that plan, given that he was aware how much that franchise meant to you.

You also took out some coins for the local fair, the one you two had walked by and promised to do that as your next date.

The brand new control for your gaming console you had just bought to join him in video games because he said he wanted to share that without you. He seemed pretty excited to do that as an activity together and he even listed all of the games you might like.

And right when you were about to take the keys of your summer house out, to hint him that you were ready to take the next step in your relationship, he stopped you.

Anything intimate always made you nervous, even when you two were in the middle of it. It was a very vulnerable space for you and Anakin was your first in many things. It was normal for you to still be adapting to it.

But you wanted to try. For you.

For him.

As a more experienced person than you, Anakin had needs. Needs that you sometimes failed to meet. That even though he was patient, you could feel how your lack of confidence sometimes bugged him. Not in an explicit manner, just… the occasional huff when he tried something experimental in bed or when you started to psych yourself out of the make out session.

Any other person would have already left, but Anakin was your friend first and he was well aware of your uptight personality way before the two of you agreed to be friends with benefits. He knew what he was getting into and he was actually glad to help you experiment with that part of yourself you normally hid.

So your demonstration of being an organized and planning psycho was nothing new to him.

“Hey, hey…” He slowed you down, barely gazing the things on the table and fixing his eyes on yours. “Before you get started, I wanted to talk to you.”

His serious tone alerted you. But you weren’t surprised. Something inside of you had been alerting you all weekend. You thought it was your well-known anxiety. However, this felt unusual. Like his habitual ghosting and lack of response for the past few days meant different things this time.

“Sure.” You took a deep breath, trying to make it not so obvious. “Go ahead.” You nodded with a little smile trying to appear serene.

“So, sorry for not replying to your texts this weekend. I was out in nature, thinking and connecting, you know?” He tilted his head, his eyes looking for some compassion out of you.

“Yeah, yeah, of course.” You rushed the words when the silence dipped between you two, part of it your fault because you were too worried with your sinking heart.

You could understand a little impromptu retreat, you only wished it wasn’t right after you did some pretty intimate stuff back at your house. That last day you two crossed more boundaries than ever before. And even though you highly enjoyed it, his absence after that had you feeling nauseous, making you overthink and regret your decision of not giving him your virginity right in that opportunity. Maybe he would have shown more interest if you would have-

“So…Uhm… I think we should stop hanging out.”

Your heart was down by your feet when he pronounced those words. You tried with all your soul to control your trembling hands that lied in between his palms so he didn’t notice how he was ripping you apart. Your irregular breath threatened to put you on blast but you managed to keep it on the low.

“It’s not about you, seriously. I love hanging out with you and spending time with you, among other stuff.” He chuckled lightly, but instead of following his action, you released the breath you were holding. “But I’ve been talking to this girl and I just want to make sure that everything is working out with her. Emotionally.”

The sting in your eyes only grew bigger as you realized how embarrassing and heart shattering this moment was for you. Your cheeks felt hot and tight, something you tried hard to disguise with a breezy exterior.

Like a flash, you remembered the day both of you talked about the rules of your agreement. You kicked yourself mentally when you reminisced of the moment where both of you agreed to let the other one know if they wanted to pursue something with someone else. You had said yes, in the expectation that his constant checking in on you and daily talks was enough proof of interest. Meaning that he would not be looking outside of your “situationship” .

And you agreed, because that was your case. You were interested enough.

“You let me know if you want to see another guy, okay?”

You could almost laugh at such stupid idea. Didn’t he know?

“I think it’s better if we stop talking, so I can figure out things with her.” He scrunched his nose, like he was running out of words.

But how many words do you actually need to let someone know you don’t want them? He didn’t need much more. You’ve gotten the message.

“It’s nothing definitive, but yeah… Let me know if you have any questions.” He gave you a side smile, still fidgeting with your frozen-in-place fingers.

That took you out of the slow motion trance you were in.

“Y-yeah, okay.” You took your hands out of his quickly, blinking quickly into realization. You started to rush everything back in your purse, screaming the word “Stupid!” over and over again in your head while you carried on with a calm expression. “Do not worry about me. No questions on my part. Thanks for letting me know.”

I guess.

“Totally agree with not talking anymore.” You finally stopped for a second after pushing all of the items on your tote bag. He seemed to be analyzing your expression in search of any sign of real approval, because your shy and cold body language wasn’t reassuring him. So you put on your bravest face and forced a smile. “I hope everything turns out great with her.”

Speaking those words felt like hot iron was passing through your throat.

He gave you an honest smile and got up, taking his jacket with him. “Thank you. And thanks for understanding.”

You stayed frozen in place, your purse on your lap with your hands clutching it so hard you could feel your nails through the fabric. You limited yourself to nodding quietly and letting the side of your mouth curve slightly up.

“I’m sorry I can’t stay-” He began explaining his sudden escape.

“Don’t be. Don’t worry about me. ” You dismissed. “I’ll just stay and have lunch.” You took the menu and fixed your gaze on the listed items, anything that wouldn’t be his eyes.

He excused himself off the table politely, leaving you all alone and speechless. You glued your eyes to his back until he exited through the door, begging silently that he would turn around and say something else. Something that would pull you back into his life.

It seemed like that wasn’t his plan.

“I know I shouldn’t look for you for sexual stuff, but can I contact you for friend stuff?”

The text arrived that Saturday at 1am, 5 days later, erasing any progress you had done.

The day of his usual drunken nights.

Right around the time he used to get bored and there wasn't anything left to smoke.

Exactly at the time he would always contact you.

And you?

You were still at the restaurant. Unable to move.

Every day since that day.

Right where he left you.

#star wars anakin #anakin skywalker #star wars #sw anakin #anakin #anakin skywalker smut #fanfic #anakin au #anakin x reader #anakin x you #angst #anakin skywalker angst #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin skywalker one shot #anakin skywalker blog #tcw anakin #situationships

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beskarandblasters · 6 months

Text

Me and My Husband

Chapter One: Lonesome Love

Married!Din Djarin x F!Reader

Series Masterlist | Series Playlist

Main Masterlist | Din Djarin Masterlist

Author's note: The first chapter is here. It matters to me.

Synopsis: Din Djarin is doing what any typical Mandalorian would be doing after reclaiming Mandalore, finding a riduur and settling down. He’s still a member of the Guild on Nevarro, taking bounties here and there to support his new family. But when he meets you while you’re working the front desk at an inn on Naboo, he finds himself hooked, feeling like he’s found something new and exciting in his now mundane life. How long can he keep up appearances with his riduur? And how long can he keep his little secret with you?

Series warnings: reader is able-bodied, set post season 3, canon divergent (long live the Razor Crest), some liberties taken with Mandalorian culture/weddings/marriages, infidelity, eventual smut (chapter two!), switches between Reader and Din's POV, no use of y/n

Chapter summary: Din marries a fellow member of The Children of the Watch hastily due to peer pressure and wanting to commit himself fully to the tribe. He takes a bounty from Karga on Nevarro to support his family that leads him to Naboo’s capital city, Theed, and ultimately... you

Word count: 4k

Chapter warnings: a Mandalorian wedding, a face reveal, Din is a bad flirt lmao, masturbation, feelings of doubt/guilt, use of Mandalorian words/phrases (translations included after)

Din

“Din Djarin, repeat after me: Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde. (We are one when together, we are one when parted, we will share all, we will raise warriors),” the Armorer says.

Kriff, why did he agree to this? He could take out a thousand men; an entire Imperial fleet if he had to. But this, the riduurok (marriage), has him weak in the knees (and not in the good way), at a loss for words, and more anxious than he’s ever been.

“Din Djarin?” the Armorer repeats, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde,” he says, finishing with a shaky breath.

Thank the Maker neither the Armorer or May can see his face right now because if they could, they would see the face of a man who’s never been more scared in his life, coated with a thick layer of sweat.

“May Malric, repeat after me: Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde,” the Armorer continues.

Without missing a beat, May repeats the vows, her visor shifting from the Armorer to Din, locked on his. Standing before him is his new riduur, in her forest green armor with lime green accents, her gloved hands joined with his. He gulps – no turning back now.

“Now you two are joined as one, in an unbroken bond just as your ancestors before you. By entering a riduurok you pledge your eternal commitment to not only each other, but Mandalore as well. Let the celebration begin! This is the way.”

“This is the way,” May affirms.

“This is the way,” Din responds. It better be the way, because he just committed himself to this woman for the rest of his life.

This day can’t go by any slower. How is he supposed to celebrate this? Marriage was the last thing he wanted. But ever since they reclaimed Mandalore, other members of the clan have been getting married left and right; finally feeling like they have a permanent place to live, it only felt right. And so that’s what Din did. He chose May, a fellow member of the Children of the Watch to be his riduur. He figured he liked her well enough; respected her well enough so she would be a fine riduur. Or so he hopes.

The Armorer leads the way back to the rest of the Mandalorians, a bountiful celebration ready to take place. All this attention on himself makes Din uncomfortable. But this is what he chose and now he has to deal with the consequences no matter how unbearable or overwhelming it may be.

It’s a lot, just a never-ending string of people wishing him well it seems. He does his best to be polite; these are people he’s known his whole life basically or new members of the recently intertwined community. But eventually it proves to be too much and he needs to excuse himself. He scans the room for Grogu, just to make sure he’s okay. And he is. Of course he is; playing with some of the tribe’s younglings. He is another reason Din did this, getting married and all. Din thought it was important for Grogu to have a “real” family. It’s a multifaceted issue. Between the peer pressure, the pressure he put on himself to be a devoted member of the tribe, and the pressure he put on himself to be the best father he can be to Grogu, he made this decision… This lifelong, unbreakable decision

…Maybe he should’ve given this a second thought. Because now he’s bonded to May for life. No getting divorced, no getting remarried… Unless he wants to become an apostate again – and he knows that feeling all too well, a feeling he’d never like to revisit.

He heads back to his new house; a simple utilitarian home made of stone, stone being one of the few resources here on Mandalore. It’s not like his home on Nevarro, complete with all the furnishings and a pond for Grogu in the front. The home on Nevarro also happens to be… a secret. Not on purpose. He just never told May about it. And now he thinks he’ll keep it that way. Not even because he wants to bring a flurry of women there, but because it’ll be nice to have a place of his own that only he knows about.

He senses a presence behind him. Turning around slowly he sees May, the visor of her helmet glued to her gloved hands, fiddling nervously.

“Got to be too much for you, too?” she asks softly.

“Just overwhelming… That’s all,” he says stiffly.

“Do you think…” she starts, taking a step closer to him.

“Do you think it’s time?” she finishes.

“...Time for what?”

“Time for… you know,” she says, visor still fixed on her hands.

“Oh,” he spits out, realizing what she’s insinuating.

Now that they’re riduurs they can show each other, and only each other, their faces.

“Now?” he asks.

