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planet-hwa · 8 months ago

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IMMUNITY TO MY CHARMS — 우영

✎ summary your friendship with wooyoung blossomed at the start of university, and being friends with him came along with his charming and flirtatious personality. even if you flirted back, you always believed you were immune to his true charms… god were you so wrong

pairing fratboy!wooyoung x reader genre university/frat au, best friends to... undetermined. a small plot with yummy smut hehet.. word count 4.7k

warnings MDNI petnames/nicknames, teasing, mentions of vomiting, alcohol consumption, mentions of previous hookups, swearing, breast play, cunnilingus, accidental overstimulation, unprotected sex [wrap it up irl!!], aftercare

❝ i'm not immune to you, i'm only human ❞ 🎧 now playing moonlight magic ; ashnikko

The library sat in silence, the only sounds being the clock ticking on the wall and the whispered conversations between well focused students. Flipping the pages of your ‘Crime, Criminality and Criminal Justice’ textbook, you jot down crucial notes needed for your end of year exams. Your knuckles were stained in red and blue colours due to the amount of time you had spent writing, which by now would have been at least a few hours. Soft tunes were playing through your headphones, never being able to truly focus on work without having some sort of musical stimulation. The volume lowered quickly, followed by a ding of message notifications.

As the uber drove down the street, music became visibly louder until you were sat outside the large frat house. Even before entering the house, you could feel your ears prepare themselves to be ringing the next day. There were crowds of people conversing, all holding random alcoholic beverages in their hands. Some people were behind bushes either vomiting or peeing, it was best not to find out which one. Making your way up the front stairs and through the crowded hallways, you eventually made it to the living room, scanning all the drunken faces for any familiarity. Now realising that what Wooyoung meant by ‘a little party’ was actually one of their monthly ragers they throw.

The ATZ Frat House was known to throw the best parties amongst all the colleges in the area. They always remained the talk of the town for the passing month until the next one occurred. Whether it was because the police were called, or because Mingi and San were jumping off the roof and into their backyard pool, there was always something that people couldn’t stop boasting about.

Still studying the room, your eyes finally landed on two friendly faces, Mingi and Yunho, the two tallest members of the frat. Both had beers in their hands and were bopping along to the music, Mingi screaming incoherent drunk lyrics into Yunho’s ears, and him trying to save himself from hearing loss. Pushing through the dancing bodies, you reached your hand out and were welcomed in with a spin from Yunho, slightly losing balance and falling into his chest with a laugh.

“Y/N! You made it!” Yunho shouted, trying to get his voice higher than the music levels. He held out his drink and offered a taste, quickly accepting the liquor.

“Of course! Wooyoung said this was gonna be a lot smaller though.” Taking a small sip and grimacing at the bitter taste, you’ve never really been a beer drinker. “By the way, where is he?”

“Not sure, but there’s drinks in the kitchen and he put some in the fridge for you.” Yunho smiled brightly at you, still swaying with the music.

“THIS THAT GAME OF THRONES, YEEZY, NOT THE CLONES!!” Mingi yelled behind you, aggressively jumping up and down like he was at a middle school dance.

Sending him a quick smile and a small chuckle, you ventured through the crowd again to enter the kitchen. There were only two or three people in there, most either outside or snug in the living room. You opened the fridge to find your favourite alcohol staring back at you, a small sticking note with the words ‘Y/N’s, no touching!’ written on it.

“I chose right, didn’t I, love?” A voice breathed into the crook of your neck, two arms wrapping around your waist tightly. Two very familiar arms. You grabbed one of the bottles and spun around to face your friend, a cocky smirk curled on the corners of his lips. He wore his favourite red hoodie that hung off his shoulders slightly, unzipped enough to reveal a peak of his bare chest. “I know you so well.”

“Do you own any other clothes or just that one hoodie?” You raised an eyebrow, taking a quick sip of your drink which he was quick to snatch and have a sip himself.

“Don’t lie, you love it.” He smirked, his hands still resting on your waist. He was telling the truth, you did love the way he looked in that specific hoodie, the way he would wear it so it fell enough to show off the top of his muscular pecs. But you would never admit that and risk feeding into his already enormous ego. His hands fell from your waist, his fingertips leaving a light trace of your curves as they met your hand, unwarranted goosebumps arose on your skin to the touch. Gripping tightly, he led you both back into the living room to join the majority of dancers, surrounding yourself with his other fraternity brothers and the girls some had on their hips.

You hated to admit it but there was always a part of you that wanted more from Wooyoung. More flirtatious remarks, more feather-light touches… more intense touches. There was always the dream of moving up from a friendship. You heard the way the girls on campus would talk about how Wooyoung was in bed, you heard about the ‘sex god’ he was from him himself, but the overheard whispers from the people he slept with were more confirmation that he had a reason to be so confident in his work.

It’s not that he had never made a move on you. He consistently attempted it at the beginning of your relationship, but as it grew to higher levels of friendship, it died down. Flirty comments that were laced with sexual intent became closer to simple compliments, body language remained physical but grew more casual. There was always underlying teasing but it was a part of your usual friendship banter. You adore your best friend and the relationship you two have and want nothing more than for it to remain the same, but if you could go back in time; would you have accepted his advances better?

_________________________

The bass was blasting through the room, the floors vibrating under everyone’s feet. The night hadn’t slowed down, everyone still dazed with energy and alcohol. You were dancing with some of your friends who all had someone connected to them. San, another member of the ATZ Frat, was behind you. His hands rested on your hips, guiding your movements to fit with his rhythm. Your bodies were glued together, grinding against each other to the music. You and San had a small history of hookups, but always stuck to being good friends, though it didn’t stop the two of you from having fun every now and then. Mingi was still bobbing up and down, yelling and throwing his hands up childishly, Yunho next to him but too preoccupied by swapping saliva with a brunette girl from the year below.

You were a few drinks down now… three… maybe four, plus the additional ten or so shots, but you had never felt better. All your worries about school and life problems vanished into thin air the moment liquor had hit your tongue. All you could think about was San grinding against your ass, silently wishing it was someone else.

Your eyes surveyed the room, searching for your best friend, eventually landing your gaze on him. He was on the opposite side of the dance floor, his lips locked with someone the girl you didn’t like. Ever since you started college, she has hated you for no reason. You never even spoke to her but the death glares she would shoot your way made it clear you would never be friends. And Wooyoung knew how she was towards you, so why would he be making out with her? Of course, you had no control over who he could hook up with, but you would think he would choose any of the other girls who throw themselves at him every party over this bitch. The worst thing was; you couldn't tell if you were upset he was making out with the girl who tries to make college a living hell for you, or the fact that it wasn’t you…

Wooyoung’s eyes met yours in a piercing stare, sharply watching you over the girl’s shoulder. He had never targeted you with such an intense look in his eyes. They were glistening with emotions, some harder to depict than others. One thing was certain; there was anger in them, with an unknown emotion underlying it. His glare was sending chills through your entire body, the hairs on the back of your neck spiked up. Though his lips were attached to someone else, his gaze was set on watching your every move with San. It was confusing and was making your head begin to spin out of control.

The true state of your intoxication was preparing to spill, your cheeks began to go numb and you could feel the vomit creeping up your throat. You swiftly left San’s grasp, receiving an unappeased reaction, until he processed the state you were in and let you go without retaliation. Fighting your way between sweaty dancers and passionate make outs caused your brain to rapidly beat in your skull, your eyes began to paint themselves black and you were sitting on the brink of passing out.

The sudden cool air of the empty kitchen slapped you in the face, eyes closing at the refreshing feeling. You made your way to the sink, grabbing a plastic cup and pouring yourself some water. chugging down the cool liquid quickly, it felt as if you had been dehydrated for weeks. The nausea feeling subsided the moment the water hit your lips, the drums in your head became quieter and your vision became more clear again. You pushed the cup aside and lifted yourself onto the bench resting your head on the upper cabinets.

The kitchen was empty, leaving you in complete silence, the only noise being muffled music from the other room. This was the most peace you had felt since arriving. Your mind drifted back to Wooyoung, there were so many questions that needed answering. Why would he hook up with her? Why was he looking at you the whole time? Why was he angry? The constant overthinking had the band in your head begin to play again. You sighed and slowly rubbed your temples, trying to focus on the solitude of the room and not on…

Music filled the room in a haste, bouncing off the walls and leaving just as quick. Quiet footsteps could be heard entering the room, the door sliding shut behind them.

“Y/N?” The voice, all too familiar, held by the one person you didn’t particularly want to see at the moment. You didn’t lift your head or open your eyes, sending silent prayers that he would get the message and leave. But it’s Wooyoung, of course he wouldn’t leave.

“Y/N.” The sternness in his voice came as a shock. You glanced up and were met with an annoyed expression masking Wooyoung’s face.

“I’m fine, I just needed a break.” You sighed, reapplying pressure to your temples. “Go back to your little hook up, I’m sure she’s missing your company.”

Wooyoung scoffed, pushing his hair back with his hand just for the front strands to fall back to covering his face. “Is that why you looked so mad just now? Because I was hooking up with her?”

The emphasis on the last word proved he already knew the answer. He knew how you felt about her and how she felt about you. He knew that you usually didn’t care about his hookups, but because it was with her; you cared. He knew that you being upset wasn’t just because of her.

“Why would you even go for her when you could get any girl you want?”

“Because the girl I want doesn’t seem to want me back.” He slowly drifted towards you, settling himself in between your knees and resting his hands on your thighs. “Don’t you?”

His thumb started to swirl small circles on the sides of your thighs. The simple touch mixed with Wooyoung’s alcohol rasped voice caused butterflies to flourish in your stomach. Lifting your gaze to meet him, his deep brown eyes were filled with emotions as they looked back at you. Fully processing his past comment and realising he had never been this forward with you, with anyone you've seen him with.

“Woo, we can’t.” You breathed, barely coming out as an audible whisper. “Because we’re-”

“Because we’re friends, I know.” Abruptly interrupting with his usual sass. “But you can’t say that and then go and hook up with San, again, as if the two of you aren’t friends as well.”

“That’s different.”

“Why? Because he’s not your best friend?”

“Exactly.”

“Okay,” was all he could spill out. An uncomfortable silence filled the room, so silent that the muffled beats in the background sounded as if they were miles away. Wooyoung’s thumbs ceased their movement, his eyes now staring at his hands on you. “If you truly have no feelings for me, none that exceed friendship, then tell me and I will leave it alone. We can go back to being best friends and forget this whole conversation. Just tell me.”

‘No feelings that exceed friendship’

Those five words rattled around in your head. You couldn’t deny that your feelings for Wooyoung did exceed friendship. You tried for so long to push it down thinking he never felt the same, but he just proved you wrong. The overthinking began to creep in; did he actually mean it, was he just trying to get laid, and if he was then why didn’t he stick with the blonde, did he just want to play with you? Your breath hitched and your heartbeat was as prominent as ever, it felt as if it was about to tear out of your chest.

The silence that followed you was concerning to Wooyoung, thoughts of uncertainty were filing into his brain. Had he crossed the line by suggesting anything? The tension between the two of you that was obvious in every room, was it truly one-sided the entire time? He lifted his head, your eyes instantaneously connecting, as he searched for any sign of hesitancy. Your gaze shifted around his face, examining every little detail; from his sharp features to the mole under his eye and on his bottom lip, his lips holding a small pout at the corners. The dim kitchen lights caused shadows to cascade around his face, he had never looked more beautiful.

Were you really about to do this?