“There’s no one else around. And we’re in our home…” she says, a smile evident in her voice, a smile Din would soon get to see.

Seeing your riduur’s face for the first time is arguably the best part of a Mandalorian wedding, most would agree. Except for the fact that Din is scared beyond words. He’s staring down the barrel of the rest of his life, the face he’ll wake up to everyday, the face of the mother of his future children.

“Okay,” he says, taking a deep breath.

At the same time they both reach for their helmets, lifting them up from the bottom and hearing the hiss of the modulator. Din’s worried about what she’ll think of him, sure. But he’s also worried about what she’ll look like, if she’ll be attractive. He feels bad thinking that way but he’s a man, he has needs. He supposes it’s not an unreasonable request to have the woman he’s going to be married to for the rest of his life be physically attractive to him.

He holds his helmet against his side, closing his eyes until she’s ready.

“Din?” she asks softly.

“Hmm?”

“Are you ready?”

“...Yes.”

He opens his eyes to see May, standing in front of him. And to put it plainly, she’s just… fine. Not inherently ugly, not overly beautiful, just… fine. It could’ve been a lot worse. He was also hoping he would feel the spark when he saw her but he just doesn’t. Maybe it’ll happen over time but he also hoped he’d feel the spark for his own riduur on his wedding day.

Can this day go by any slower?

It’s been about fifteen rotations since the wedding. They’re in the “honeymoon stage” (if you could even call it that). Grogu seems to like May well enough which is good. Her and Din have found a happy medium of… tolerating each other. But he’s itching for some freedom, some time away from her as horrible as that sounds.

They’re standing outside their house, watching Grogu waddle around outside and get more accustomed to his new home planet when Din turns to her and says, “You know I’m still a member of the Bounty Hunter’s Guild on Nevarro.”

“Oh?”

“I was thinking I could go get a job or two… you know… to support us.”

“Okay.” she says, not questioning the idea.

“And you’re okay with that?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? It’s for us.”

“Right.”

“When will you leave?”

“This afternoon. Once I leave the atmosphere I’ll send a transmission to Karga.”

“Okay. Do you need any help preparing for the journey?”

“Not necessary,” he says curtly, scooping Grogu up into his arms.

“But take care of him when I’m gone?” he asks, passing him off to her.

“Of course. He’s our son now. Why wouldn’t I?”

The term makes him sick, “our son”. But he says nothing, offering a nod before walking to the Razor Crest to make sure it’s ready for the journey.

He takes off in the early afternoon, feeling a bit of relief he’ll be on his own for at least a little while. He bids May and Grogu farewell before getting in the Crest and taking off. He knows Grogu is safe here with the other Mandalorians. They’d all lay down their lives to protect him.

And now he’s alone in his ship, feeling like he’s in the days before he got married; before he even had Grogu. He sends Karga a transmission letting him know he’s on the way to collect a job before setting his course to Nevarro.

Din enjoys solitude during the few rotations that it takes to get to Nevarro, taking the time to reclaim a space of his own again and have a chance to feel “free”. Deep down he knows it’s only a fleeting moment but once that he’ll savor until he’s forced to return home.

Once he arrives at Nevarro he rests at his house for the night. The house is still bare bones essentially, not many furnishings inside. He’s been too busy on Mandalore with the others to make the journey here to complete his new home. But now that he’s going to be coming here more frequently, perhaps it’s time to make this house a home away from home… his home away from home, no one else’s.

In the morning he heads to Karga’s, feeling a little excited that he’ll be exploring the galaxy once again. If there’s something Din learned over the past few months being anchored down on Mandalore, it’s that he doesn’t like to be anchored down in one place too long. It’s one thing to have a home base, sure. But Din’s old life led him to explore all corners of the galaxy and he’s missed that lately.

“Well look who it is!” Karga says as Din walks in, his booming voice spreading across the room.

“Long time, no see,” he continues, “Where have you been? Thought I’d never see you use that place on the outskirts of town.”

“I’ve been on Mandalore.”

“I see. Where’s the little critter?”

“He stayed back… with my riduur.”

“Your what?”

Kriff, why did he say that? Din isn’t one for interpersonal relationships. Maybe it’s because he’s dying to let his frustrations out; dying to tell someone how he feels. But he fears Karga, or anyone else for that matter, wouldn’t get it; wouldn’t understand where he’s coming from. So he decides to explain to Karga what a riduur is and say nothing more.

“My… wife,” Din says.

“Wow, congratulations! Didn’t peg you as the marriage type. But it’s nice that your little green fellow has a mother now.”

“He’s very happy,” Din says through gritted teeth.

“Well, enough of the pleasantries. Let me get you your tracking fob,” Karga says, reaching into his pocket.

“Here,” he says, handing the fob off to Din, “Tannon Rene, just your typical low life. Owes a wealthy family here a large sum of credits but ran off once he realized he couldn’t pay them back. Rumor is he’s hiding at an inn on Naboo, in the capital city.”

“Got it. Shouldn't be too long,” Din says, turning and leaving.

“See you when you return!” Karga calls out.

Din offers a small wave over his shoulder and sets off towards the Crest. Walking through the streets of Nevarro has him feeling nostalgic for the life he used to live, back when it was just him and Grogu, taking bounties as they come. At least this way he can feel a small sliver of this old life with also a new place to call home.

It’s still relatively early in the morning, and it takes a little over a full rotation to get to Naboo. He should be there mid morning on the next cycle there, ready to hit the ground running on this bounty.

Naboo is just coming into Din’s sight. He’s never been here before but from what he can tell it’s a beautiful planet, very green and full of nature. He lands his ship on the outskirts of Theed, parking it in a grassy field.

He heads into the city, grass turning into sandy colored stones under his feet. Soon enough he’s met with ornate architecture, the buildings decorative and intricate. He feels out of place here. He is out of place here. He’s met with stares as he walks through the streets, but that’s typical for him. Some people aren’t accustomed to seeing a Mandalorian in their day to day life, much less one with the flashiest silver beskar you’ve ever seen. As he gets closer to the city center, the buildings start to be adorned with pastel green domed roofs – he’s getting closer to the palace. He walks past a cantina and does a double take.

This would be a good place to gain intel, he thinks to himself.

He goes inside and cantina was the wrong word to describe this place. It’s too… fancy. It’s more like a lounge, an upscale one at that, a far cry from the ones he’s used to on Nevarro and Tatooine. He’s met with more stares as he walks through the lounge, taking a seat at the bar in the center of the room. The bartender, a tall human male, goes to ask him for his order but Din puts his hand up and says, “No need. I’m looking for an inn.”

“There’s several. Are you looking to stay close to the city center or on the outskirts?”

“What’s cheaper?”

“The outskirts. I assume you’re going after a bounty.”

“Maybe.”

“Well I may have some information,” the bartender says.

“Oh?”

“The Star-Lux. Pretty nice for a budget inn. If you’re standing facing the palace, make a left, and keep going down. It’ll be the last inn on the outskirts of the city. The girl at the front desk is real pretty; a sweetheart. You think your bounty’s there? Talk her up and I’m sure she’ll tell you what you need to know.”

“Thanks,” he says, rising from the bar stool.

The bartender offers a small nod of his head and Din walks away, feeling all the sets of eyes on him as he exits. He follows the directions he was given, heading to the palace before making a left. He thinks about what the bartender said about talking up the girl at the counter… Din is not good at that; not good at flirting… at all.

He eventually reaches the Star-Lux at the edge of the city, a building that matches the surrounding architecture with a modest sign written in Aurebesh. The tracking fob in his pocket is going crazy, beeping and vibrating strongly upon arriving at the Star-Lux. He heads inside and immediately spots the front desk situated in the back of the room. And that’s when he sees you for the first time. The bartender was right- you’re pretty, gorgeous even. He feels guilty for thinking that knowing he has a riduur back home but he can’t help it. You’re easy on the eyes and his legs feel like jelly as he walks closer to you. He’s cheated death numerous times and faced off with some of the biggest threats of the galaxy but just walking towards you, a pretty girl, has him weak in the knees.

You look up from your data pad and raise an eyebrow at him. He doesn’t blame you. A Mandalorian sauntering over to your front desk is a strange sight. The visor of his helmet trails up and down your form, what he can see from behind the desk anyway. He takes note of your name on the name tag you're wearing pinned to your dress; a dress in a color that suits your eyes with a low cut neckline... exposing your collarbone and your cleavage. He feels his cock twitch in his flight suit.

“How can I help you?” you ask. Five words. Five words is all it takes for his attraction to you to grow deeper.

“I’m… looking for someone.”

“…Okay?”

“I’m looking for Tannon Rene. He’s here.” he says, holding out the tracking fob and holding it out in his palm.

“I’m not allowed to just hand out information about a guest,” you say, folding your arms.

Kriff when you do that your breasts are pushed together, defining your cleavage even more. He rests his elbow on the desk, leaning forward towards you. It’s time to pull out the flirting.

“You… come here often?”

“…I work here,” you laugh.

Oh Maker, he’s so stupid. He’s not good at this. He’s not one to flirt. He’s not one to go after women… they normally come after him, as bad as that sounds.

“Right,” he says, letting out a nervous laugh.

“...Like I said, can’t give out any information about a guest.”

“You know… you’d look good with a helmet on,” he tries next.

“Excuse me?!” you say, face contorting into anger.

“I’m sorry- I meant- I’m-I’m a Mandalorian. It’s just part of our culture, it wasn’t an insult,” he says, the words coming out in an endless stream.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. “It’s okay,” you say, looking at him again.

It’s almost like you can sense how hard he’s trying (and also failing), almost like you’re feeling bad for him.

You let out a sigh. “Fine. He might be in room 122. But you didn’t hear that from me. Got it?” you say sternly, pointing a finger at him.

Din can’t believe his luck. It worked. His poor excuse for flirting actually worked.

“Th-Thank you,” he manages to spit out.

You gesture down the hallway and he follows your direction, nodding at you as he walks. He stops at a door labeled 122 and decides to knock, pretending he’s inn personnel.

Knock knock. ��Mr. Rene? We have a question about your stay.”

He hears a voice cough behind the door. “Just a minute.”

Din takes a moment to get his blaster drawn and places another hand on the handcuffs attached to his belt. There’s some shuffling behind the door and finally, it opens. Karga was right… This guy is a low life.

“What the-” he starts but Din points the blaster against his chest.

He raises his arms and starts rambling. “Please, I mean no trouble. Is this about credits? I got credits. Hang on-”

Din sighs and pulls out the tracking fob, holding it out in front of him.

“Kriff,” he sighs, “Do what you gotta do I guess.”

Poor guy probably realized has no match in a fight against Din. This outcome is safer but… sort of boring. He lets Din cuff without so much as a scuffle before dragging him down the hallway and back into the lobby.

“Thanks again,” he says, turning his helmet to look at you. His visor trails down to your cleavage involuntarily and you pick up on it, giggling and offering a small wave.

“Anytime, Mando.”

His cock twitches in his flight suit again. But it doesn’t last long because Tannon is already complaining about how tight his cuffs are. He walks out of the inn, fighting the urge to turn and get one last look at you before dragging Tannon back to the Crest.

The journey back to the Guild is uneventful. Din ended up carbon freezing Tannon because he wouldn’t shut up, asking Din all sorts of questions about his ship and Mandalorians that Din just did not have the patience for.

He lands back on Nevarro and Karga’s guys unload Tannon from the Crest while he collects his credits.

“So you’ve still got it, huh?” Karga teases, counting out Din’s credits.

“Still got it,” Din affirms.

“Taking another?”

“No. I have to return to Mandalore soon.”

“Gotta get back to the wife, the old ball and chain, huh?” Karga chuckles.

“Something like that,” Din says, taking the credits from Karga and offering a tip of his helmet before leaving.

Din could go home right now… But he could also go back to the house he has here and crash for a few hours before leaving. He gives into his temptations and heads to the house on the outskirts of town, thinking he’ll get some much needed rest. However… he can’t stop thinking about you; thinking about your cleavage and your voice and the way you pointed your finger at him. Maker, why did that do it for him?

As soon as he gets to the house he heads for the bedroom, sitting on the bed and taking his cock out. It’s been a long time since he’s had any action to say the least. He hasn’t done anything with May yet. He really doesn’t have the urge to… but he knows he can’t hold her off forever. She’ll want to raise warriors with him.

He puts May out of his mind for right now and goes back to thinking about you, stroking his cock to the memory of his brief interaction with you. It doesn’t take long for his imagination to take control, imagining what you would look like underneath him, crying on his cock, whimpering his name.

Kriff, Din. Really? he thinks to himself.

The shame doesn’t last long, though. Because before he knows it his cum is spilling over his fist. He already came, and it was a hard orgasm, too. Except he now feels… guilty; guilty because he just stroked his cock to the thought of another woman when his riduur is waiting at home for him with his son. Maker, he feels terrible. But a small voice in the back of his mind is telling him to go see you again. He considers it briefly but ultimately that will have to wait. He goes to bed and of course, he’s dreaming of you.

It’s morning again. Time to go back to Mandalore, something he’s already dreading. He’s had his taste of freedom but it’s time to go back to reality now. He leaves his house and heads into the town center, stopping to get one last look at it before leaving and wondering when he’ll return. He stops at the market and grabs some supplies; some rations, blankets, pottery, and some scrap metal, before going back to the Crest. He takes off with a sigh, already feeling like the journey home will be long and dreadful.

He was correct, the journey back to Mandalore dragged on, feeling like it was twice as long as the journey to Nevarro a few rotations prior. He breaches the atmosphere and lands not too far from his house. As he unloads the ship May walks over with Grogu in her arms. He greets Din with an excited babble.

“How was it?” May asks.

“Not bad. Got us some supplies.”

“Thank you, Din,” she says kindly, “Where did you have to go?”

“Ferrix.”

He lies. It came out naturally. He doesn’t even understand why he’s lying to her. Sure, he feels guilty for masturbating while thinking of you but technically nothing incriminating happened.

“Hopefully the bounty didn’t give you too much trouble.”

“He didn’t. Surrendered quickly.”

“That’s good… I’m just about to make dinner if you want any,” she offers, walking back to the house alongside him.

“That’s okay. I’m pretty tired from the journey.”

“Of course,” she says softly, “I’ll keep some left over for you.”

“Thanks,” he says curtly, heading inside and going straight to the bedroom.

He collapses on the bed and already starts to feel sleepy. Once again, consumed with thoughts of you.

Chapter Two

End note: I hoped you guys liked the first chapter!! I’d love to hear your thoughts 🩵

Graphic by @nostalxgic

Banners/divider by @saradika

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#din djarin x reader #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin smut #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedrostories #pedro pascal #mamh #din djarin x you #star wars fanfiction #star wars #starwarsficnetwork #married!din djarin x reader #married!din djarin

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taesanrot · 1 month

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[from the start] taesan x f!reader | 4.0k words college au, classmates to lovers, making out, alc consumption ++ terrible drunk decisions lmao, angst kinda, misunderstanding, mutual pining, fear of physical touch at first, everyone is just a little confused note. sorry this took literally so long to finish, i kept changing my mind on how i wanted it to go. fun fact the original idea for this fic was based on my real life situationship. hope u guys enjoy <3

you shouldn't be here. you should be sleeping off the alcohol flowing through you in your own bed, at your place. you shouldn't be here, pressed against taesan's chest, your mouth molded against his.

up until a few hours ago, han taesan was nothing but a fleeting memory. just someone your friends brought up once in a while to watch the way your cheeks flared up in embarrassment. he was part of the past, an unfortunate moment during your freshman year in university. your friends didn't know about the guilt that ate away at you every time the boy's name crossed your mind.

the two of you had met in english, deskmates who bonded over the frustrations that came with your shitty professor and endless essays. complaining about class turned into hushed whispers while the professor wasn't looking, adding each other on socials and snapping silly pictures back and forth, walking back to the dorms together. because... why not? taesan was cute and you couldn't help but chase the feeling that came with every interaction you two shared.

you never thought it would turn into anything, until your friends pointed out the obvious: he liked you. taesan liked you. the way your hair flowed so prettily, the way you smiled at all of his stupid pictures and the way your eyebrows furrowed at the professors nasally voice.

the two of you had an undeniable connection, and it ended with the two of you sitting on his bed watching a movie together on his roommate, sungho's, tv.

flirty glances and brushing hands turned into his hands running up your arms, breath hot on your neck as you tangled your fingers in his dark hair. having him like this should've felt like heaven, but instead your chest tightened and your body tensed, to the point where taesan pulled away from you, looking into your eyes and softly asking if this was okay, if you were okay.

you should've told him the truth, you were just scared. you hadn't done this before, not with someone who you felt so deeply for. you just wanted to slow down a bit. but instead you faked a smile and just said that you remembered something your friend had asked you to do, ignoring the stab in your chest as his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. you pulled away uncomfortably quick and left without another word. that was months ago.

the last you'd heard from him was hours after you left; he'd apologized profusely, saying he'd misread things and you tried and tried to reassure him that he did nothing wrong. you wished he could read your mind so you didn't have to face the fact that you were a coward and you'd hurt him in the process.

taesan thought that night would be the last time he'd see you. he could tell something was wrong, and he'd figured that you'd never want to see him again. but for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to blame you, hate you, nothing.

...

"seriously? you're not mad.... at all?" sungho sat up in his bed, staring at his roommate in disbelief. "dude, she literally led you on and ghosted you." jaehyun chimed in, shaking his head at the younger boy. taesan shrugged and went back to tuning his guitar, covering up the sounds of his friends' scoffs with the vibrations of the strings he plucked. they thought he was hopeless, and secretly, he agreed.

...

after months of radio silence, it was safe to say that taesan was not expecting his phone to ping with a message from you.

you tried to move on from things with the music major, joking away your pain with your friends and going on dates with other guys. it worked for a few months, but eventually thoughts of han taesan caught up to you. they plagued your mind for days on end.

late at night, lying in your bed and staring at the ceiling, you wondered how things could've been different if you'd just told taesan the truth. you thought it was easier to just run away and pretend nothing happened between the two of you, that you'd be at peace if you just went back to before you knew he liked you, before you knew you liked him too. in the end, it just left you feeling empty.

you hadn’t ever met anyone like him, something you hadn’t ever admitted out loud. you couldn't go back to the way things were before, he'd left an imprint on your mind like no one else.

the thoughts you tried to smother finally came up to surface on a breezy saturday night as you were celebrating your friend, yunjin's, 21st birthday party at her apartment. after more than a few shots and the truly you split with yeri, you felt like you were on another planet. you stumbled over to the living room, falling onto the couch and leaning your head back and closing your eyes.

after a few minutes of sitting with your intoxicated state, you lazily unlocked your phone, scrolling through your instagram timeline, attention focusing in and out. that was until you came across a certain set of pictures. you squinted, reading the caption.

tae23san take my tears @psungho @myungj4e

pictured was none other than taesan, sitting on top of a car with his head tilted back to look at the sky.

sitting up slightly, you carefully scrolled through the dump of photos taesan had posted: him posing in the booth of a recording studio, he, sungho, and jaehyun in a photobooth, a candid of him playing the guitar, a mirror selfie with sungho, and a solo shot of him.

the last picture almost took your breath away; he posed with a hand ruffling his own hair as he pouted his lips.

all at once, you felt every emotion you fought so hard to drown explode in your heart. you missed him. so much. your head spun with sadness, guilt, and longing. you wanted to- no, you needed to see him.

it wasn't long before the thoughts popped in your head.

why don't i just text him?

whats the worst that could happen?

it was bad idea, a terrible idea truly. but you couldn't help yourself, you opened your contacts and found your chat with him faster than you could blink. you fumbled with the screen, trying to type out a cohesive message to the boy you so desperately wanted to see.

[1:53 a.m.]

y/n: taesnjsnnnnn

y/n: i miss you

y/n: i'm soryry

y/n: can i swee yuo? please

...

taesan was hoping to have a peaceful smoke with his friends. he, sungho, and jaehyun had spent the day working on a project for their advanced music production class, and were now sitting on the couch passing a blunt around, some rnb songs floating softly through the air.

taesan breathed in slowly, sucking in the laced smoke and exhaling it softly, humming at the warm feeling in his limbs. he felt his phone buzz in his pocket, laughing at the feeling of the vibrations against his thigh.

"this is done for." jaehyun mumbled before flicking off the ash and placing the end on the side table. taesan watched him with hooded eyes as he stood up to stretch out his limbs, making sungho and taesan giggle.

"i'm going to my room." sungho stood as well, murmuring a similar quip before meandering over to his door. "don't forget to turn off the lights, san."

taesan groaned in acknowledgement, letting his head fall back onto the couch. not really wanting to sleep, he wondered if he should watch a movie or make some food.

the boy sighed in boredom, pulling his phone out of his pocket languidly and swiping through his notifications.

his already blown out pupils grew even bigger at the sight of your name in his notifications. he'd never gotten around to deleting your number -- he figured there was no point.

his eyes focused on the words next to your name. 4 unopened messages. he rubbed his eyes slowly.

was he really that high right now? or did you really message him. taesan's gaze jumped over to the timestamp.

10 minutes ago.

he hurriedly clicked the notification, tapping his thigh with his fingers as the screen expanded to display your texts. you were clearly a bit out of it, taesan smiled at your typos. his vision seemed to laser focus on the one text you didn't misspell.

i miss you.

taesan couldn't say he didn't feel the same way. despite sungho and jaehyun's relentless nags, he thought about you more often than he'd like to admit.

somehow, he knew something was up the fateful night the two of you had hung out. that wasn't you, he just knew it. or so he told himself. he didn't want to be mad at you, he didn't want to hate you. he had hoped for this day so many times. the day you'd tell him you didn't mean it.

taesan's fingers moved across the screen slowly.