Without hesitation, your hand moved up to his face, gently cupping his jaw. Gravity pulled his face gradually closer to yours, lips mere inches apart — so close that your warm alcoholic breaths mixed in the air between. Wooyoung was quick to notice that you weren’t in a hurry to pull away from him, and even quicker to crash his lips into yours. Before letting the regret burn through your body, you fell deeply into the kiss, his soft lips caressing yours in a synced motion. His hands gingerly held your face, fingers lightly tracing your jawline as his body moved closer.

The kiss immediately grew fiery and needy, Wooyoung’s tongue tracing your bottom lip and slipping in to explore your mouth. Your tongues danced rhythmically together, alcohol lingering in the taste you shared. Butterflies fluttered around in your stomach once again as Wooyoung’s hands wandered around your body, shifting from your waist to your hips, reaching for any part he could touch. Pulling away for air, you watched as Wooyoung chased your lips, concentrating on your moves through hooded eyes. “Let’s go to your room.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” He smirked, taking hold of your hand and leading you out of the kitchen. As you walked through the crowded room and towards the stairs, the girl he was previously making out with ran up to you.

“Wooyoung, come dance with me again!” She whined pathetically. Her gaze — turned to a glare — went to your connected hands, face screwing at the sight.

“Not interested sweetheart.” Wooyoung dismissed and continued up the stairs, ignoring her scoffs.

“You’re not seriously gonna hook up with this whore, are you? She wouldn’t be as good as me and you know it-”

“I said fuck off, didn’t I?” He shouted, knowing she’d hear even over the music. His grip on your hand tightened before pulling you away and into his room, leaving the girl in shock.

_________________________

Wooyoung’s lips pashed into yours once again as soon as the bedroom door closed, this time with more desperation, his tongue instantly clashing with yours. After all the years of wanting to kiss you and now finally getting to, he was addicted in an instant — hypnotised by your touch. Your back pushed up against the wall, trapped between it and Wooyoung’s frame, hands tangled at the nape of his neck and lightly tugging on the hair. He groaned into the kiss, sending flutters straight to your core, his hard-on pressing tightly against his jeans and poking you in the thigh.

Guiding you to the bed, lips still relentlessly fixed on each other, your clothes began decorating the bedroom floor leaving you both in your underwear. Your knees hit the edge of the bed, gently falling back, Wooyoung crawled up your body not wanting to miss a second of your touch. He lust-filled eyes stared deeply into yours, looking for any uncertainty, only to be matched with the same desire he felt. His lips traveled your body; from yours, to your jawline, your neck and shoulders. Anywhere he could reach, he placed butter soft kisses, suckling on the sensitive skins and molding small hickeys into it. Fingers began to fiddle with your bra straps, Wooyoung’s free hand traveling around your waist and to your back, lightly lifting you and unclasping the band in a swift motion. His eyes were glued on your tits the moment they bounced out of the lace bra, it being thrown to an unknown corner of the room.

Without hesitation, his mouth connected to your nipple, harshly sucking and rolling his tongue over the bud. Teeth tearing at your bottom lip in an attempt to keep your moans hidden, unnecessarily worrying that others might hear — as if they could over the bass of the speakers. Not leaving the other unattended, Wooyoung circled your nipple between two fingers, pinching and lightly twisting, earning a small whine from you. As he continued his actions, you began letting yourself go, hushed moans falling through your lips. A sudden poking developed between your bodies, Wooyoung’s hard-on now prominently pushing into his boxers as he groped at any part of your body he could reach.

“You know,” He purred, petaling kisses from your chest and down to your belly, falling lower and lower until he sat between your legs. “I’ve always dreamt about this; how you’d look… how you’d feel… how you’d taste.”

A red blush began arising under your cheeks as Wooyoung watched you through hooded eyes, his fingers slipping beneath the band of your panties and dragging them down your thighs. Smirking proudly, he stared at the affects he’s had on you tonight, your body unable to hide the fact with your glistening folds. Lips brushing against the plush skin of your thighs, moving dangerously close to where you wanted them the most but always avoiding direct contact. Your hips subconsciously followed Wooyoung’s movement, a mocking chuckle answered as he watched you desperately aching for his touch.

As much as he wanted to keep teasing you, he too was yearning for your touch. Whimpers instantaneously furnished the room the moment his tongue flicked over your clit, plump lips sucking deeply at the surrounding skin. Coating his muscle in your essence, Wooyoung drunkenly lapped and swirled at your delicate bud, alcohol not being the only intoxication in his system. You were sweeter than he could have ever imagined, honey incomparable to the syrup that spilled from you. His low groans vibrated through your body, a completely new sensation electrifying beneath your skin, a man had never made you feel this good before.

Your walls missed the absence of replete, hopelessly clenching around nothing. It was as if Wooyoung sensed it, immediately inserting a finger deep inside you, a second one quick to follow. Embracing his digits as they pumped in and out of you, lewd wet sounds sloshing over them, he began curling them and pressing on that delectable gummy spot.

“Woo- fuck… feels so good-” You cried out, hips starting to buck into him as the pressure built in your stomach. He gazed up at you, a smug smirk masking his face as he watched you begin to lose yourself beneath him.

Feeling your body lightly tense, his fingers began to plunge harder into you, still lavishing your clit with thirsty slurps. Your climax was creeping closer by the second, body slightly trembling around Wooyoung as he devoured you. Your moans heighten — almost as loud as the music — so close to the edge that the stimulation pained you. Fingers curled inside of you, your clit racing like your heartbeat, your orgasm crashed down on you in a tsunami. Wooyoung moaned gutturally into your core as he felt your arousal drip down his chin and coat his fingers like a glazed donut. He never thought he’d experience that from you, and he was savouring every moment.

Hungrily guzzling every drop of honey, he got so caught up in his cravings that he couldn’t stop himself, leading you to a state of overstimulation. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, one escaping and sliding down your cheek. Another tidal wave crashed through your body, this one more painful and pleasurable than the last. Wooyoung followed you down from your second high, slowly his motions and removing his fingers from you. He watched as your essence slid down them, irresistibly pushing them through his lips and licking them dry.

Your chest rose and fell, fighting for the ability to breathe once more. Wooyoung moved back up your body, apologetic eyes looking into yours as he wiped the tear stain from your cheek, laying peppered kisses on your lips. The softness didn’t last long, escalating to the need to be inside you once more. His pleading eyes met yours, the message conveying quickly, his boxers being discarded even faster. His length flung out lightly hitting his abdomen, precum leaking from the reddened tip. Wasting no time, he slid the tip through your drenched folds, the sensitivity hitting you both and causing him to hiss lightly. Lining himself with you, he slowly pushed himself in, your walls stretching at his size and pulling him deeper, breaths hitching as he bottomed out. “Fuck love, you’re so warm.”

Creating a steady rhythm, he began to pump in and out of you at a painfully slow pace, the stretch causing an uncomfortable pleasure. Your arms wrapped around his neck pulling him into a burning kiss. Lips crashing together like thunder, lightning electrified between your lightly sweat coated bodies, a mixture of desperate moans and the sound of slapping skin surrounded the room in a warm atmosphere. He struggled to hold himself back, so desperate for you to cum around his dick.

His movement started to quicken the moment your legs wrapped around his waist urging him closer, your bodies sticking together like glue. Hips started rutting immeasurably deeper into you, your cervix being bruised by the second. Moans singing in his ears, he lifted his gaze and watched your face contort in pleasure, eyebrows furrowing and eyes rolling as he bucked desperately into you. His eyes shifted between your face and where you were connected, infatuated by the view he believed he’d never get to see.

“Woo, I’m so close.” The pit in your stomach tightening once more, ready to explode.

“Ah- me too, love.” His raspy voice shattered in your brain.

As climaxes were building closer to the edge, his thrusts became uncoordinated and his kisses hopelessly messy. Feeling the pressure in your belly begin to burst, you bucked your hips upwards to match his movement, his cock hitting that sweet spongy spot . His hand squeezed between your bodies, fingers circling your clit with purpose and pushing your third orgasm to wash over you. Lewd moans and curses fell through your lips along with a song of Wooyoung’s name, your gummy walls tightening around him and milking him to his own orgasm. Sloppy uneven thrusts rode you through your high, Wooyoung growing more desperate to chase his own. A guttural groan vibrating through the room, white ropes of cum warmed your insides, filling you up and leaking out as his thrusts softened.

Falling from your highs, his body collapsed on top of yours, head burying itself into the crook of your neck. Your body wrapped around him like a koala, his length still deep inside you, twitching from sensitivity. Unmoving, both bodies were in no hurry to disconnect, sitting in the comfort silence, the smell of sex heavy in the air.

A few minutes passed by, both of you falling back into normal breathing patterns. Wooyoung peppered soft kisses on your neck and lifting his face to meet yours, his sleepy eyes adoringly staring into yours before connecting yours lips in a velvety kiss.

“Was that okay?” He asked, uncertainty lacing his voice. You had never seen him lack confidence in anything before, especially not sex and the way he constantly brags about how good he is in bed. Your opinion mattered more to him than anyone else’s, and to finally have you wrapped around him in more than a friendly movie night way, he needed reassurance.

Your hand cupped his face gently, a soft smile curling at the edge of your mouth. “It was perfect.”

A simpered smile appeared on his face before leaning back into your lips, delicate but filled with passion.

He slowly pulled himself off you, the cool hair grazing your tender core sending chills up your spine. Climbing off the bed, he walked into the bathroom without saying a word, seconds later reemerging with two glasses of water and some clean towels. Placing the water on the bedside table closest to you, he moved himself back between your legs, spreading your knees slightly as he began wiping away the mess you both made. The towel gently brushed over your folds causing you to wince from the sensitivity that lingered. The soft music from downstairs played in the background, you had completely forgotten that you were still at a party, but it wasn’t important to you.

Wooyoung discarded the towel across the room, it landing perfectly on the edge of the laundry basket. Once again crawling off the bed, he held his hand out for you, lifting you up. Your legs slightly trembled underneath you, your body feeling a sense of weakness.

“Let’s go take a shower, love.” Leading you to the bathroom, the water already running and a mist fogging through the room. There was no worries with you in this moment as you both stepped under the warm water, body’s tightly knit together in the small shower. You weren’t thinking about how this could affect your friendship once tomorrow came around, whether or not regret would overshadow the night. All your focus was on living in the current moment — on Wooyoung.

Tomorrow was in the back of your mind, without regret.

. . . ⇢ part two : the remedy to resistance

author's note hey darlings !! this is my first full fanfic, i hope its up to your expectations — it was a little rushed towards the end — if you enjoy it, i might make a part 2 ?? i think i might also make a san version since i mentioned hookups between them.

✉ taglist @morethingsfandom @dreamsoffanfics @butterflydemons @youmeandwords @hwascutewife @e3ellie

written by planet-hwa™

#written by planet hwa ༉‧₊˚✧#ateez #jung wooyoung #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #ateez smut #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung imagines #wooyoung smut #wooyoung fanfic

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dreamersparacosm · 4 months ago

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jeon jungkook - the price of desire (part five)

warnings ; hm. sex in a trailer, oc turns into a pornstar, you ride the shit out of him wearing your corporate heels, unprotected sex

prompt ; in which you learn that your dignity has a price, and unfortunately, it looks a lot like Jeon Jungkook in Calvin Klein boxers.

note ; we are SO BACK. listen, i promised you all that oc would indeed get her lick back, and she does. wrote this while listening to wrong by zayn ft kehlani and it’s truly a bop that encapsulates these two buffoons. honestly if i could describe this chapter in a few words it would be: two people who are terrified of admitting defeat. (also at the end im adding a picture of how i think she would ride him so you can see it better. it’s actually mentally ill.)

playlist here

series masterlist here

The flight back to Korea was supposed to be a reset. A cold, clean surgical cut with no frayed edges, no bleeding. It was supposed to be 16 hours to realign, rebuild, remind yourself who the hell you are. The Chief Marketing Officer of Calvin Klein. The woman who keeps everything and everyone in check, not some sleep-deprived idiot who let herself cum at the hands of the one person she should have been immune to.