[2:08 a.m.]

han taesan: hey

han taesan: where are you?

...

from the moment you hit send, you had suddenly been more alert, thoughts racing a million miles a minute.

what do i do if he responds? is he even awake? he just posted, he has to be. god, i hope this works.

you'd taken the leap, there wasn't any going back.

you begrudgingly lifted yourself from the couch you were sitting on, looking for your friends so you could take your mind off of the messages you'd just sent.

walking over to the fridge, you grabbed a water bottle to help you sober up a bit.

eunchae and chaewon did a great job at keeping you from checking your phone every thirty seconds. you laughed at their horrific job at playing pictionary against two guys yunjin knew, anton and sohee.

your two friends were losing bad, and you smiled watching anton and chaewon bicker, anton giggled at chaewon's reddened face. you hoped you'd remember to tease her about it later.

your phone buzzed twice in your pocket and you held your breath as you fished it out and tapped the screen. face to face with taesan's messages, nearly shrieking, you quickly typed a response.

you paused for a second, calculating your next move. you really wanted to see him, praying to god that he was free and willing.

[2:09 a.m.]

y/n: yunjins place. in source complex

taesan: oh

taesan: what room

y/n: 204

taesan: im 3 floors up

taesan: in 511

y/n: can i come up

taesan: yeah of course

while you were definitely a little more sober than 15 minutes ago, you still fought to not squeal into your hand. looking around, you searched for yunjin so you could bid her goodbye.

...

mellow music still floating in the air of the living room, taesan dropped his phone in his lap. he let out a shaky sigh.

whether it was the weed or the fact that he was about to see you after what felt like forever, taesan was suddenly very nervous, wiping his hands on his pants and slowly standing from the couch.

rubbing his arms, he looked around the apartment, unsure of what to do until you got there. he assumed you'd take a bit to leave your friends apartment and make your way up to his. taesan hoped you'd make it okay; he wanted to come get you but was honestly way too fucking high to leave his apartment.

"i guess i'll go brush my teeth or something." the boy mumbled to himself, walking over to the bathroom to fix his hair and make sure he smelled okay.

...

stepping into the elevator, you looked at your reflection as the doors closed, almost forgetting to hit the button for the fifth floor in the midst of smoothing your hair down and fixing your slightly smeared eyeliner with your thumb.

closing your eyes, you lightly rubbed your temples in a sore attempt to bring yourself back to reality, and to emotionally prepare yourself.

you were seeing taesan again, finally.

you hid your blush from literally no one and smiled slightly into your hand as the elevator doors opened.

...

standing in front of the boy's door, the weight of the situation at hand truly hit you.

what exactly did you want from this?

what did you want from him?

if you ended up hurting him again you wouldn't be able to forgive yourself. huffing slightly, you brought a hand up to your neck to fiddle with your necklace and think.

your dazed yet racing thoughts were interrupted by the opening of the front door to taesan's apartment, door swinging back to reveal none other than the music major himself.

"hi" you smiled and spoke quietly.

even though he knew you were coming, the boy somehow still couldn't believe the sight in front of him. it was really you.

you looked as breathtaking as ever in his eyes, your hair a bit shorter than the last time he saw you. taesan caught himself and chuckled slightly, moving out of the way to make room for you.

"come in."

you blushed as you stepped into the apartment awkwardly, not sure what to do with yourself. the alcohol was still making your head spin, eyes adjusting slowly to the sight of taesan's living space. you slipped your shoes off quietly and followed the boy as he walked into the kitchen.

"do you want some water? or snacks? we have chips and fruit, unless sungho ate them all. i think we have some juice too...." taesan's high had clearly not worn off in the slightest, and the boy winced after realizing he rambled on about the contents of his pantry for a full 30 seconds.

you couldn't have cared less, eyes focused on how pretty his hair looked brushed down in his face. making eye contact with him, you noticed the red tint to them, giggling quietly.

"we also have -- are you even listening?" taesan smiled at your starry eyes as you shook your head and laughed.

"god y/n- okay let's just go sit down." he watched you eagerly turn around and nearly skip towards his living room couch, settling right in the middle of the sofa.

the couch cushions were soft as they rubbed slightly against the exposed skin of your legs. shivering slightly, you wished you'd worn a bit more than just a crop top and denim shorts.

your gaze traced the lines of the wood on his coffee table, thoughts lost and scattered. you were just as blown away at the sight of him as he was of you. you recalled the sight of his larger hands shoved in the pockets of his zip up, wondering what it would feel like to have them wrapped around your own.

you wriggled your socked toes to a beat only you could hear, trying to take your mind off of the nervousness flowing through your veins.

"here." you looked up quickly to see taesan standing in front of you, about an arms length away. "i brought you some water."

taesan bit his lip to keep himself from smiling at the sight of you on the sofa. he looked around awkwardly for a second, not sure where to sit -- you were in the middle of the couch and choosing either side of the sofa would leave him sitting directly next to you.

"why are you still standing? come sit." you tilted your head at him and patted the spot to your right softly, smiling up at the nervous boy.

sighing out in relief, taesan plopped down next to you and settled into the corner of the sofa. you turned slightly so you could face him as he spoke, glass of water abandoned on the coffee table.

"do you wanna watch a movie?" he asked.

"is it okay to turn on the tv this late?" you shyly responded

taesan's ears turned slightly red in embarrassment. he 100% forgot about his two other roommates sleeping soundly in their own rooms.

while they probably wouldn't mind the noise, taesan didn't want to have to explain why you of all people were in their living room at this very moment.

"if you're okay with it, we can watch something in my room, i can play it on my laptop." taesan spoke.

your cheeks burned slightly at the idea of seeing the boy's room but you hummed in agreement, standing up quickly. the sudden movement caused you to stumble a bit. taesan stood up after you, wrapping a hand around your arm in an attempt to steady you.

"are you okay?" he turned you to face him fully, hands resting lightly on your shoulders as he looked at you worriedly.

your breath hitched at the mere inches of space between the two of you. taesan's gaze left you speechless, and your eyes searched his face before landing on his lips.

for every minute that had passed since you sent that first fateful text message, the anticipation had been eating you alive. deciding you couldn't take it anymore, you pulled yourself up by the collar of the boy's hoodie and pressed your lips against his.

his mouth was plush and unmoving against yours and you let yourself close your eyes and savor the feeling for a moment before lowering yourself back onto your heels.

opening your eyes, you mentally geared yourself for the awkward conversation you feared was about to ensue. taesan, on the other hand, barely gave you a moment to breathe, chasing your lips the second they detached from his. slipping a hand behind your neck, he tilted his face down and sealed his lips over yours once again.

taesan's mind raced as he bit your bottom lip, wondering what this was going to lead to and if he'd regret it. he decided he couldn't care less when he felt you tilt your head to the side and push your tongue in his mouth.

you craned your face upward and grabbed the sides of his sweatshirt tightly, like he might disappear if you let go of him. you needed more of him.

you broke your lips from his for a split second to ask where his room was. taesan mumbled something you couldn't hear before pulling you by your shoulders. the boy's mouth didn't leave yours for a second, only pulling away to push his door open.

you opened your eyes slowly, looking up to meet the taller boy's hooded gaze. you turned around and took in the sight in front of you. taesan's bed was in the corner of the room, posters hung above a small desk. you smiled at the tangles of wires on the floor, leading to a small speaker system and bass guitar.

"gonna go turn off the lights and check the door." taesan's voice rasped. you hummed in acknowledgement and stepped forward into the room slowly.

you walked over and climbed onto the boy's bed, bringing your legs up so you could hug your knees. staring at your socked feet, your mind was completely blank. when taesan came back you were absentmindedly fixing your hair and shirt, not even noticing the boy's return.

"are you okay?" taesan asked softly.

you looked up to see his eyes on you, smiling at the way hands were politely tucked behind his back. he was nervous, hoping he didn't overstep or make you uncomfortable. taesan didn't think he could handle watching you run out his door a second time.

"okay?" you tilted your head in confusion.

"with this... being here with me." your heart panged with sadness, feeling so guilty for how you made him feel before. you wanted to make it up to him.

"i am. i want this. i promise, taesan." you watched taesan slowly process your words though his wavering high, smile forming on his face. his hands came up to push your legs down, and you scooted towards him, giggling and wrapping your legs are his standing figure.

taesan had abandoned his hoodie in the living room, now in a loose t-shirt. your hands scrunched the fabric of the graphic tee as you pulled the boy towards you again. taesan complied without a word, bending down to meet your awaiting lips. you moved your lips against his languidly, savoring each swipe of his tongue against yours.

taesan pushed your body backwards so he could climb on the bed with you. you scooted back until you were pressed against the headboard, only staying there for a second before taesan pulled you onto his lap.

his lips went to your neck, pressing soft kisses and grazing his teeth against the sensitive skin. with each kiss, bite, and swipe of his tongue against you, taesan could feel you practically melting into his lap. eyes screwed shut, your head leaned back to further expose your neck and your fingers tugged at the boy's hair.

you slightly pulled taesan's face away from you, bringing your hands to gingerly cup his face. his eyes were slightly glossed over as you placed a wet kiss on his lips.

the last traces of your sobriety were thrown out the window, both of you drunk off each other. taesan thought you looked like an angel, bringing a hand up to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. your eyes formed crescents as you smiled at the boy, and he swore he almost stopped breathing.

your hand came up to rest over his that was still cupping your face, intertwining your fingers. bringing them closer to your face, you opened taesan's and placed a featherlight kiss in the center of his palm.

"what was that for?" taesan mumbled in between giggles as he watched you continue to play with his fingers.

"thank you." your voice wavered slightly, eyes looking up to meet his nervously. you laughed at the puzzled look on his face before continuing.

"for giving me a second chance and letting me come over." you sighed shakily under taesan's gaze. "i missed you, a lot."

"probably not as much as i missed you." taesan replied softly, squeezing your hands and tilting your chin up to meet your wide eyes.

the moment that passed between the two of you was long and drawn out, you savored the feeling of weight being lifted off your chest. trapped in his eyes and tucked in his arms, you couldn't fathom missing the chance to have han taesan like this.

as the thick silence dissolved and taesan's aching lips found yours again, the two of you knew staying away from each other was ill-fated from the start.

[bonus — 10:54 AM]

blinking the sleep from your eyes, you lazily searched taesan's fridge for a water bottle. as you shut the door, a loud crash abruptly pulled you out of your sleepy daze. coming face to face with myung jaehyun, you let out a yelp of surprise.

"no fucking way." he spoke. a bowl of dry cereal lay at his feet, contents now strewn across the kitchen tiles.

ears turning red, you realized how insane you must look: your hair was untied and messily brushed down and you were wearing nothing but an old tshirt and some boxers taesan had given you.

"what happe- oh god." taesan said from behind jaehyun, having rushed over to the kitchen to check on you. it was safe to say the last thing he expected was to see you and his roommate staring open mouthed at each other. flustered, taesan opened his mouth to explain, but jaehyun interrupted him with a loud sigh.

"fuck you tae, now i owe woonhak 20 bucks."

...

taglist: @iweirdthingsblog @yjwkisser @sulkygyu @enhyven

#han taesan #han dongmin #han taesan x reader #taesan fluff #taesan x reader #taesan smut #taesan #bnd fics #bnd smut #bnd imagines #boynextdoor #taesan imagines #taesan boynextdoor #bnd fluff #bnd x reader #boynextdoor x reader

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ipegchangbin · 1 year

Text

— smudgeproof

sub!model!felix x dom!makeup artist!reader

There’s a new lipstick that claims to be make-out-proof. You, with your makeup expertise, naturally decide to test it on your model boyfriend, Felix: except he’s the one that gets to wear it.

🏷 gender neutral afab reader (they/them pronouns, no specifics), smut, fluff, some humor, established relationship, porn with barely any plot.

🏷 petnames “mommy” and “baby girl,” unprotected sex, feminization kink, slight oral and hand fixation, marking, butt plug (felix using), thigh riding, fingering (felix receiving), overstimulation, male squirting, lots of teasing, voyeurism mention, no specifics about y/n’s physique.

w/c: 8.8k

a/n: happy (hopefully not late) valentine’s day! to celebrate, i finally present to you the long overdue felix-gets-fucked fic! based on my thought piece, this concept has been on my mind ever since. i kept rewriting this fic but i drew the header art so fast LMAO icb i finished it!! otherwise, enjoy!

18+ only. minors do not interact.

On slow days, you would often find yourself bored in the makeup store. Your boyfriend, Lee Felix, would probably be just as bored, sitting in the chair of his set. Your notifications were as empty as the barren shop.

After two aimless scrolls down your Instagram feed, you realized that you hadn’t posted anything recently and hadn’t texted Felix that day.

The afternoon sun brought in waves of humid air throughout the city, setting everyone back from a trip around the shops. You peered over at the conversation with your boyfriend as you thought about ways to kill time.

It wasn’t uncommon to go for a while without contacting each other. It had been years since you two became official, after all, and comfortable silence had become a given that you both simply indulged in. That didn’t take your mind off of the boredom, though, and your fingers itched to do something. They found Felix’s contact on your phone, bedazzled with an embarrassing nickname and profile picture.

It stung to think that if you weren’t looking at his endearing profile, you would instead settle for some sort of creeping guilt of not posting anything on your social media page after a while. Either way, you shot him a message.

you: lix, wya? you: im bored as hell

Considering Felix’s work as a professional model, he would probably reply in less than ten minutes. You thought to turn your phone off and play with the freshly-cleaned makeup brushes on the makeup store’s vanity counter while waiting.

But this is Lee Felix, the sunshine of your days, and you didn’t have to wait any longer than two seconds.

lixie: Am at the shoot I told u about lixie: Bored too tbh LOL

Even if he typed in a silly way, you couldn’t help but love him.

He’d always been your go-to person to unwind and be yourself around. Starting as best friends gave you both a jumpstart to be comfortable around the other. People would say it worked a little too well especially since you two had become the most seriously unserious couple in the creative industry.

That fact made him understand you more than anyone else: you were both creatives. Your heart belonged to the artistic liberties of makeup and beauty, while his heart belonged to the ethereal realm of modeling and fashion. Your two hearts found each other, which was almost perfect for the adjacent businesses. He collaborated with you on makeup challenges. You came to his sets as his “preferred makeup artist.” He understood you whenever you ranted about stupid trends and declining engagement in your channels.

With that, could tell him about your uneventful day and equally uneventful social media pages, but you refrained from complaining more than dropping a passing mention.

you: idrk what to do there are no customers you: and i havent posted anything new you: but its not like theres much to do lixie: Well you’re the genius one here! lixie: Got art block or something?

The prompt response caught you off guard. Almost as if you have forgotten, this was Felix, and he always sensed whenever something was wrong.

As if he had some sort of radar or emotion detector, he always just knew how you were. Maybe it had to do with the fact that he had always been in the proximity of your face, observing your concentration as you put eyeliner on him before shooting. Maybe that connection stuck with him after years of being together, and it had remained strong to the point that he could feel it from miles away, staring emptily into the face of some other random MUA.

Alas, you found yourself overthinking again. You would rather overthink about your relationship than your semi-abandoned creative efforts, though.

you: well i guess you can call it that. im just conscious since i havent really posted you: idk what to do next. ive done everything lixie: How about, “Boyfriend does my makeup drunk edition”? :D you: boring ! lixie: “Makeup tut but bf does my voiceover”? :D you: just because it got views doesnt mean its worth doing a fifth time >:(( lixie: I’m kidding LOL

The scowl on your face reflected on the mirror sitting in front of you. You knew that if only Felix saw it right now, he would have lost his mind trying to turn it upside down.

You were right though. You two did everything.

My boyfriend does my makeup? Done, and he did an okay job at it. “The boy beat” makeup tutorial featuring Felix? Damn right he did. Boyfriend does my voiceover? It was so good that you guys did it four times and everyone fell in love with the deep timbre of his voice contrasted with his surprising amount of knowledge. Even if it was easy to collaborate with him, it was hard to create something new and unique. On the contrary, your audience fell in love with you two. It’s nice to watch a model and a stylist practice their art together.

Lost for ideas, you decided just to tease him instead.

lixie: So? No ideas in that pretty head? you: i got one thing in mind lixie: And what might that be? you: having you here you: in my arms you: to kiss up and call pretty :>

It was a thing that you usually did since you loved how he always reacted so pricelessly. He didn’t disappoint with his response, the notifications popping up not even half a minute after your last message.

lixie: HNDNSABNNDJS lixie: Don’t tease me unprompted!! lixie: ;__;

You’re so grateful that he’s always up to play with you.

You thought deeply — too deeply for a situation like this — and scanned the store shelves and storage room for ideas.

You wondered what he would be up to right now.

Felix was stunned.

Done-up in the most expensive face and hairstyle he’s rocked to date, adorned with an unbuttoned suit jacket that one could only dream to wear, he was supposed to look like the stunner. His pecs were only barely hidden and the midsection of his upper body was almost entirely exposed.

Instead, he was the speechless one. He wasn’t shocked by the cold air seeping through his revealing outfit, but his hair raised at your messages.

Your teasing usually should not affect him this much, but today, it was something different. The whole day, all he could think about was you. His mind went to your first meeting. Earlier, he got deja vu as one of the stylists applied lipstick on him. It felt familiar, the feeling of a senior stylist’s hand resting on his face as a brush glided along the perimeter of his mouth. All it lacked was the stunning view of your face in particular. It reminded him of the first time you ever laid eyes on him, and it was to check on his eyeshadow. You stared at each other for too long, exchanged numbers after the shoot, and the rest was history.

He was pissed, to say the least, that you weren’t the assigned stylist for the shoot this time. Nothing could ever compare to the focused look you gave him as you fixed the corners of his mouth with the smooth swipe of your pinky finger.

He craved that touch again.

“Yo,” a dragged-out sigh whisked through the air. “You’ll catch a fly in your mouth if you keep that jaw open.”

Felix looked up from his phone to find Hyunjin, his best friend and one of the junior photographers on set, eyeing his reflection in the mirror. He had his bleached blond hair half-up, tied messily to complete his so-called “intern look.” Most of the senior directors and photographers on set confused him for a model.

“Am I interrupting some kinda internal monologue sesh?” Hyunjin smiled, leaning behind Felix’s chair, raising a brow at him through the reflection.

“No, I just—”

“He’s thinking about Y/N again.” Jeongin, their other best friend, popped from behind the vanity, carrying Hyunjin’s abandoned camera.

The two were interns at the studio. Both were very bored art students looking for a job to pass the time by. Jeongin was there to work as a personal assistant and was mistaken for a stylist considering his fashion sense. His behavior around set proved otherwise, though, since he spent the entire day prodding at everyone’s business.

Felix was no exception as a victim.

“Imagine flirting online,” Hyunjin chuckled while reaching for the camera. Jeongin handed it out to him, only to swing his arm back, teasing the older.

Jeongin dismissed the frown on Hyunjin’s face and fiddled with the camera. “Yeah, cut your significant other some slack, they must be busy at the store or something,” he added.

“Nah, they aren’t.”

Hyunjin snagged the camera back. “Editing a Youtube video?”

“That’s exactly why they messaged me. They asked for ideas for a new video.” Felix sat back and redirected his eyes back to the conversation on his phone. The other two slowly turned their heads to each other.

“Wow! Did you hear that, Innie? They messaged him!” Hyunjin yelped.

“Lix didn’t message first? Unheard of!” Jeongin gasped.

“Cut it out, overdramatic cunts.” The accent made the last word roll off Felix’s tongue in a heavy and aggressive accent. “I want to help them this once. Shoo. Leave me be.”

“Oh, why are you getting all worked up, man?” The younger placed his hands on Felix’s shoulders and wiggled them.

Actually — why was he getting all worked up? Everything seemed off: he wasn’t the type to get annoyed easily like that.

He would have defended himself, but he thought it over. Not only had he been unusually sentimental while getting ready, but even as the day started, he was already rolling off to a rough start. He barely got out of bed, reaching out to you from the side and asking for longer morning cuddles specifically from you. He had been so clingy all day that the silence and afternoon heat killed him from looking forward to anything else but you.

A discussion brewed between the menaces as Felix thought about it. “Innie, you know, he couldn’t even hit the poses right. The director felt bad because our bro didn’t seem into it.”

Felix’s cheeks flushed upon hearing that. “No way, Hyune,” the other replied.

Oh god, Felix thought.

He swatted embarrassing thoughts away from his head to not get teased any further by his own friends. His thoughts — and something else — were hindering him from doing anything physically. The poor boy couldn’t even shift in his seat from embarrassment. It’s not that he didn’t want to physically fidget, he just couldn’t. His entire body froze, but he also just could not move by any means. It would be uncomfortable for him, and it wasn’t just because the clothes restricted him.

Something underneath his clothes would shift too and pierce his body with shockwaves. Before that could, though, his phone vibrated before he did.

you: babe! you: had a breakthrough so big i said eureka out loud in the store [you sent a photo]

Felix immediately opened the notifications and observed the sent messages. He opened the photo even before it loaded. When it did, he nearly melted in his seat.

You supposedly sent him a picture of a product that you found. By the looks of it, you probably thought of doing a product review of it, but that wasn’t the first impression he got from the picture. The first thing he saw was your face, winking with a toothy grin, your beautiful hand holding the product up next to your cheek.