Instead, it was sixteen hours of psychological warfare because Jungkook was there.

Not technically beside you or talking to you. God, not even looking at you. He was two rows back, noise-canceling headphones on, hoodie pulled low, chewing gum like he didn’t just throw your entire mental state into disarray less than forty-eight hours ago.

His presence alone was enough to make your skin feel tight, like your body was suddenly a size too small. Enough to make your breath catch whenever you thought he shifted in your periphery. Enough to keep your arms crossed and your spine locked straight, mouthing emails you weren’t even writing just to avoid thinking about the way his mouth had felt on your skin.

It meant nothing, you told yourself on a loop. It won’t happen again. It can’t happen again.

Even days later, back on Korean soil, the ghost of LA still clings to you like a second skin. You’re jittery and constantly two seconds away from snapping, because no matter how much work you bury yourself in, no matter how many corporate fires you put out, your body remembers.

It remembers the sound of his voice at the base of your neck. The bruising grip of his fingers and the way he looked at you like he was trying to memorize the shape of your curves.

It’s invasive, the way it follows you. How easily the memory curls around you when you’re not paying attention. How you catch yourself thinking about him in the middle of meetings, in the elevator, in the fucking mirror. And it’s not even the sex — not really.

It’s him.

Jeon Jungkook. Annoying. Arrogant. Stupidly attractive. The human embodiment of a bad idea. The very same man who somehow lodged himself under your skin like a splinter you can’t dig out without bleeding.

The most embarrassing part of it all is you don’t even know if he’s thinking about it at all. You haven’t talked about it or acknowledged it. Maybe that’s for the best. Because if Jungkook isn’t affected, if he’s truly fine, then it gives you permission to pretend too.

You also know pretending will only work until you walk into a room and catch him looking at you.

Even Korea as a whole feels different this time. The skyline hasn’t changed, yet somehow you have. There’s a fracture now, something jagged where your certainty used to be. You can’t focus. You’re distracted in meetings, missing details you’d usually clock with a single glance. Your schedule is packed, brutal even, but your body is restless.

The real problem isn’t seeing him. It’s not seeing him.

It’s when a full day goes by without a snarky comment or a smirk tossed across the room. It’s when you walk into a space and realize he’s not there, and your stomach drops before your brain can lie to you.

It’s a problem, and you hate problems you can’t fix. So, you do what you always do when things start slipping out of control: you work until you drop. Your days blur into a haze of fluorescent lights and bottomless Americanos. Your nights stretch past midnight, stacked with back-to-back revisions and Slack messages you pretend don’t irritate you. It’s a self-imposed exile dressed up as ambition.

If you just keep moving, if you keep clicking and scrolling and typing until your fingers go numb, maybe the static in your brain will settle. Maybe this thing, this itch under your skin that looks suspiciously like Jeon Jungkook, will stop feeling so sharp.

Eventually, you tell yourself, he’ll stop feeling like something. Eventually, your body will forget the geography of his, the slope of his shoulder, the press of his chest. He’s like a ghost you can’t exorcise. Like a stain you can’t scrub out.

He’s in the stupid curve of his name in your inbox, the subject lines stamped with CK Global Campaign: Urgent. He’s in every mockup and mood board and creative deck stacked haphazardly on your desk. He’s twenty stories high on the side of a building downtown, flexing in black-and-white while your cab driver tells you, “That kid’s really famous, huh?”

And you just have to nod, teeth clenched like he didn’t fuck you against a conference room table a week ago and then proceed to show up in your meetings acting like he didn’t.

Even Daniel knows. Or, well, he doesn’t know, but you have to guess he does. He side-eyes you every time Jungkook’s name is mentioned, like he’s just waiting for you to crack and spill some dirty little secret you swore you’d bury.

You keep having to remind yourself that night was a mistake, a temporary lapse in judgment. But if it really was a mistake, why does it still feel like the only time you’ve ever let yourself breathe?

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

On set, surrounded by your team, his team, an entire army of executives, creatives, stylists, assistants, photographers, lighting techs, and people whose jobs you’re not even sure of, you feel small.

Which is ridiculous, frankly. This is your campaign. Your brand. Your vision. You’re the one who’s been living, breathing, and bleeding Calvin Klein for years. You should be running this space like a general on a battlefield.

However, you’re struggling to breathe. The air is buzzing with the static charge of a shoot in motion; cameras clicking, stylists darting in to fix a hem or smudge of shine, assistants whispering frantically into headsets, executives murmuring behind you in languages you half-recognize.

And then there is Jeon Jungkook, standing under the studio lights like he was born in them. A living, breathing ad campaign. A nightmare of temptation.

He’s shirtless, obviously. Low-slung denim riding the edge of indecency. An oversized denim jacket half off his shoulders, barely hanging on like it too was seduced.

You swear every move he makes is calculated. The way he runs his fingers through his sweat-dampened hair, or the way his lips part just enough, eyes hooded as he stares down the camera like he’s thinking filthy thoughts. The way the director mutters “Perfect” under their breath every three seconds, like they’ve forgotten how to breathe, too.

It’s all intentional. Normally, you wouldn’t even bat an eye. You’ve seen more male models strip down than a Las Vegas bachelorette party.

He catches you watching. He sees the way your gaze flits too fast and your lips press into a hard line when the camera catches the dip of his stomach, the flex of his thigh. There’s a warm, fuzzy feeling coiling in his stomach as he enjoys every second of your despair.

So when the director finally calls for a break and the energy shifts, you don’t even need to look up to know he’s coming toward you.

He stops close enough to be annoying. “You look stressed,” he says, voice low like he’s genuinely concerned. “Didn’t sleep well last night?”

Your fingers tighten around your clipboard. God, you want to smack him with it.

“Or… wait,” he adds, tilting his head. His eyes flick down over your figure. “You looked a little… distracted out there. See something you liked?”

You finally turn to him, expression flat and unimpressed, exhausted in that way only Jungkook can conjure. “That’s rich coming from a man who just pouted at the camera like a sell-out in a shampoo commercial.”

He grins, all teeth. “Don’t tell me you were watching that closely.”

He hums, dragging the back of his hand across his jaw like he’s thinking. He is not. “Was it the jacket? You like it off the shoulders? I can keep that going. For consistency, of course.”

You exhale slowly, sharply. “God, you’re the worst.” You say it through clenched teeth, laced with loathing and the last threads of restraint, every syllable a warning shot.

He only grins wider “Hm.”

You scoff, turning away and focusing on the clipboard or the set — anything but him.

That won’t stop him though. He doesn’t back off. He never backs off, not until you’re ready to scream or throw something or break, which you’re dangerously close to doing.

He licks his lips, runs a hand through his hair, and turns to walk toward the camera again.

Your grip tightens on the clipboard, nails pressing into the faux wood. Your throat burns and your skin prickles with a righteous fury that should qualify as terrorism.

You keep your expression neutral, like always, but your pulse is a traitor. You swear he can feel it from across the room.

The second the director yells cut, you’re gone. Not in a polite, professional, thanks-everyone-it-was-a-great-shoot kind of way. You don’t wait for playback or linger for wrap-up notes. You don’t even pretend to acknowledge the creative director who calls your name as you stalk past the lighting rig. You just turn on your heel and leave.

You’ve fucking had it. You’ve had it with the games, the smirks, the infuriatingly casual way Jungkook manages to dismantle your sanity with the arch of one goddamn brow. You’ve had it with how easily he slips beneath your skin like heat under a doorframe. You’ve had it with the way your body — your own traitorous body — won’t forget him.

Most of all, you’ve had it with yourself. This isn’t you. You don’t get rattled. You don’t get flustered. You don’t have emotions; not in the workplace, not for men like him.

You don’t let some overconfident, maddeningly pretty idol throw your entire internal compass off its axis.

So that’s it. You’re done.

One time. One mistake. End of story.

It never should have happened, and it sure as hell won’t happen again. Jungkook is just a blip, a glitch in the system, a fleeting indulgence. A moment of weakness you will not allow yourself to repeat.

All that to say — you head straight for his trailer, where you had seen him wander off immediately after the crew had wrapped.

You don’t even knock. It’s more of a courtesy tap before the door swings open and you step inside, all adrenaline and simmering fury and terrible judgment.

Suddenly, a wave of regret flushes through your entire being when you spot him. He’s lounging on the small leather couch like he owns the world. The jean jacket is gone, chest bare under the fluorescent light of the 80-square foot box. His hair’s a mess, damp at the temples, curling in a way that’s just cruel.

You freeze for a second, mostly because he looks like sin reincarnate and knows it.

He looks up at the noise and raises one eyebrow. His gaze drags slowly, down the length of you like he’s flipping through a menu. “To what do I owe the honor?”

You cross your arms. It’s part defense mechanism, part reflex, part an attempt to ignore the way heat is already crawling up your spine. “We need to talk.”

He stretches with his arms overhead, back arching, every line of muscle flexing. He then sinks deeper into the couch like this is his show and you’re just here for entertainment.

“This should be good,” he says, head tilted, grin lazy. He doesn’t sit up or even pretend to take you seriously. He just watches you, slowly blinking.

“You know,” he drawls, “I get it. You’re fighting a losing battle. Must be exhausting after getting a taste of me.”

You roll your eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t fall out of your skull. “No, actually.”

You exhale, tighter now. Your arms fold tighter across your chest. You look anywhere but directly at him because one more glance at that ridiculously golden, unfairly sculpted torso and you’ll forget what English sounds like. “I came here to tell you that whatever that was in LA? That’s not happening again.”

A shit-eating grin spreads across his face, “Oh? You sure about that?”

“Yes.” You snap the word too fast like you’re trying to cut off your own uncertainty before it can betray you.

But Jungkook catches it and his eyes flicker.

He leans forward, elbows braced on his knees, fingers loose between his thighs, body language all nonchalance and arrogance. His expression doesn’t shift much, just a glint of amusement threading through the dark of his gaze. Like this is funny to him. Like you’re funny.

“You sure?” he says, voice pitched just enough to grate. “Because you don’t look very sure.”

Well, fuck you. You’re not. And that’s the problem, isn’t it? Not him. Not the trailer. Not the fact that his abs are ten feet from your face and he’s still smirking like the devil on a good day.

The problem is you. You’re the one who cracked. You’re the one who came to his trailer. You’re also the one who kissed him like you meant it and moaned his name and said ‘thank you’ like those were your favorite fucking words. You swallow the truth before it can rise, pin your spine straight, steel your voice, and meet him with a glare sharp enough to cut glass. “This will never be a thing, Jungkook.”

He blinks with faux curiosity. “This? What exactly is this? Because last time I checked, you were the one kissing me back.”

“It was a mistake.” Your voice cracks a little.

He hums like he’s rolling the next words around his mouth just to see how it feels on his tongue. “Yeah?” he says. “Seemed pretty fucking intentional to me.”

Your nails dig into your palms. You want to slap that look off his face. You want to scream. You want to throw something.

“Let me make this clear. Whatever happened between us is done,” you bite, every word clipped. “It meant nothing. And it will never, ever happen again.”