God, you were all sorts of stunning to him.

lixie: OMHJYGOD YOUre so pretty you: dont look at me, silly! you: look at this lipstick. its so funny

For a moment, he didn’t listen. His eyes were still fixated on everything from your expression, to your features, to the nails that you just got done holding up the product. As if he had gone stupid, he had to blink and shake his head before formulating a reply that made sense.

lixie: LMFAOOOO THE NAME you: its not the name baby lixie: WHAT SHADE COLOR IS THAT LMAOOO you: the shade looks fine, look at the label! lixie: What’s it say you: the label claims its make-out proof lixie: ??!!! LOL

Of course, he didn’t make any sort of sense whatsoever. His two friends watched him frantically type away, barely being able to process anything from the mere sight of you.

“Bro’s deluded,” Jeongin whispered.

“Bro’s fucking horny,” Hyunjin commented, squinting at his friend.

you: you sound so funny baby you: anyway i was thinking i should review it you: but can you join me? i wanna try something

It felt like something broke inside of him. A shot of excitement ran through his system, hitting down until his core — oh shit that hurt.

He tried to twist his lower half again, fidgeting in his seat, but it grew harder for him to do so. With tears in his eyes, he jolted up, attempting to focus on the conversation.

lixie: Sure, what do you want me to do? lixie: Won’t you just do an application and wear test thing? you: mmm i guess u can say that you: but im making it a lil different lixie: How so?

The intrigue bit his tongue and Felix attempted to swallow it. The staff around him were wrapping up the shoot, pushing equipment back in their places, and some started to leave as soon as the director announced the last “cut.” He, however, was glued to the vanity chair, shaking in anticipation.

you: im gonna put it on you baby <3

Felix’s eyes widened.

It didn’t matter how many times you placed makeup on him, nor did it matter how many times he joined you in your antics. There were too many things going on in his head that toyed with his thought process and everything that came with it. He didn’t exactly know why, but a knot formed in his stomach. He grew nervous and just knew that you were up to something sinister.

lixie: But how are we gonna do the wear test? I already got my face done and half the day has passed, I’m even done w my part of the shoot you: you dont get it ??? lixie: I don’t get it!! you: ill put it on you when you get here. and were not just testing how long it wears regularly, were testing what the label says you: ill be there in 10mins love you baby

He sat back, looked up from his phone, and his gaze zeroed in on his reflection, attempting to focus on the thought. How would you conduct a different kind of wear test? In terms of makeup, a wear test would simply be to spend a full day with the product on and to see if it still holds its place at the end of it. It had already been well past afternoon by that time and it wasn’t like there were many other things to do that could budge the lipstick aside from dinner. He always trusted your genius, but he knew that there was more to this.

Felix blinked, once, twice, and then stared.

Were you…going to test if it was really make-out proof?

The world around him seemed to dim — it did, since the studio lights were turning off and the senior stylists urged Jeongin to wake the model up from his short-circuiting brain to change out of the clothes.

That is if Felix could still respond before the horniness consumed him.

lixie: Wait lixie: Don’t tell me lixie: DON’T TELL ME lixie: You’ll test it by putting it on me lixie: AND THEN MAKE OUT WITH ME?????? [Read 2:50 PM] lixie: Y/N!!! Answer me!!! [Delivered, unread 2:51 PM]

The cogs in his head accelerated before banging to a full stop, clinks and clanks ringing through his ears at his very slow realization.

“Congrats, smartypants, you figured it out.” Hyunjin scoffed from behind him.

“Dude—wait, hey! Have you been watching me the whole time?!”

“You should be more secretive,” Jeongin giggled. “Get those privacy screen protectors or something. Now we know what poor Y/N has to deal with every day.”

“And stop getting your thoughts tangled in horny next time you text,” Hyunjin elbowed the poor model boy, fiddling with his camera as if nothing happened. “Don’t worry. Your secrets and online PDA are safe with us.”

Felix’s face was washed without color. His jaw hung open both at his friends’ antics and your devilish plans.

“I’m looking forward to that review,” Jeongin added before walking away, teasingly pushing Felix’s shoulder on the way out. “Not that I’ll use it or anything.”

The two friends left the set side-eyeing and giggling at Felix.

—

It wasn’t long before you pulled up to the studio to pick your boyfriend up.

“Hi, darling.” Felix’s greeting and nervous smile lit up the quiet air and darkness of your car. He got in the passenger seat and immediately leaned in to kiss your cheek.

He was trembling.

You had to laugh. “Hey, babe. What’s got you shaken up?”

“Long day.”

“That’s it?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Long because of you,” he said, scrunching his nose. “Kept teasing me.”

“Aw, don’t sulk, silly.” You cooed at him, “Save the pout for later, baby. We’re going home.”

Maybe it was the combination of inhaling your expensive signature scent and hearing the sound of your voice again that made him tingle all over. Maybe it had to do with the curling corners of your mouth that gave Felix all the information he needed in the world. Maybe it was the fact that you held the back of his seat as the car reversed, and the action looked undeniably sexy.

Felix lifted a leg to cross over the other, but it only ever made him look more uncomfortable throughout the entire car ride home. Though concerned, you didn’t point it out, and instead continued to drive.

His chest was heaving and he internally scolded himself for acting like a bitch in heat.

The both of you arrived home sooner than expected.

The tunes that you played earlier in the car ride home stuck in Felix’s head. He wondered if the song choice of a sultry voice singing about “wants and needs” was deliberate. It was your playlist, and if you intended to include subliminal messaging, then it worked like a charm on him.

He had been worked out to the point he couldn’t face you. The moment he laid eyes on you again in your apartment’s living room, he shied away almost immediately.

You caught his averting gaze, though, and disallowed him from living it down. “Is there something on my face, baby?”

Baby. He could spend a lifetime just listening to you calling him that name. The way it sounded so natural coming from you made him melt.

He also could not stop staring at your lips. You always wore a certain gloss no matter the occasion. Even if it was your signature, Felix couldn’t help but stare, and it didn’t make his situation any better. In fact, it got worse, and it felt like the straining in his pants could explode.

“Mm, ‘s nothing, Y/N.”

“You sure?” You prodded. “Your friends kept waving at me and they looked back at you earlier.”

“Ah, please don’t mind them.” He scoffed. “They were being cheeky cunts.”

“That’s a funny way to put it.”

“Anyway, how are we gonna do th-the…uh, the thing…?” Felix stammered, playing with his fingers instead of looking you in the eye.

“Oh, glad you mentioned it!” You hurriedly grabbed the three tiny boxes in your bag. “I got a bit excited over it. Look at this!”

There was nothing too remarkable about the boxes. They looked like basic products, but the huge bolded font on the product labels caught his eye. “It’s more of a stain or something. The label says it can survive five consecutive make-out sessions before a singular budge.”

“It’s…interesting, yeah.” Felix blinked. You chuckled, nodding at his reasonable reaction. “So…y-you’ll put that on me.”

“Yep.”

“And then we kiss.”

“Make-out,” you corrected. Your voice was clear and slightly stern, but the smile that formed on your face sent him in shivers.

The familiarity in your features contrasted with whatever stunts you were going to pull on him sent his head into a haze.

“Anything wrong with it?”

“No,” he shook his head.

“Lix, baby, just be clear with me.” You inched closer to him, bringing your hands to his plump freckle-spotted cheeks. “You don’t mind that I’ll record this and post it?”

“Of course, I don’t mind. I just…” Felix sighed.

“…Just curious, what are you planning to show in the video?”

“I’m gonna show the application, I’ll start by putting it on you.”

The heat rushed to Felix’s face as numerous thoughts clouded his mind as he visualized everything in his mind.

“We’re gonna kiss for a brief moment in the video, probably make out and do…whatever,” you winked shyly. “It’s only gonna be brief. Gotta keep it within community guidelines.”

One of your hands made its way down to his hip. You pulled him closer. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat from gulping back an otherwise embarrassing sound.

You had to wonder if he was hiding anything causing him discomfort there.

“You’re sure you’re okay?”

Felix bit his lip. “A hundred percent sure.”

“If you don’t want—”

“I want…it,” he whispered under his breath. “I want you.”

He flashed a weak smile. He was incredibly excited, but he was losing composure and he didn’t exactly know why.

He was about to melt in your hands but you held him up and adjusted your set-up for the video with an equally beautiful smile.

—

Three, two, one, action.

The camera rolled and you felt the familiar rush of adrenaline surge through you. Impressively, you thought you would have lost your spark at content creation, but posing in front of the ring light felt refreshing.

“It’s been a long time coming y’all,” you waved, “but I’m back! And guess who I’m with!”

Felix stared at the camera for a moment, his eyes flicking back to you for a split second. It was his cue to wave as well.

“Ah, hi, everyone!”

“Still handsome and meek as always,” you teased. “He still has a bit of makeup on since he came from a shoot.”

Your hand ran down the side of his neck. You felt the goosebumps rise from his skin.

“Anyway, today I’ll be starting a series of videos covering weird products and their weird claims. We’re starting strong with this funky new liquid lipstick from…B.Me Cosmetics.”

Taking the tube out of its package, you examined it and showed it to the phone camera. You swatched a shade on the back of your hand. Differing from a bullet lip, it had a liquid formula that boasted a unique, pseudo-gloss satin finish.

“It claims to be smudge-proof, make-out-proof, everything-proof. Can last five rounds of kissin’ and smoochin’ I assume.” You said many things that Felix didn’t even dare to process.

Felix simply watched your hands delicately hold the product. His gaze was fixated on your nails, fingers, and everything about you that wasn’t the lipstick.

“But oh no no, I’m not testing it on myself. Well, kinda, but Lixie over here is gonna be my test subject.” You swung an arm over Felix, dragging him down to the height of the phone, showing everyone his nervous yet precious face. He eyed up at you with what seemed to be hearts in his pupils.

“Let’s first see how this goes on, hmm?”

You walked a bit away to grab two chairs: one was velvety and comfortable, while the other was taller and had regular cushions. The first was the same chair your clients usually sat on, and the second was your working chair. You urged him to sit down, patting the seat as a signal.

The moment he sat down, Felix started trembling. His knees looked like they were about to give in and his thighs took a moment to settle onto the velvet.

“Everything alright?” You whispered.

He wordlessly nodded back at you. Unknown to you, though, he bit back a noise. He didn’t mind the sharp pulsing pain when he finally got the courage to look up fully, of course with the guidance of your thumb and index finger propping up his chin.

It felt like handling a little kitten in your hands.

“Which shade, which shade…” You took the other bottles out of the bold box packaging and waved them out in front of Felix’s lips. It either would have been a rosy nude color, a deep red, or a bright cherry pinkish-red.

You tapped the tube of the last color against your boyfriend’s bottom lip, watching his cheeks pout slightly at the action. You quietly settled on the cherry color, to Felix’s apparent delight.

“Would you look at that?” You cupped his face with one hand, holding the lipstick on your free one. You faced him towards the camera, relishing in the sight of his cheeks puffing up in your palm. “Call me biased or whatever, but his lips are some of the prettiest I’d ever seen.”

Before he could indulge in the praise though, you urged him to open his mouth. He didn’t prepare for any of this and not your next course of action.

You slotted the bottle in between Felix’s teeth and kept it in place even after unscrewing the applicator off. He bit slightly and carefully to keep the bottle in place without damaging it. If he were a nervous wreck then, he became overly anxious now. You, however, in full focus, took the applicator of the liquid lipstick and slid it along his top lip. The cold sensation of the new foreign product on his mouth made him squirm slightly, though you held him firmly in place with your hand.

“So fitting that his lips are shaped like a heart. He’s so kissable.” You smooched the air while cleaning up the perimeter of his lips, teasing him.

Wished I kissed you right now, huh? Felix could hear that in your voice and he let it echo in his pretty little head. Alas, he couldn’t retaliate nor speak back at all. He couldn’t even dip his head in embarrassment. Your eyes were trained on the brush you flicked, almost dismissive of your own flirting and it mismatched the smirk that adorned your mouth after teasing.

It was the exact kind of look he’s seen many times before. The exact look he fell in love with when you first met.

It’s the look he would get off to almost every night.

You finished off applying the lipstick and it was impressively smooth. You took the bottle from his teeth and sighed. The color made his mouth look irresistibly edible. It would take you three marathons and a trip to the moon to admit that you were starting to feel just as affected as Felix by the sight of his pouty mouth.

“Rub those pretty lips for me, baby.”

Only you could say those words to him the way that you do. Felix felt multiple urges rummaging through his system at once. He could almost cry from wanting to say something, to call out your name, to moan it, to whine and whimper, and melt in your arms as if nobody were watching.

The eyes of the world were on him, though, and all he could do was comply. He rubbed his lips together and pouted them out with a smack.

“Good job, baby.” You rubbed his chin with your thumb. He felt fire surging within his heart.

He knew that you knew what you were doing. It was only you, after all, who knew how to push his buttons in the right places. Unlike Hyunjin nor Jeongin, it took you no effort and no risks to leave him a mentally jumbled mess; not agitated, but certainly needy.

You were still sticking to a mental script, though. “How does it feel? Chalky? Rough? Sticky…?”

“I-It’s smooth. Feels thin.” He felt his tongue almost twist in his mouth from trying to speak when he was physically weakening over you.

“Seems like a good formula,” you giggled.

He watched as you turned your back on him, explaining bits of beauty jargon that he couldn’t even begin to comprehend. His vision seemed to blur as a need to satisfy the growing discomfort in his pants overwhelmed him. It all snapped away for a second when you switched the angle of your phone and pulled him up by his arms, leading him in front of the couch.

All of a sudden, you rubbed a circle around the base of his wrist. You looked up at him with eyes that demanded something from him. It was dark yet inviting as if he had just eyed down a wolf threatening to eat him whole.

The gesture was your signal that you wanted to fuck him then and there.

Felix finally didn’t have to keep to himself.

“Time to test how good it wears,” you smirked at him.

Felix’s eyes were focused on yours. He didn’t move an inch as your fingers crawled from his jaw to his cheek. You glanced at your phone, propped up on the countertop, to check if it was recording. When you looked back, your eyes met Felix’s red lips.

You were so glad that you picked that shade. The makeup line released a ton of colors and your mind folded into itself when you realized how many there were. It was almost overwhelming to choose a shade for your boyfriend: you wanted to see him with a pinky nude on his lips, but you also thought the dark berry shade looked pretty.

As a trained makeup artist, you had a knack for figuring out which hues elevated which skin tones. Of all people, you knew Felix’s skin would match the slightly muted, pinkish cherry satin stain.

You should know this. You’ve seen his skin flush many times before, that would be more than enough to be familiar with the hues of his delicious skin.

You were the reason why he would constantly blush, after all. His skin would burn under your slightest touch, but it would flare up until his freckles darkened each time you held him down on your hips and called him pretty. His cheeks would turn as red as the tip of his cock every time you squeezed it lightly.

Before you could think of any more, you tapped your boyfriend’s cheek. His face burned into a shade not far from the color of his lipstick.

“Are you sure you want to record this with me?” You asked, eyes scanning his face for second thoughts.

Felix almost forgot that you needed a clip of the both of you briefly kissing. He nodded after a second, confusion snapping into realization as you smiled at him. He seemed to be lost in thought, too: maybe he was nervous, maybe he was thinking of the same things you thought about. Either way, he simply answered with a smirk and the faintest giggle.

“Yeah. I’m game.”

You were on a mission to prove that this lip product could not budge after an intense make-out session. Now, you — and maybe Felix — wanted to see if it could survive intense sex, too.

All it took were two inches forward: you grabbed his hands dangling in front of you and closed in. Your noses touched each other, the skin bumping softly before your lips slotted against his in the smoothest kiss possible. To his surprise, you started gently. He expected you to crash against his mouth. He expected you to rummage through the product sitting on his mouth right away, to test its strength as a long-lasting piece of makeup, but you didn’t.

Maybe he wanted you to be rough. He wanted it.

You could tell by the whimper he choked up behind the kiss. That, and his hands roamed around your arms and sides, pulling you closer.

“Getting a little excited now, are we?” You purred, pulling your face away from his. He hesitated to break the kiss, inching his lips closer to yours even as you talked.

“Sorry, s-sorry. Got a little carried away.”

You wondered what got him to be so clingy and affectionate. You’re well aware of him being loving and tender, but it’s another thing to have him smitten while you’re doing nothing special.

Little did you know that to him, everything involving you is special. Even the texts you sent earlier and the ones you sent before. He couldn’t stop thinking about them; who wouldn’t, especially when you were being such a tease?

He finally pulled his head back. “Smooth,” he whispered.

You thought to tease him. “The lipstick?”

“No,” Felix chuckled, “I meant you.”

Your hands traveled from up to his toned arms until one of them met the nape of his neck — his sensitive spot. You often called him a little kitten for enjoying being petted on that spot a little too much.

“So, did it rub off yet?” Your boyfriend managed to squeak, still affected by your antics.

His face was impossibly close to yours and you could feel the heat in his cheeks growing the more that he smiled at you. You stepped back to observe his face: apart from the blush on his cheeks, the lipstick was seemingly left unscathed. By the look on his face, he observed your lips, and there were no signs of product transferring.

He also just wanted to kiss it again.

You raised an eyebrow at the camera and shrugged. “I guess it survived round one.”

“That was round one?” Felix mirrored the look you gave your phone. “I thought we call that first base.”

Your head whipped back to him. He simply smirked back, feigning an angel’s smile.

You’ve dated him for a long while, and while he had always been silly, he had never been this way in front of the camera. You wondered if the shoot he did — or the staff he was with — earlier had anything to do with a sudden ego boost.

“Now you’re bold, baby.”

The nickname caused Felix’s smirking eyes into wide ones, the excitement writing itself everywhere on his face.

“Just wanna do more with you,” he teased back. “Do more rounds, test how much removes.”

He puckered his lips and pouted. It was a juicy invitation that you couldn’t turn down. Instead, you took it with a kiss — a deep kiss, one that made you inhale and caught him off guard.

It was still gentle and velvety. It felt like you both tasted clouds and nothing was in between. The hand on the nape of his neck ran up to his hair and back down almost instinctively, making Felix shake. Unable to focus on both the sensation of a passionate kiss, an overwhelming urge to breathe and process the suddenness, and the general feeling of being petted, his hands swung to your chest and squeezed.

“Ah! Felix!” You whispered loudly against his mouth, almost moaning at the sensation.

“Sorry! Force of habit,” he said.

“Gotta keep it PG, baby, I’m posting this.” He nodded assuringly at your words but his hands were crucially still on your chest, threatening to squeeze again.

After realizing this, he immediately attempted to pull his hands back, an apology dripping on the tip of his tongue. Instead, you surprisingly threw your hands on his wrists, caging his hands in place.

If that didn’t surprise him enough, you leaned in close to his face and kissed him once more. It was fiery this time; he felt your tongue darting at him while your teeth nipped slightly at his bottom lip before you pulled away. He gasped louder than he should have.

You giggled at his shock and nuzzled your face on his neck. “Sorry. Reflex.”

“But mommy—” Felix froze, realizing what he had just said. He didn’t mean to say that.

All the cockiness he displayed earlier fizzled out into thin air. You could feel the heartbeat in his neck thumping against your lips. From his eyes fluttered shut to wide open ones, you could see the embarrassment wash over him.

Sure, you two were doing something intimate, kissing and groping in front of the camera. He knew and trusted you enough to edit it out, but the idea that footage would have existed of him calling you that nickname…scared him. The camera watched him, the microphone picked up his low voice, and on the off-chance that this moment makes the cut, thousands of people would have seen it.

He’d gotten used to the idea that millions of people could pass by his face and body, but it’s different when he’s exposing a bit of himself that he only reserved for you — his “mommy.”

“Y/N… Shit, I’m so sorry, I-I didn’t—”

“Oh baby, it’s okay.” You gave a reassuring look and a warm smile, shifting your position to hide his face away from the phone camera.

The pet name was his suggestion. The idea that you could hold this title as his dominant partner was something he never thought of telling you at first, but the moment he mentioned it, you indulged immediately. It was something so dear, so sweet, and soft, definitely making you less of an ominous presence to him in bed and more like a warm home he can return to. You loved it even if he didn’t expect you to.

Even while he’s embarrassed and fully vulnerable, he felt so safe, entrusted to the only one in his life that could take the title without judgment.

“Call me that as much as you want. I won’t show it,” you whispered. Felix nodded but you didn’t miss the tears threatening to form in his eyes.

“Mommy…” He inevitably gave up and dipped his head in the crook of your neck. You petted the back of his head again and kissed the side of his head, calming him with hushes and soft hums.

Before he could melt at your warm embrace, you took a few steps back. Felix whined and hoped to hug you for longer, only to watch you press the button on your phone to stop the recording. You shut the phone off, looked back at him, and smiled with your eyes.

He always valued your respect for his boundaries and the fact that you always made his comfort your top priority.

“We’re not done,” you inched closer, “the lipstick’s still on there.”

Because if you two were going to fuck comfortably, you two were still going to fuck.

Taking his arms and pulling them towards you, you prompted him to wrap himself around you as your lips crashed against his. You held him by his waist — it was remarkably small, toned, and muscled but definitely made for your hands to take it.

With force, you hugged his waist and carried him slightly, pushing you both on the couch. You sat on it while he was essentially hovering over your figure, his hips just above your lap.

“Mommy—g-god,” Felix gasped, muffled by another nudge of your mouth.

As if your brain switched off, your hands started going on their own. One was trained on his hip and the other snaked up his side and cupped his face, making him tremble at the sudden yet soft movements.