Jungkook just looks at you. Then, that slow, infuriating curl of his lips that says you’re lying and we both know it. That look that lives rent-free in the back of your mind no matter how many times you try to evict it. “If you say so, sweetheart.”

That’s what fucking kills you. It’s not the denial or the pushback or the audacity of the pet name. It’s that he doesn’t argue or protest.

He just sits there, calm and smug, like all he has to do is outlast your resolve and you’ll come undone all over again.

You inhale sharply, forcing the tremble out of your voice, trying to gather what little dignity you have left. “You think this is funny?”

Standing there in his trailer, flushed and heart pounding in your ears, the sting isn’t just in your skin; it’s in your pride. The way Jungkook leans back like your anger is amusing — it guts you in a way no man has before. This isn’t entirely new. You’ve built an entire career bulldozing men who thought they could outmaneuver you, talk over you, pat you on the head and call it a compliment. And yet he’s somehow doing what no one else ever could: getting under your skin. He’s dismissing you like you’re not the sharpest person in the room. That’s the part you can’t survive. Because if he doesn’t take you seriously, you lose everything.

“Let me remind you of something, Jungkook,” you say, cutting clean through the thick air between you. “I am in charge around here. I’m the reason you’re even working with us.“

He watches you silently. He’s letting you talk to see how far you’ll go before you crack again.

You step closer to him without your mind even realizing. You’re close enough for him to know you mean it. “I’ve worked my ass off to get where I am. You’re just another contract. Another pretty face in a stack of numbers I’ve already filed away in my brain.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you add, tone like steel. “You’re just some guy. Nothing more.”

His lips twitch. It’s not a smile nor laugh, it’s a flicker that screams you poor thing, you still don’t get it, and he’s three steps ahead and generously letting you believe you’re in control.

“You’re right,” Jungkook says, soaked in condescension. “You do run all of this.“

He tilts his head, eyes sharpening. “But you don’t really run me.”

He doesn’t move but somehow, it still feels like you’ve been pushed back. He’s peeling your confidence off, layer by layer, without even lifting a single finger.

“You can sit there in your perfect little outfit,” he says, gaze dragging over your clothes with infuriating precision, “and pretend like this is nothing.”

His eyes pause on your mouth and linger. “But I heard you in LA. I felt you. I know exactly how you sound… how you taste.”

“You think I’m scared of you?” you quip. “You think you’re the first man who thought he could shake me? Get under my skin? Please.”

Jungkook’s tongue pushes against the inside of his cheek. “I think,” he counters, “I’m the first one who actually did.”

You hate that you don’t have an answer to that, not one that doesn’t sound like a lie even in your own head.

The truth is a hell of a lot worse than anything he could say out loud.

You lean into him, deflecting all possible thoughts that scream at you in your head to do otherwise. You know him well enough now. You know what throws him off, what catches him mid-smirk, mid-thought, mid-breath.

“You know what I think, Jungkook?” you murmur, your voice the kind of calm that comes right before the storm. “I think you want me… and you’re mad I’m not begging for you.”

Your hand rises before you even think about it, fingertips pressing against the bare plane of his chest. Your hands trace along his collarbone, then glide downward.

His back eases into the couch with a quiet, reluctant exhale, his shoulders dropping, eyes never leaving yours.

And then suddenly, you’re hovering on top of him, hand gripping the couch headrest to steady yourself.

If he tilted his head, just barely, your mouths would meet. Your breath mingles with his in the space between you. There is a subtle twitch of his hands against the cushion, like he’s holding himself back from grabbing you by the waist and dragging you down.

You should really move away.

“Yeah?” he rasps like it’s scraping its way out of his throat. “What makes you think that?”

You should walk away. You should call it for what it is — dangerous, reckless, completely off-script.

Your painted nails drag lightly down his chest, and you lean down until your lips hover just above his jaw.

You let your mouth brush against the sharp edge of his jaw, a light kiss; it’s more suggestion than action, more threat than promise.

Jungkook goes still. When you finally pull back, his smirk is gone.

God, if you stay here another second, he’s going to grab you and make a liar out of both of you.

Jungkook’s breath is shallow, his chest rising and falling beneath your fingertips like you’ve got a hand pressed to a live wire.

The wire snaps pretty shortly after that. It’s just another lapse in judgement, right?

You’re kissing him. You don’t know who leans in — if it’s you, if it’s him, if it even matters —because the second your lips crash against his, the world narrows down to this one moment. This one reckless, dizzying, repeated offense.

Your hands dive into his hair, dragging through the strands as his fingers clamp down on your hips. Now you’re really climbing into his lap, knees sinking into the couch cushions, your thighs bracketing his. Your skirt hikes up and his hands don’t help. He groans into your mouth like the sound’s been buried in his chest since LA and finally clawed its way out.

Maybe you missed this more than you want to admit.

This doesn’t feel like some impulsive relapse. It feels inevitable. Like the universe was always going to twist you back together, no matter how many warnings you whispered to yourself or how many times you tried to label it a mistake.

Your nails scrape against his scalp as he licks into your mouth possessively. Your body is burning from the inside out when he’s kissing you like you’re oxygen and he’s been drowning.

He shifts under you, grinding up just slightly, and your breath hitches, completely out of your control. Right now, with his hands digging into your thighs and his tongue in your mouth and his cock pressing hard against you through his jeans, consequences don’t exist.

“Knew you’d come back to me,” he mutters, lips dragging across your jaw.

“Been dreaming about you,” he adds, “Every fucking night.”

Something volatile in you snaps. Maybe it’s the arrogance in his voice. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s right. Maybe it’s that he knows he’s right, and you’re sick of it. Your hand moves before you even register it, fingers curling around his jaw, forcing his face up until he’s looking at you. “You talk too much.”

“Oh, yeah?” He smiles lightly.

Your nails drag down the side of his neck, a slow glide of pressure over his pulse, and you feel it kick against your fingertips. “Use that mouth for something better.”

Jungkook lets out a low, broken laugh, but he doesn’t waste a second. His mouth is on your jaw, trailing down your neck, teeth grazing and your head tips back.

Oh god, this is wrong. You know that. You knew it before you walked in. You knew it in LA. You know it now. But when his mouth hits your collarbone and his lips suck just hard enough to make you arch, logic doesn’t stand a chance.

His hands slide up, fingers dipping under the hem of your shirt, thumbs brushing the edges of your ribs like he’s holding you steady.

You hate how good he is at this. You hate how easily your body gives in. You hate that he’s smug about it, that he dreamed this exact moment and now he’s watching it play out in real time.

“You wanna pretend you don’t need this?” he murmurs, “Wanna pretend you don’t want me?”

“Fucking knew it,” he says, and you swear you can hear the smirk in his voice, even as his teeth graze your jaw and his hips grind up into you again.

Your fingers dig into his hair, yanking his head back, and he gasps, eyes flying open, dark and glassy and so full of want it makes you ache.

“You think you know everything,” you breathe, drunk on the rush of having him under you, on you, wanting you.

His hands slide down, grabs your hips again, and grinds you down on him harder.

“I know you, angel,” he exhales. “I know that when I touch you like this, you lose your mind.”

Your stomach tightens, jaw clenching with the effort it takes to stay composed, but your body betrays you, thighs twitching around his hips. “Look at you,” he muses, grinning like the smug bastard he is. His hands slip lower,tugging at the waistband of your skirt like he has every right to. “Acting like you’re still in control when you’re probably dripping for me.”

Your nails dig into his shoulder, sharp enough to leave a mark, and your breath stutters, but it’s not because he’s wrong. It’s because he’s right.

Your laugh cuts through the air as you grind down on him. The friction is deliberate, cruel, and so very satisfying when Jungkook chokes on a gasp, head falling back, eyes fluttering shut. His fingers tense at your waist, trying to hold on.

“You think you know me?” you sneer, your fingers drifting up his chest, feather-light but scorching all the same. He feels you grind against him again, another sinfully slow drag of your body against the hard length straining beneath his jeans. “You’re the one falling apart right now.”

Jungkook groans and his palms dig into your hips as if he’s seconds away from losing whatever self-control he has left. “Aw,” you coo, your other hand twisting into his hair and yanking, just enough to make his head fall back, just enough to watch his eyes flutter and his lips part in a gasp. “All that talk, and now you’re sitting here, hard as fuck, just waiting for me to do something about it.”

His cock twitches beneath you, and you feel every inch of it. “Poor boy,” you purr “Thought you were supposed to be ruining me?”

“F-Fuck,” he gasps, his hands twitching like he wants to hold you still, wants to flip the script but you refuse to let him. You keep grinding and dragging him to the edge and smiling as he trembles for you.

“You gotta…” he pants, hips jerking up in a desperate, fruitless attempt for more. “Fuck, baby, you gotta stop—“

It slips out of his mouth mid-grind of your hips. It shouldn’t matter but it knocks the wind out of you like he’s pulled something tight from your chest without warning. Your brain stutters, stalls, like what the fuck was that, like who gave him permission to make it sound like more than it is. It’s not sweet or tender. But still...softened at the edges and intimate in a way you weren’t prepared for. He called you that before but this time it clings to your skin long after he says it, echoing in your head like a bruise you don’t want to look at too closely.

“Stop?” you echo sweetly, grinding harder, dragging your clothed core over the thick bulge in his jeans until he’s gasping, until his fingers go white-knuckled at your waist.

“Oh my god,” he chokes out.

“What’s wrong, Jungkook?” you whisper, your lips hovering but never touching his. “Not as fun when you’re the one begging, huh?”

“Fuck, please,” he breathes, forehead pressing to yours, his body trembling like it’s too much and not enough all at once.

“Please what,” you murmur, dragging your fingers down his stomach, stopping at the waistband of his jeans. “You gotta be more specific, baby.”

“Please, just… do something,” he begs,“I’m gonna fucking cum in my pants like a middle schooler if you don’t.”

God, the way you grin. Last time he had you gasping, whimpering, begging. Now it’s your turn.

“Aw,” you croon,“Sounds like a you problem.”

Your hand slips lower. When he realizes your palm is pressing down, cupping him through the heavy denim of his jeans… it’s game over.

“F-fuck, oh my f-fucking god,” he gasps, full-body jerking into your touch like he didn’t mean to and his hips have developed a mind of their own. His fists clench around the cushions, chest heaving, his lip disappearing between his teeth with such force you’re genuinely concerned he might rip that lip ring straight out.

Your fingers start to move, lazy circles over the aching bulge beneath his jeans. “You’ve really been thinking about this all day, haven’t you?” you whisper, and the way his throat bobs is almost funny.

“Fuck, yes,” Jungkook chokes out.”You have no idea.”

“You looked so fucking good today.” His voice breaks on the word good, hips bucking up into your hand,“I couldn’t, I fucking… baby, I swear to god—”

“You swear to god what, Jungkook?” you ask sweetly, tilting your head, “That you’re gonna beg me to let you fuck me?”

“C’mon, please—” he pants, and god, he’s so far gone, his voice is just a thread now, pulled tight and fraying. His hands cup your ass, yanking you down harder, grinding himself into your palm like pride is a thing he gave up fifteen minutes ago. “Please, please, fuck, just let me.”

“Let you what, hm?” you purr. His mouth falls open and nothing comes out but the sound of a man breaking.

“Let me fuck you.” His eyes meet yours, a tinge of desperation behind them.

“Fine,” you sigh as if it’s a chore, like you’re granting a favor to a desperate fan, even as your hand drifts to the zipper of his jeans, fingers working it open painfully slow.

“Since you asked so nicely,” you add, as you finally shift, lifting your hips just enough to tug his jeans down over his thighs. You hook your fingers in the waistband of his boxers — the Calvin Kleins, of course.

You push the fabric down and his cock slaps up against his stomach. He’s soaked with precum that smears wetly across the ridges of his tip, dripping down the thick length.

Jungkook gasps and his cock twitches helplessly. The sight of him panting and at your mercy makes your stomach tighten.

“F-fuck,” He’s barely resisting the impulse to grab you, flip you, shove himself inside you and end the torture you’re so expertly delivering.

Yet, he stays right where you’ve left him because he’s that far gone for you. You’ve taken him apart piece by piece and he’s letting you. If letting you stay in control is what it takes to fuck you again, he’ll give you everything.

“You look like you’re in pain, baby,” you say, mock-sympathetic, your register so sweet it might rot teeth.

“I am in pain,” he grits out, his jaw clenched so tight it looks like it might crack. “So fucking do something about it.”

He looks like he’s five seconds away from ripping through his own skin just to get to you.

The second you shift and start to lift off him, he lets out a choked sound. You stand up, reach for the buttons of your blouse, still absurdly corporate considering what you’re about to do.

You slide it off and the fabric slips down your arms and pools to the floor in one smooth motion.

His breathing turns shaky as his hand moves. It’s slow at first, wrapping around his cock, dragging his fist down the flushed, dripping length because it physically hurts to wait any longer. His thumb swipes over the tip, gathering precum, slicking the motion.

Your fingers trail down your sides, circling over the waistband of your skirt, watching the way his eyes follow every movement like he’s been starved. His Adam’s apple bobs hard.

“So slow,” he spits out, his hand now moving faster over his cock,“You’re actually trying to kill me.”

The zipper slides down. The skirt pools at your ankles. You step out of it with ease, black heels still on, lace still clinging to your body like a perfectly wrapped gift.

“Take it off,” he demands, abs flexing with every ragged breath and precum now smeared across his hand and stomach.

“Ask nicely,” you purr, fingers drifting up your sides to snap the straps of your bra, not even touching the clasp yet, just taunting, because if anyone deserves to be edged to insanity, it’s him.

“Fucking please,” he begs “Please, baby, I’m gonna lose it, please just let me—“

And then, finally you reach behind you, unhook the clasp, and let your bra slip down your arms. Your thumbs hook into the waistband of your underwear, dragging them down, one long torturous inch at a time, stepping out of them like you have all the time in the world.

And now you’re standing there wearing nothing but your heels.

“Oh my god,” he pants, his cock twitching violently in his grip, “Oh my fucking god.”

He stares up at you, and he’s not sure whether to worship you or find a way to survive you.

“Get the fuck back on me,” he growls, hand pumping faster and sloppier, like he’s seconds away from finishing. “Before I lose it.”

The second you climb back into his lap, it’s like you’ve triggered something primal. Jungkook’s hands fly to your waist, gripping tight. Like he’s genuinely on the brink of blacking out if you don’t let him inside you right now. Honestly, he might be.

His cock twitches against your entrance, dragging through your soaked folds as you hover above him, teasing both of you. The anticipation is borderline unbearable — it’s not even sexy anymore, kind of like pleasure and pain are having a screaming match in your bloodstream.

You take his cock in your hands, sink down and the stretch hits you like a slap, your mouth falling open on a sound you don’t even recognize. Your nails rake down his arms as your thighs clamp around his waist, the fullness hitting too deep.

“Oh my… fuck!” you gasp, chest heaving, your hands scrambling for something to hold onto.

“F-fuck, you’re so tight. So f-fucking perfect,” he moans, and it’s not even cocky anymore.

His hands slip lower, grab handfuls of your ass, trying to coax you into moving. The stretch is insane. Every nerve in your body is screaming and your brain is trying to make sense of how full you are, how your walls are fluttering around him like you’ve already started to fall apart.

“Sh-shit Jungkook,” you whimper, biting your lip.

The second you move, it’s a full-body reaction: your back arches, another desperate sound spills from your mouth.

Jungkook chokes on some animalistic noise. “Goddamn… so good,” he mutters, and it’s barely a sentence, seemingly escaping his mouth before he could process the words.

You start to move, riding him hard. It’s just you, bouncing on his cock like you’ve got something to prove. The pace is rough, your body slamming down on him again and again, the sound of skin on skin echoing through the trailer, your tits bouncing with every movement.

You don’t care if the entire team is standing outside the door right now. You’re not stopping.

You’re riding him like you’re trying to make him forget his own name. His jeans are a disaster, absolutely unsalvageable. Your slick is everywhere, dripping down his thighs, smeared across both your bodies, pooling beneath the waistband like a crime scene.

“You’re— fuck!” he gasps, his hips snapping up to meet you, “You’re so hot.”

You’d laugh at how basic that is, how scrambled his brain must be to resort to that, but you’re too busy falling apart.

The pleasure’s coming in these brutal, unrelenting waves. Every time he unknowingly thrusts up into you, it’s too much and not enough at once.

Your eyes meet his and something in your chest snaps, burns to ash on the spot. The look on his face is full of hunger and awe.

His cock twitches violently inside you, thick and buried so deep you can barely take it. “Oh my god.”

His eyes are glued to yours like you’re hypnotizing him, like he’s afraid to blink and miss the moment you break. “You’re — fuck! — you’re so fucking hot like this,” he gets out, his head falling forward. His body is shaking underneath you, sweat sticking to his skin.

Your whole body jolts, muscles clenching, heat coiling in your stomach so fast it steals the air from your lungs. You’re shaking now, the pressure building with terrifying speed.

“That’s it, baby,” he whines. His hips slam up into you harder now, fucking into you with everything he has left. “Fucking cum for me.”

Your orgasm hits like a car crash. Your body seizes violently, your thighs shaking so hard it feels like you might actually collapse. Your walls clench around him like you’re trying to pull him deeper even though he’s already as deep as it gets.

He nearly sobs, his hands tightening so hard on your waist you’re pretty sure you’ll have bruises tomorrow. “Fuck, baby,” His thighs lock, his abs contract, his breath punches out of him in ragged bursts.

You don’t give him a second to recover, and you barely let yourself breathe, because no, this isn’t over. Not even close. You’re not done until he’s broken and he’s begging.

“That’s cute,” you tease, leaning in, nails digging into his arms. “If you think I’m done with you.”

You can’t be, not when there’s still more to take, not when he hasn’t learned his lesson yet.

Your hands slide down to his thighs, steadying yourself, lifting just slightly. You plant your heels in the couch cushions, spread your legs wider, adjust your angle. You drop, sinking down again.

“Oh my f-fucking god,” His eyes flick down and you feel the way his whole body seizes as he watches his cock disappear into you again, and again, and again. The new angle has him hitting deeper.

“Holy fuck, you feel so good,” he groans.

You glance down for a second and… fuck. Your bodies are conjoined by a mix of your juices and some of his precum. You nearly moan again just from the visual.

“I’m not done with you, baby,” you breathe out, still high from the rush of your orgasm but already building again. You say it just to see the way his eyes snap to yours.

“Then fucking prove it.” He challenges.

You feel like a pornstar. Not in a glamorous, cinematic, airbrushed kind of way. The kind that lives in browser history and shame.

Your designer heels dig into the couch cushions, the extra height forcing your thighs wider, forcing your body into a position so filthy it should’ve been choreographed. You’re fully exposed and open, bouncing on Jungkook’s cock like you’ve never ridden anyone before.

“Holy. fucking. shit.” he gasps, each word punched out of him by another bounce of your hips, his hands gripping tighter like he doesn’t know what part of this is real and what part is a hallucination sent from hell.

His eyes trace the way your slick coats his cock, watching himself disappear into you. “Fucking yourself on my cock like you were made for it.”

“You love this, don’t you?” You manage to get out as your nails drag down his sweat-slicked chest, scoring red across tight muscle. You’re so far gone you can barely remember your own name, let alone why this is a bad idea.

Your walls flutter around him, dangerously close, your body already spiraling again.

“You love making a mess on me,” he grits out. You let out a whimper, fingers digging harder into his chest because you can’t stop now. You don’t want to stop.

The trailer is literally shaking. The walls rattle. The couch groans like it’s begging for mercy. Something in the ceiling creaks ominously.

Jungkook’s cock is slamming into you at a pace that shouldn’t even be possible, stretching you open so perfectly it hurts in the best way. Every bounce makes your breath stutter. Every desperate snap of his hips leaves you shaking uncontrollably, dripping around him, coming undone all over again.

You’re also being embarrassingly loud. Anyone passing by the trailer probably thinks someone is being murdered inside.

Jungkook sounds just as destroyed. His moan is guttural, ripped straight from his chest. “You love riding this cock, huh? Love how deep I get inside you?”

“Fuck yes,” you breathe, bouncing harder now. “Bet you don’t even care if people can hear us. Bet you’d love for them to know how fucking desperate you are for this pussy.”

His eyes fly open and he wraps an arm around your hips and slams you down on him, over and over, forcing you to take every brutal, devastating inch.

“Oh my god,” he groans, voice “Fuck, I’m gonna—”

His hands are shaking where they hold you, every muscle straining, every ounce of control hanging by a single, snapping thread.

The second he cums, his whole body goes rigid. He slams you down one final time, so deep you cry out, his cock buried to the hilt.

You don’t dare let him get lost in it. You lean in close, grab his jaw with one hand and force his eyes back on yours. “Look at me while you fucking cum.”

He listens, mostly because he’s so fucking gone for you. So wrapped around your finger that even now he gives you everything.

His eyes flutter open, but they stay on yours. Jungkook’s body trembles violently beneath you as you grind down slowly, milking every last drop from him.

“You talk so much shit, baby,” you murmur, “Thinking you’re the one who gets to ruin me.”

His cock is still buried inside you, still spurting the last desperate pulses of his orgasm so deep it feels like he’s trying to mark you from the inside out.

“But look at you now,” you purr, tilting his chin up with two fingers. “Cumming so hard for me,.”

“Fuck,” His lips are kiss-bruised and swollen, red from all the biting. His lip ring is cool against your thumb as you drag it across his mouth slowly, admiring your handiwork.

“Mhm.” You smirk, cocking your head, “Will there be no thank you?”

He just stares back at you, heavy-lidded.

For the first time in a long time, it unsettles you.

You inhale sharply, trying to force air into your lungs like it’ll reset your brain. Like it’ll snap you out of whatever the hell this is, this thing tightening in your chest that has no business being here.

You shift off his lap, his cock slipping out of you with a soft, wet drag that makes both of you twitch. You roll over onto the couch beside him, eyes locked on the ceiling, your heartbeat trying and failing to find a steady rhythm.

You should leave. You should slide your clothes back on, straighten your spine, toss out some cold remark and storm out the way you did last time. Armor re-secured.

You should also say something biting that re-establishes the pecking order.

You just lie there for a few more seconds.

Finally, you sit up. You reach for your shirt, sliding it back over your shoulders, buttoning it calmly. You rake a hand through your hair.

You don’t even get all the buttons done before the regret slams into you, sharp and immediate, like a slap to the face you should’ve seen coming. It’s not guilt exactly. It’s worse. It’s that sick, sinking feeling when you make a mistake.

What are you doing?

He’s Jungkook. He’s smug and annoying and way too pretty when he’s cumming, and yet somehow, you keep crawling back like he’s the only drug that hits. All you can think is: you’re smarter than this. But god, the sex is so good it makes you stupid. Apparently, that’s your fatal flaw.

You glance over, and Jungkook is still watching you.

Something should be said here. You should say something. He should say something.