You were focused on the kiss but you just knew he looked gorgeous.

Of all the clients you put makeup on, your boyfriend always turned out the prettiest. Maybe it’s because his eyes seemed to shine with certain shadows on them. Maybe it’s the way his freckles peek through the base products. In this case, maybe it was the plumpness of his lips that you loved, covered in a flattering shade of red. Maybe that’s what was doing it for you.

“You’re so cute, baby,” you said, pausing the kiss.

Felix pouted. The pigment on his lips accentuated the curves of his mouth. “Not as cute as mommy.”

“Hm, thank you. But you’re my cute baby.”

Sometimes, you wonder how you got this to be so vulnerable, so whipped for you. It didn’t take him that long to warm up to you with this side of him, a side he so dearly hid from the rest of the world. It’s like this doll was made for you.

“Mommy,” Felix dragged out a whimper as he called you by the title. “Making me needy.”

“Don’t get impatient baby boy,” you whispered, a kiss on his temple following your sweet words.

While rolling your hips onto his, you thought about it what you said. You thought back to the last night he fell into this extremely submissive role. He’d always been the one under you and you’ve always been the one in control, but during that one night — similar to this one — he shyly asked you to call him a certain pet name. You loved it, probably more than he did, and you figured he might want to hear you say it again.

“Or are you my baby girl for tonight?”

“Mommy!” Felix scolded. If his cheeks were already flushed, his entire face heated up with a warmth that you simply indulged in. His ears and the corners of his eyes lit up with a blush tone that complimented and accentuated the cherry color that lined his shy smile.

He enjoyed the pet name too much, and he seemed to be threatened with memories of the same night the moment you said it.

“What? Don’t want to be my baby girl? It’s okay if you—”

“I’m mommy’s girl! Yeah, I’m their baby girl!”

Almost all traces of bass in Felix’s voice left the moment he squealed his response to you.

His eyebrows were slanting upwards like a needy puppy, his eyes sparkled as beads of tears sat on his eyelashes, and he wiggled his hips onto yours with a neediness you’ve seen many times before. He briefly whimpered again in a high pitch.

Being called that for the first time was as special to him as it was to you. It still landed him punches to the gut every time you said it. You would wonder why he loved it even if he was incredibly comfortable in his masculinity.

Maybe it made sense like that, considering he was wearing makeup while sitting on your lap.

You kissed him again and praised him until he gave into the burning sensations he felt from your overwhelmingly smooth graces around his body. With fast swipes, you pulled his plain shirt over his head, only to clothe him again with nothing but the warm embrace of your arms.

He moaned, writhed, and whined, adjusting his position on your lap until his legs were slotted against one of your thighs. Once he found his balance, he rutted against your leg, letting out a sound that he couldn’t resist.

“Didn’t even undress you yet, I still have pants on, and you’re already riding me?” You smiled widely at him. Felix huffed, unable to think, inhaling so that he wouldn’t drool on your shirt.

Or your chest, now that you abandoned your top in a flash, leaving it even harder for him to contain himself.

You took his lips into yours again, this time licking and biting his sweet mouth, allowing his tongue to slide against yours. It was messy and sloppy, just the way he needed it. You wondered if he had been craving this for so long and just couldn’t tell you.

Nevertheless, the next step was to take the bottoms off of your lower half and his own, but he paused your hands from reaching onto his crotch.

“W-Want mommy’s off first,” he sighed. It sounded more like a question now that his voice was so high and his tone was so soft. He was far from the boy whose mouth went foul over his own best friends at work.

His head was far gone, you figured.

Felix helped you pull your pants down, careful not to disrupt the current position that you were both in, only slightly lifting yourself off the couch. He sighed once he saw you, bare and beautiful, rid of anything that kept him from being horny the entire day.

He wanted you so bad.

“Baby girl, tell me,” it was your turn to pause his hands from reaching you.

“Is something bothering you?”

“No…not really a-a bother…” He pursed his lips.

He figured to rip the bandaid off and just show you the source of his discomfort—or, as it seems, the source of his pleasure.

“Baby girl, you…”

He revealed a pastel pink lacy fabric covering his private area. He was wearing panties.

“I…I got them from a PR package…from th-that one underwear company…” Felix justified, stuttering from both extreme embarrassment and arousal.

“It was supposed to be yours b-but I…liked it so much…a-and I wanted to…”

You couldn’t help but notice the drool threatening to fall from his tongue, glossing his lips. Distracted, you didn’t kiss him. You licked his mouth and bit his bottom lip again. The blood under his skin rushed to color his lips, emphasizing the pink-colored stain.

As you bit his lip, your fingers found the band of his panties, toying with the pink lace before slipping under it. The flesh — rather, his cock — was hard and pulsing. Felix moaned. His chest heaved from being unable to process everything at once.

“Baby girl’s clit is so hard for me already.” You pecked his cheek and let him whine. “You’ve been needy since earlier?”

“Y-Yeah, but, ‘m…not finished.” He mumbled under his breath. “Got more…to show you.”

He pulled his panties fully down, allowing his cock to bounce up. You couldn’t help but notice something at the base, but your suspicions were confirmed when he led one of your hands to touch his ass.

“You wore a butt plug the whole day?”

Felix’s face flushed into a shade similar, if not deeper than the cherry red he wore on his lips. At your words, he felt like crumpling into himself.

“It’s just for you. Thought y-you’d like it.”

All you could do in response was kiss him deeply and thrust your thigh up, hitting the plug deeper into his ass.

He moaned deliciously into the kiss and almost cried at the contact. It fucked with him — literally — the entire day and you made it all the better. Only that he had so little time to adjust before you gave him a dark look again.

“Mommy, what are you—”

He was shut up by you licking his mouth and your fingers filling up his hole.

“Your cunt’s so fucking wet, baby girl.” Your words left your system through gritted teeth, filtering your animalistic desire to ruin him even more than ever. “This pussy is mine and only mine.”

You bit his lip once more, sucking on the plump flesh before abandoning it. “Bet your toys can’t satisfy you as I do.”

“They d-don’t, mommy!” Felix was on the verge of tears, choking back sobs as your teeth found his jaw, peppering it with love bites lining his natural contour.

You started pumping your fingers up and down his ass, hitting his prostate with your fingertips over and over. “Can only take me inside your cunt.”

“Ah, god—fuck, mommy!” The delirious sounds escaping him as he scrambled to hold onto your body kept you going.

As if he noticed, he started grinding into the air next to your entrance. You took this as his usual sign that he wanted to please you too. Felix valued mutual pleasure and craved it as much as he craved the sloppy crashing of mouths on a couch.

“Take me like a good girl.” Your voice softened as you cooed. “Can you do it? Ride mommy’s fingers while fucking into me?”

He could only nod frantically, allowing the drool in his mouth to drop onto his cock.

The lipstick probably looked so messy by now.

You held his cock, lengthy and hard, and squeezed it in your free hand. “This is mommy’s to play with.”

Shoving it into your entrance, you curled your fingers deep onto Felix’s prostate, eliciting loud moans from either of you. Felix could scream from the sudden warmth enveloping his cock.

“Rub your clit against me,” you demanded, urging him to thrust his cock immediately. He complied only to start whining and crying out from the stimulation.

You leaned your head to the side and exposed your neck. With a subtle nod of your head, you invited him to bite your neck before his next thrust. Lightning bolts entered you when his teeth sunk into your skin for some semblance of comfort.

In turn, you kissed and sucked a spot on Felix’s shoulder. The biting sensation made him squirm away from you, but his noises only amplified when you latched onto a more sensitive spot above his freckled collarbone. It didn’t help that your fingers were practically exiting and entering his hole completely, filling and emptying him at a speed he almost couldn’t take.

The stimulation from all ends of his body caught up to him, release rumbling from his core up to his cock. He begged and pleaded and called your name multiple times as you did too. Felix readied for release but shocked himself when it came suddenly, almost without warning.

He started gushing just outside your entrance, the relief surging through his hips in waves: it had never happened to him before, but the slight amusement on his fucked-out face sent you over the edge too.

You came at the same time, your wetness coating the sides of your thighs and the cushions of the couch, the pool of both your juices mixing right under you.

It had to take you both several minutes to an hour of downtime before you both got up to clean. During that time, Felix held you close, trapping you in a warm cuddle.

“Y/N, I love you,” he whispered, his deep voice returning, calming you from your high.

You pressed one more kiss on his lips. “I love you too, Felix.”

Aftercare had to be a non-negotiable after the scene you guys painted all over the living room.

You made sure to offer Felix the softest bubble bath, massaging and soothing every inch of his skin, scrubbing away at the residue of the new lipstick.

You both found out, just before the bath, that it barely survived at all. It still stained his lips a shade of red, and the stains of love bites that he left on you stuck for a long while, but the actual product budged possibly within the third round of kisses. It barely held on when you started biting him.

The bedroom was full of giggles and the shuffling of your bodies cuddling close to calm yourselves down. Felix shared how he couldn’t believe his horniness that day, and you teased that he was being a hormonal girl.

He whined at that, kissed you good night, and fell asleep while huddled close to your chest. You calmly played with your phone, quickly editing the footage and clipping out the moment that he slipped into submission.

That was for your eyes only.

You posted the video and muted the notifications, kissed his forehead good night, and fell asleep.

—

“Baby, baby girl…” Your voice, although hoarse and deep from the blissful sleep, woke your boyfriend up. The clock on your bedside table flashed 9:00 AM in bright red, but the light from your phone shone brighter. “Look at this!”

“Holy…Y/N, oh my god!” Every trace of sleepiness left Felix as he jumped out of bed. “The video blew up?!”

You sat up next to him, chuckling in disbelief. “Let’s see what people are saying.”

“Why does the suggested search bar have…”

Men marked up. Men with hickeys. Men whining. It was clear that the video affected your audience in more ways than one.

“Silly,” you giggled, sinking into your boyfriend’s embrace. “Wonder how this thing got through community guidelines.”

Felix pointed at a comment. “Help. Someone’s asking about washing the stains off.”

The both of you cuddled closer. As the sunlight shone through your curtains and hit your figures, it highlighted Felix’s honey skin and the cherry stains that failed to wash off in the shower.

You turned your head to his and smirked. “Should we film an update video? What about a part 2?”

taglist: @toastyseungmo @hobihearteu @biddes-enthusiast @snow-pegasus @subby-kpop @myrandomthoughtsandhobbies @eggielix @hanniecheesecake @chrisbahng @laylasbunbunny @ppiri-bahng @he-they-heathen @chriscentric @svintsandghosts @sstarryoong

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special thanks to @meivida, my ride or die, the big brain that inspired me to write this in the first place! they also took time out of their day to proofread it ^_^

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#skz smut #sub!skz #sub!felix #sub!yongbok #dom!reader #stray kids smut #felix smut #yongbok smut #💬 z is writimg

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