You force steel into your spine and venom into your voice. “Try not to get too attached, Jungkook.”

He huffs out a laugh. Somehow, it’s off, not with the same bite it usually has. “Please. I was over it before you even buttoned your shirt.”

Next, you would scoff, roll your eyes and toss another barb over your shoulder before strutting out like nothing happened.

You don’t quite believe him. You also don’t know if he believes it either.

You force yourself to move. Coerce your legs to walk, your heels to click, your fingers to reach for the doorknob. You walk out like nothing’s changed, like this is a game you’re winning.

But the thing is: it doesn’t really feel like a victory. It feels like a warning.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

masterlist + request

*link to pic in question here on twt also in the pic imagine jungkook sitting on a couch instead of laying down

taglist ; @lovingkoalaface @maybetheproblemisme @mimi1097 @mar-lo-pap @mysjammy @yooniepot @tinytan-gerine @ashslight @sky-23s-world @myzzysstuff @elinaki92 @7fever @munchkin-kitty7-blog @uarmygguk @jjkluver7 @coletaehyung @jkxlvrr @amarawayne @kooslilhoe @bangchanwantsmesobad @kpopslur @senaqsstuff @sugakookies77 @tteokbokibyjk @emmie2308 @neurospicynugget @prxdajeon @majesticjung-97 @jksusawife @rkivesarchive @hyunjinswifetingzz @bjoriis @nan4rf @parkinglot-nights @travelgurrl @softhaes @bexxs @magicalnachocreator @wisebouquetbarbarian

#jeon jungkook #jungkook #bts jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #bts #bts x reader #jjk #jjk x reader #jeon jeongguk #jungkook angst #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic

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veryfruitywriting · 1 month ago

Note

The waiter has more

Sleepy Mac waking up in the middle of the night and finding you next to them, still studying and working for your programming exams(or any other subject tbh). They decide to try and help while also hugging you from behind and being very cuddly 🤧🤧

-💻

omg. ur gonna be the DEATH OF ME. i can’t… i have to write this. UGWXKWKXKSLSKKSKX. ITS TOO CUTE.

mac mini story :p

you had gone to bed hours ago. sinking into the mattress with mac, you didn’t really fall asleep. your eyes stared at the darkened ceiling that was illuminated by passing cars from time to time. you had a lot on your mind, your nerves were itching your skin.

you were studying. perfecting any chance of acing your upcoming exam. but mac had begged you to come to bed. to rest your eyes and take a break from your computer and stacked notebooks. you told them to go ahead and asleep, but they weren’t budging. after a few minutes of them staring into the back of your head, you admitted defeat and followed after them to the bedroom.

the clock ticked. roni was fast asleep. the cat was curled up at the end of your feet. mac had hugged you for warmth but drifted apart, limbs spread across the bed. you continued to stare at the ceiling. your hands clamped together, your thumb gently tapping against your chest. you were analyzing your notes from memory. whispering to yourself the answers and reciting long, complicated pages of numbers from your notes.

an hour and half has passed. wasted. you would’ve gotten so much done if you weren’t laying here. gently and carefully, you lifted your head, looking at your lover who was sound asleep. mouth agape slightly and their arm over their face. you adored them. you loved that they took care of you. but reality was, you weren’t going to sleep. not like this. not when that exam was tomorrow evening.

you gently unraveled yourself from the sheets, throwing your legs over the edge of the bed as you were trying to be as quiet as possible. roni had woken up, shuffling in their little bed before noticing you sit up. they let out a small squeak before lazily running across the headboard and falling onto your lap. “roni…” you whispered out, rubbing your eye. “i’ll be back. i just need to look over my notes more.” roni shook their head and rubbed their head against your hand, trying to keep you from leaving. “just.. give me a few more minutes and i’ll be back. i swear.” after a moment, the mouse hesitated but nodded. returning back to their bed, they watched your silhouette disappear.

there you are again. hunched over your laptop, mindlessly clicking while listening to podcasts to keep you awake and somewhat focused. you kept your promise to roni, you had returned…. but you brought in your laptop to keep studying. they found themselves on your shoulder, snuggled against the crook of your neck. you both were happy. roni got to sleep on you while you continued to study.

hours and hours passed. you were very cozy yet determined with your work. you carefully sipped on your water bottle before adjusting your own blue light glasses. typing gently as you can, your head bopping with music. you sucked in your world to notice mac stirring away. they lifted their head up slightly, eyes half closed, and nose scrunched as they inhaled the cold air. they yawned softly, their hands trying to find you but only met with an empty space.

mac turned their head towards your directly and saw the horrific scene. you were still awake. they couldn’t deny the fact that you looked very cute right now. your small faint smile, your tired eyes, the yawn you just gave out. ugh. you were so adorable. but so irresponsible to your own well being. they hated exam season solely for this reason.

they flipped on their side, admiring the sight for a moment. their hand gently reached over and held your moving hand. your eye widened as you were finally caught in the act. before you could make up an excuse, they leaned over and wrapped their arms around your waist. pulling themselves closer to you and smuggling their face into your sides. inhaling your body wash. “why are you still studying…” they muffle againist your body.

you sighed softly and removed one of your earbuds, looking down at them before rubbing the back of their head. “i just.. needed a bit more time to study.” you answered honestly. “my nerves are tingling. i’m so worried about how this is gonna end up.” you continued, your free hand running through your hair in urgency. mac didn’t respond, as they had fallen asleep once more. it didn’t take long for them to gain consciousness again.

they yawned and finally moved, quickly planting a kiss on your cheek. rubbing their eyes, they sat upright and next to you, their arms crossed over their chest as they squinted at your lowly dimmed laptop. “lemme help you..” “no, mac. you’re obviously tired, go to bed.” they shushed you and snuggled against your side, “nonsense. if i can help you, it means we can get this done faster and you can sleep with me.”

you didn’t argue. honestly, having them to ask questions and be your second opinion was definitely helping you ease those nerves.

about half an hour had passed and you can tell the sleepiness was getting to them once again. they were becoming more physical with you. just like they always been when it was time for bed.

their hands held yours. ran over your exposed arms. messed with the fabric of your shirt. they planted lazily kisses on your face every time you gave the correct answer. they were so cute like this. you couldn’t help but feel so in love with them once again. a rush of serotonin was over taking your buzzing nerves.

they wrapped their arms around you once again,—after roni crawled to their bed once again—gathering any warmth they could from you. you couldn’t do it anymore. you were satisfied with your studying. it was time to hit the hay.

quickly, you saved all of your documents and soon powered off your computer. planting it on your nightstand beside your glasses. your arm wrapped around mac’s waist and pulled them on top of you as you adjusted yourself on the mattress. mac laid on top of you, their arms loosely wrapped around your shoulders and their face barely touching your neck. their faint breathing againist your skin made you instantly relax.

“thank you, my love.” you whisper into their ear. your free hand running through the back of their hair to ease them into sleep. you no longer felt that tightness in your lower stomach. no longer did your nerves itch underneath your skin. you felt confident about your exam. you felt grateful. you kissed mac’s ear before finally allowing your tired body to drift away.

#veryfruity asks #veryfruitywriting #did this in one go #it’s 12am #GOOOODDDNIGHT #mac date everything #date everything x reader #mac date everything x reader #soooo rough #did not proofread this #anon 💻#this idea was so cute #i had to

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uzumaki-rebellion · 3 months ago

Text

Choose One (Chapter 6) by Uzumaki Rebellion

Characters: Elijah "Smoke" Moore and Elias "Stack" Moore (characters in the Michael B. Jordan movie "Sinners"). Lena Blackwell (OC).

Warning(s): Mentions of Hoodoo, Explicit Sex, Supernatural Elements, Romance, Some Violence, Polyamory, and Angst. Pre-Sinners movie.

Summary: Lena Blackwell works in an illegal after-hours Black & Tan club in Bronzeville where she seduces twin brothers Smoke and Stack. Each brother has qualities she likes and she embarks on an illicit affair with both. All is well until one of the twins starts catching feelings.

Word Count: 5.9K

youtube

"Wink at a man (see-line)

And he wink back (see-line)'

Lisa Fischer—"See-Line Woman"

Lena breezed into the Dreamland Club and stood out just as Stack had predicted.

The smaller joint jumped with hot music and a courser crowd than the Sunset Café. Ernie's club entertained an upscale clientele. Dreamland was a mix and match of aspirational high-life negroes and the cut throat dregs of society coloreds. The ballroom interior used a Japanese-themed décor to give a grandiose far-east appeal with decadent red and gold colors drenching the walls.

She glanced at the band playing and recognized a few fellas from around the way, itinerant musicians who played anywhere the money was good. At least she could name-drop some references about her singing abilities. She dropped off her coat at the coat check stand and maneuvered to get a look around. Lena turned heads as she went, and some folks recognized her from the Sunset. She bopped her head, made eye contact with admirers, and shook her hips in time to the music. Surveying various sections of the ballroom, she looked for well-dressed fat cats that could be Will Bottoms or the general rear area where gangsters liked to hide in shadows with owners. She relaxed into the rhythm of the establishment, keeping aware of her surroundings. Several men approached her to dance, and she politely declined, claiming to have a husband that she waited for. After forty minutes of casual spying and meandering about to avoid suitors, she headed over to the cocktail lounge.

"Lena! Heyyyyy bay-beeeee, looking good tonight!"

She looked to her left. A former neighbor waved her over.

"How's it going Harold?"

Lena took advantage of the empty seat at Harold's table that faced the section she wanted to watch. Harold's glazed eyes and slurred speech made him an easy target to pump for information. With slick glossy black hair making waves to the back of his scalp and a pencil-thin mustache, Harold had matinee idol looks, but none of the charm to match. His girlfriend, Gertrude, the plump dollfaced woman seated next to him, was a good friend of Bernice. Gertrude leaned forward and her voluptuous mahogany breasts almost fell out of her dress and onto the table cluttered with empty glasses and cigarette butts.

"We read about the Sunset getting shot up. Are you okay?" Gertrude asked.

"I'm fine. Looking for work until they open back up, though. Is the manager here tonight? Do y'all know who Will Bottoms is?"

"Sure, I know who he is," Harold said, knocking back the drink in his hand.

He pointed to a dapperly dressed, pudgy Black man cozied up next to two young women with pink and white complexions and poorly styled blonde bobs. A portly white man sat with them, his gaze directed at the colored women spinning around with dance partners. They were part of the handful of white faces in the entire ballroom. On the dance floor, Lena spotted a Creole woman Stack used to fuck snuggled in the arms of a well put together white man with thinning hair.

"I heard on the radio that someone killed five people," Harold blurted, his breath wicked from the liquor.

"Yeah, it was pretty bad. Excuse me," Lena said.

She jumped up and made a show of walking past Bottoms's table. He clocked her fast, his eyes sliding from her breasts to her ass as she moseyed over to the cocktail lounge.

Taking a seat at the bar counter, she pulled out one of Smoke's cigarettes she rolled for him before he disappeared on her. Digging for her lighter in her pocketbook, the bartender flicked a light for her and she held the tip in the flame. She inhaled the smoke and blew it out.

"Thanks. Can I get a club soda?"

The balding male bartender nodded.

"This place is jumping tonight…like water on hot grease."

"Guess you ain't heard about the shooting that happened?"

"Over at the Sunset?"

"A lot of their regulars came over here."

"Oh, yeah?"

Lena puffed on her cigarette and glanced over her shoulder. Will Bottoms stayed preoccupied with his table.

"Listen…I'm looking for a job. Any openings here? I can mix drinks, sing… dance if needed. I got rent due and I can really use a gig."

The bartender sized her up and grinned.

"Oh…you one of those Sunset people."

Lena gave him a shy smile. He propped an arm on the counter and leaned on it heavily.

"A bunch of workers from there hustled in earlier tonight. Not dressed like you, though," he said.

"Any of them get hired?"

"Nah, we're staffed tight. These days, ain't nobody tryna lose work. Tough break for you folks until the Sunset re-opens again."

Lena frowned and stubbed out her cigarette in an ashtray.

"Guess I'm wasting my time then," she said.

"Not exactly. My boss likes fancy girls that look like you. Maybe if you flirt a little, he'll make an exception about hiring extra help."

"Where is he?"

She pretended to look around.

"He's over at table six. A big man, can't miss him. Fancy gold pocket watch and diamond rings on his fingers."

"What's your name?"

"Brodie."

Lena reached into her pocketbook and pulled out a dollar.

"Thanks for your help."

She placed the money on the counter, and Brodie looked at it.

"You tipping dollar bills… are you sure you need work?"

She grinned and slid off her seat. Guzzling her club soda quickly, she left the bar and circled the ballroom. No need to go directly to Bottoms. It was better to ease up on him while searching for signs of Ernie. A gorgeous ebony-skinned beauty tugged on Lena's arm.

"You're Lena, right?" the woman asked. "From the Sunset?"

"Do I know you?"

"I'm Louise, Stack's girl."

"Stack's girl?"

"Yeah, he's staying with me. Have you seen him?"

Louise appeared annoyed having to ask Lena anything. Loose waves styled her long, lush hair, and her statuesque body, with its perfect curves like Lena's, filled out a royal blue plunging-back dress. A dancer.

"I'm worried about him. He didn't come home last night, and I know you're connected to Ernie and all those gangsters over there."

"How long has he been staying with you?"

Loiuse shifted her weight to her left leg and tilted her head.

"What's it to you? That's my man, and I want to know where he is."

"Sorry, I don't know."

"Well, I know he ain't dead. If you see him, tell him I'm looking for him."

Louise turned her head and walked over to a group of women gossiping near the edge of the dance floor. Lena watched her for a moment. So that's where Stack hid the last two weeks he'd been gone. Shacked up with an old lover. She'd have to let Max know he was wrong about the man's tastes in women. Louise was a goddamn dark velvet dream girl. Even Lena wanted a taste of her. Perhaps she could finesse a threesome to watch Stack work his magic stick on the woman. She wondered if he picked out her wardrobe too with that form-fitting dress.

Louise glanced back and caught Lena checking her out. The woman's expression didn't seem to mind the direct, seductive staring. Her full lips ticked up into a knowing smile at Lena. As tempting as Loiuse looked, the night had to be about her work for the twins.

Lena turned and locked in on Will Bottoms.

Wait.

He'd moved from his seat.

Lena drifted around the edges of the dance floor searching for signs of the man and couldn't find him. She circled back around, and his table stayed empty. Even the white people had left the area. Feeling bold, she sat down, ignoring the Reserved Seating sign in the middle of the table. She plopped her pocketbook next to an ashtray and signaled for a server. A young colored man rushed over in an ill-fitting uniform.

"Mr. Bottoms wants a bottle of champagne brought over to this table with two glasses," Lena said.

"Yes, ma'am."

The server headed for the bar. Lena studied every corner in her line of sight.

There.

Will Bottoms mingled among the patrons while smoking a cigar. He stopped in his tracks when he glimpsed Lena sitting at his table.

She winked at him.

He winked back.

The server returned with the opened bottle of champagne and poured it into the two glasses Lena requested.

"Mr. Will Bottoms?" she said.

He squeezed into the chair next to her. She handed him a glass of champagne.

"Who may you be?"

"Lena."

"Lena…?"

"Just Lena."

She sipped some champagne and let her shoulder touch his.

"I heard you were the boss I needed to speak to about getting a job."

"Oh, I don't need any new staff."

"Sorry to hear that. I'm an excellent bartender. I can sing, too."

"I have enough bartenders and plenty of singers and dancers. What else can you do?"

His eyes drifted down to her body.

"What else do you need?" she purred.

Ernie came into view.

Surrounded by his personal bodyguard and two other Bronzeville gangsters, Ernie strolled toward Bottoms's table. He noticed her right off and frowned.

"I have to use the ladies' room," she said.

She put down the champagne glass and hurried away from her seat.

Ernie reached Bottoms's table and sat down. The men shook hands, and Ernie leaned in close to whisper something. He handed over a fat envelope that had to be a payout. Lena quickly hid behind a post the moment Ernie's brooding eyes swept the ballroom.

The band struck up a faster-paced song and more people headed to the dance floor, giving her a chance to blend in. She bolted toward the coat check and halted. Raising her eyes high above the heads of the dancers, Lena shuddered at the spectacle stealing the shine from the massive crystal chandelier.

The shadow of The Gatekeeper loomed on the ceiling, his cane twirling like a propeller.

Papa Legba.

The Guardian of the Crossroads.

An icy dread coursed through her veins as the dark shadow extended above, its forward momentum making a direct path to her. Lena scurried from the alarming presence and ran smack into Ernie and his minions.

"Whoa, slow down Lena," Ernie said.

"I gotta go," she said, glancing behind her.

"You here for work?"

Ernie's lips quirked into a smile. But his eyes didn't carry the same pleasant reaction.

"I saw you with Will. The Sunset will open up again in three days. You need money?"

Ernie pulled out folded bills held together by a gold money clip.

"I can't have my best bartender leaving me for this dump."

Ernie peeled off a one hundred-dollar bill and tucked it between her breasts.

"Get out of here," he demanded.

Glancing at the ceiling again, Lena searched for the creeping shadow. The specter had vanished and the chandelier sparkled once more. She spotted a phone booth in the back and darted toward it. Sliding the wood and glass door open, she popped inside and slammed it shut. Pulling a nickel from her pocketbook, she dropped it in the coin slot and dialed her apartment, hoping one twin was still there. No one answered.

She hung up and reused the nickel again.

Both twins were gone from her place.

Lena couldn't shake the fear of Papa Legba showing part of his physical manifestation in a public space. That had never happened before in her long existence.

Popping the coin back in her purse, she turned and opened the booth door.

A black envelope sat on the ground.

Lena lifted it.

Ripping off the gold seal, she read the name inside. She sighed and dropped everything on the ground, watching the card stock and envelope burn away. Her steps were quick and sure, leaving Dreamland. She dipped into an alley and hid behind old crates dumped behind the ballroom. Stripping off her clothes, she rested against a dirty wall and let her body's metamorphosis consume the flesh she lived in with searing heat. She flapped her crow wings and took to the sky, searching for a young woman on the other side of town, happy to leave the apparition of The Guardian behind.

The apartment was too quiet without the twins.

She paced the floor of her sitting room, thinking about Dreamland and Papa Legba. For him to cross the veil openly had to mean something was going on in the human world. Something out of order.

Lena considered staying in her apartment until the twins returned, but the urge to seek her kind for answers piloted her feet back into the dark streets. She caught a cab to a garden apartment building east of her home and waited on a corner. Looking up to the sixth floor corner unit, a window stood open with billowing curtains. She sat down at a bus stop bench and waited.

Within a few minutes, a large crow flew onto the windowsill that Lena kept vigil over.

"Silas!"

The crow jerked its head in her direction, recognizing her.

Lena scurried across the street and climbed up the stairs to the sixth floor. Silas resumed his human form and leaned against the doorjamb of his apartment fully nude, his deep onyx skin pleasing to the eye. His tapered hair gave his face a neat appearance.

"Sister," he said, making space for her to pass him into the apartment.

Lena stepped in and he sensed her agitation.

"What brings you to my sector of the city?" he asked, with a wide grin on his sculpted face.

"I saw Papa Legba."

The grin melted from his lips.

"Saw him? Where?"

"At Dreamland. I was there looking for a job and …his presence was there."

"His presence or him?"

"I left before he fully manifested."

"Let me see."

Silas approached her and pressed his forehead against hers to make a connection and once their skin touched, he traveled into her mind's eye of the past, experiencing all that she witnessed in Dreamland. Including her profound fear. Silas gasped and his skin broke out into a pungent-smelling sweat.

"This is quite distressing. What have you been doing, Lena?"

His accusatory tone startled her.

"Doing my work like you."

He pointed a finger at her.

"No. You have done a transgression."

"I've done no such thing, Silas."

"The Guardian doesn't come through the veil unless there is a misdeed. Or…."

Silas touched his chin.

"Or?" she prodded.

"Who have you been hanging around lately?"

"My usual crowd at the Sunset. There was a shooting the other night, nothing out of the ordinary for these particular humans."

"Think, Lena. Who are you connecting with more than usual?"

Smoke and Stack came to mind immediately.

"The twins."

Silas studied her expression.

"Could they be Ibeji?" he said.

"They're just gangsters—"

"Who are they?"

"Smoke and Stack."

"Are those their birth names?"

Lena blinked. She didn't know their real names.

"Their last name is Moore. People call them by those nicknames."

Silas walked around her, contemplating and shaking his head, lost in his own thoughts. He stopped and touched her face.

"You must find out who they truly are. If they carry the Ibeji spirit in human form, they may be attracting Papa Legba here, and that is dangerous. He only comes when he isn't called to give a warning…or to prevent an indiscretion."

Silas pushed her toward the front door.

"Get them. Find out who they are."

"If I do find something relevant, what do I do?"

"Get away from them."

"And then what?"

Silas gave an unwelcoming energy. He didn't want her there with him.

"Pray that Papa Legba doesn't come back again."

He slammed the door in her face.

She waited for the twins all night and into the next day.

Smoke called her first; his voice clipped and concise.

"I'll be back soon. Is Stack there?" he said.

"No. He hasn't called either. I saw Ernie last night. He gave Will a fat envelope.'

"Did Ernie see you?"

"Yes. I was asking Will for a job. He gave me some money and told me to leave. The Sunset opens up in a few days."

He stayed quiet.

"Smoke, are you okay? Safe?"

"I'm fine. Anyone follow you home?"

"No."

"Good. Stay put."

He hung up.

Ten minutes later, the phone rang again.

"Hello?"

"It's me. Stack. My brother there?"

"No, not yet."

"When he gets there, tell him I'm stuck outside for the night. Nothing I can't handle, but I won't be back until I can shake some of Moran's boys off me."

"Where are you? Maybe I can help.'

"Nah. You stay there. Nothin' you can do anyway."

"Where are you hiding so I can tell Smoke?"

"A friend's."

"Louise?"

"How you know that name?"

"I met her at Dreamland. She asked me where to find you."

"Lena…I can explain about her."

"No need. Just be careful…I'm worried about you."

"I'll be okay. Stayed at Louise's because she's near a police station. Nobody wants to be around that place, attracting attention. I got a bunch of clothes here I'll be bringing to your place in the morning. She let me crash here while I was running around."

"I told you, silly. You don't have to explain."

"I love you, Lena. Louise is old news. I just needed her place to hide out."

"Get here when you can."

"I will."

Stack…?"

"Yeah, baby?"

"Please stay safe. I'm going to fret all day until you come back to me."

"See you soon."

Lena bathed and washed her hair, letting it air dry before covering it with a hat. Staying in her apartment would drive her nuts. Leaving a spare key under her doormat, she kept a hair appointment with her hairdresser. She listened to fresh gossip and speculation about the Sunset shooting as her stylist pressed and curled her springy tresses.

A trip to the corner grocer kept her busy, and by six in the evening she was back in her apartment.

Another black envelope waited for her under her front door.

She left the bathroom window open with the door closed. After shifting into her crow form, she leapt from the windowsill as the sky changed colors from dark blue to black with the onset of evening. She delivered the soul of a middle-aged man and returned to her bathroom window. Peering down onto the street, she noticed Silas watching her from across the street. He smoked a cigarette, waved at her, and wandered down the block.

His spying unnerved her.

The bathroom door swung open, and a light flicked on.

"The fuck?!" Smoke yelled.

Lena flapped her wings, cawed in loud surprise, and Smoke tried to shove her out the window. She jabbed at his hands with her beak. He ran out of the bathroom, slamming the door shut. She dropped to the floor as her body surged with heat. Bones expanded, skin stretched, and feathers retreated.

Smoke burst through the door again, carrying a broom that he swung forward. Lena held out an arm to him as she turned on the bath water with her free hand.

"Lena?"

Smoke looked around the bathroom.

"Did that crow go out the window?"

"Yeah. I heard you come in. You started fussing, so I ran in here."

"Naked?"

"I was…in my bedroom. Waiting for you. I thought you'd like to have a bath first before, um…before…"

Standing naked in front of him flustered her words. Thinking of Silas outside…thinking of what he said, Lena stared at Smoke.

"You take a bath," she said. "I'll cook for you, and we can wait for Stack. He called and said he's hiding out with Louise."

Smoke sucked his teeth in irritation. The side of his cheek quivered.

"A woman will be his downfall if he don't watch his back."

"Does that include me?"

"Nah. You different. Responsible. He plays around too much. The wrong woman will get you plugged or stabbed if a man ain't careful. My brother is always thinking with his dick."

"Go put the broom away. Come back and get undressed."

She tested the water's heat, and Smoke took the broom away. He stripped away his clothes in another room and waltzed back in the bathroom nude.

"Get in," she said, adding scented bath salts to the warm water.

Smoke climbed his weary body in and soaked. He squeezed his eyes shut and Lena washed him with a fluffy yellow sponge. She added a few luxury oils.

"I don't need all that woman shit in this water."

"Woman shit?"

Lena climbed into the tub and sat in front of him on her knees. She rinsed the front of her body and he studied every drop of water that rolled down her breasts and dangled from her pert nipples.

"It's like you're adding seasoning to cook me or something."

The left side of his mouth curled up, and he gripped the sides of the large claw-foot tub. Leaning back, his eyes became slits as the scent rising from the water soothed him.

"Lavender and jasmine oil calms the nerves, balances the mind," she said.

"You sound like my wife."

"Wise woman."

"Yeah…she's wise…and…stubborn…and…soft…so soft…"

He dozed off.

Lena rubbed his arms and chest with the sponge, swiping the oils in the water across his skin. She wiped down the center of his body, delighting in the soft chest hairs and the wide planes of his chest glistening. He fell deeper into his sleep and she waved her hand over his closed eyelids, making sure he went deeper. She turned her body around and sank down into the water, resting her back against his chest. Reaching for his arms, she pulled them down around her and nestled into comfort.

Closing her own eyes, Lena took a deep breath and relaxed her body and mind. Smoke sank deeper, his slumber slowing down with his breathing.

"Take me where you are, Smoke. Take me with you," she whispered.

Her consciousness floated to where she could enter his dreams in a cloud of swirling colors and flecks of gold lights, and she fell…down, down, down, into the realm of his dreamscape.

She became aware of heat and the scent of wet cotton bolls.

With bare feet, Lena walked through a row of cotton plants standing high and swaying with an early morning breeze. The plants bent forward as a gust of wind rush across a vast cotton field.

Smoke strode ahead of her, dressed in his grayish-blue tweed suit, his shoes smashing down the grayish-brown dirt that felt soft under her feet. She followed the eldest twin, and the scenery became fuzzy and he stood in front of a small wooden shack. A wind chime tinkled with the breeze and the sound brought forth a woman onto the small porch steps. She stood there dark, like the rich earth that brought life into the world, and her tall, curvy body beckoned Smoke to move an inch forward. Her face shined with divine beauty, the dark flashing eyes sharp and steady. The work belt around her waist cinched her middle tight. Her straight posture, high breasts, and the healing, warrior woman energy she projected impressed Lena. Smoke wasn't a slouch when choosing the perfect wife.

"Annie," he said.

"You come to me like this again?" Annie said.

Her Creole accent sounded thick. Louisiana gumbo thick. Smoke chewed on the side of his cheek and lowered his head with shame. Annie looked past him, right at Lena.

"Why you bring her here?" Annie said.

Smoke glances back. He doesn't see Lena at all. His expression clouds with confusion.

"I'm by myself," he said.

"Mmmph. So you say."

Annie looked him over and then rested her eyes on Lena.

"He don't know you here?" Annie asked.

Lena took a step back. The tone of Annie's voice came from deep within, the reverberation sparkling across the air that carried it in a fearsome blast.

A Hoodoo woman.

The space around Annie's face turned fuzzy, and specks of light floated like dust motes in sunlight all around her head and neck.

"He doesn't."

"Why you here, haint?"

"I'm here to watch over him."

"He don't need you to do that… he got me."

Her voice came out stern. A warning for Lena to watch her step treading around her husband.

Smoke reached for Annie's hand and she clasped it.

"Come inside," she said.

Smoke climbed the steps and walked in past her. Because the words targeted her, Lena also stepped forward.

The shack is a small Hoodoo shop.

Lena took in the bottles of ointment, oils, and medicine, manufactured and homemade on shelves. Inside smelled of sage, lavender, and wood smoke for drying herbs quicker and even traces of the goats Annie kept outside in a little pen. Smoke headed for a spot near some bottles and reached behind a small beam for matches. He lifted a pipe in his hand that seemed to wait for him there on a shelf. In this place, his hands didn't shake as he struck a light and puffed. The scent of tobacco added its powerful odor to the cramped space filled with wondrous potions and powerful conjure magic.

"Let me be here, Annie. I don't want to argue or hear you fuss at me," Smoke said.

"I won't fuss," she said, keeping her eyes on Lena.

"Good. I'ma go pay my respects to Selah and then I'll sit a spell."

Smoke walked back outside and headed for a small grove of trees that gave shade to a white bottle, a small rock, and a pointy wooden totem. The moment he left, Annie turned her attention to Lena.

"Are you the one who keeps him from coming home to me?" Annie said.

"He has free will. Just like you."

"What are you to him? You act human, but…you spirit, too. A trickster? Demon maybe?"

"You wouldn't let a demon in here, Annie. You're too smart for that."

Lena stood on the other side of a small work counter, facing Annie.

"You his lover?"

Annie tilted her chin up, bracing herself for what she never wanted to hear. She may have suspected her husband of being unfaithful, being so long gone, but she didn't want to hear it. Lena couldn't lie.

"I am."

Annie closed her eyes and let out a shallow breath.

"But you ain't human."

"I am not."

"How can that be? Laying down with a human man and not wanting to harm him?"

"He gives me pleasure, yes. That's all I seek from him. And his brother."

"Stack? You have relations with him, too?"

Lena reached out and touched Annie's hand. She flinched and yanked her hand back."

"A shifter! You're a demon. This form is to trick me," Annie blurted in fear.

"Shall I show you my true form, Annie?"

Annie tilted her head and reached for an untied mojo bag on the counter.

"No demon here, love. I promise," Lena said.

She allowed her human body to liquify and slide into her expansive crow body. Afterward, she hopped up on the counter in her avian shape and spoke to the woman.

"See? You can think of me as an emissary, or a guardian spirit—"

"I smell death on you."

"I am not death. But I know her well, as do you."

Lena glanced out of the open door and watched Smoke spend time at the gravesite.

"Our daughter. Selah. His pain keeps him from coming home to us. Are you going to take Elijah away from me, too?"

Elijah.

Lena turned the name over in her mind, looked at it from all angles.

"That man has a lot of life to live yet. In fact, Stack may be dragging them both back here."

Annie smirked. It was the first time Lena witnessed her face relaxing a tad bit.

"Elias is the one who dragged my husband away from here in the first place after the war. Can't have one without the other. Always been that way. How is he doing up north? Chicago treating them well?"

"Chicago is not the place for—"

Lena stopped speaking and stared at the two wooden figures on a shelf near the door.

"Ibeji," Lena said.

She cawed and flapped her wings, flying over to a wooden stand holding dried herbs.

"That belonged to the twins' mother, Taiwo. She was a powerful Hoodoo woman. I learned plenty from her. That's Elijah and Elias. Their momma said to keep those figures together and the twins would never part. As long as they never came back to Clarksdale. I guess she didn't count on Smoke leaving me behind."

Annie touched the figures.

"These old wooden statues have chipped away and broken apart over the years. I try my best to glue them if they need it," Annie said.

Lena's wings felt damp suddenly and smelled of jasmine and lavender.

Smoke was slowly waking up.

"He'll come home, eventually. He loves you, Annie. You won't remember anything about me."

Outside, Smoke turned and walked toward the shack. He carried the pipe in his hand.

"I need him," Annie said.

Smoke stepped inside and swept Annie up in his arms, kissing her and tossing the pipe on the counter.

"I need you," Smoke said to his wife.

Lena flapped her wings and flew outside, far across the cotton fields. She soared above the Sunflower River and tears flowed from her crow eyes until she splashed in lukewarm water that smelled of sweet bath oils.

Smoke groaned behind her, and she lifted from his chest. His groans turned into moans as she noticed his erection bobbing in the water.

"Annie," he gasped.

His dick pulsed and the shiny head throbbed and spewed semen in thick ribbons down the side of his shaft. He moaned Annie's name again, and the corners of his eyes leaked tears. But there was a smile on his face.

Lena touched his lips.

"Elijah," she said.

He murmured under his breath, and his eyes opened.

Lena used the sponge to wipe his lower parts down.

"Welcome back," she said.

Smoke blinked and sat up in the tub.

"I had a dream," he said.

"What did you dream of?"

"Home," he said. "I think…I'm not sure. But I felt like I was home. You were there, too. At least in the beginning."

Another chill crept across Lena. That was impossible. She cast him into a deep slumber where no memories were to be kept upon return.

"You were flying behind me, above the cotton fields. Every time I looked back, things looked blurry…I think you were a bird…or maybe an angel."

Lena's stomach churned. Nausea coated the back of her throat. She fought it back down and forced a smile across her lips.

No wonder Papa Legba came forth.

Smoke could pierce the veil between worlds and didn't know it. He saw her in his dream.

She rushed out of the tub and grabbed a towel from a rack.

"This water is too cool now. Come out," she said, holding open the large blue towel.

Elijah and Elias…Smoke and Stack…they were Ibeji.

Smoke climbed out and she wrapped the towel around his waist.

"What is it Lena? You're shivering," he said.

"I'm chilly because of the cold water. Go into my bedroom and rest. I'll join you there."

He padded out of the bathroom and she gripped the sides of the sink. Her eyes looked wild in the mirror.

The doorbell of her apartment rang. She pulled on a robe hanging on a hook behind the bathroom door. Smoke stood in her living room, holding his gun.

Stack wouldn't ring her doorbell. He had a key to her place. No one else knew where she lived except for Bernice, and she would call first before coming over. More than that, the front desk would ring her to warn of strange visitors.

Smoke waved his gun for her to get behind him.

She did.

He crept to the door.

"Who is it?" he said.

"Louise. I brought the clothes like you wanted."

Smoke handed Lena the gun and flung open the door.

"Since when have you been staying here, baby?"

Louise sauntered in, carrying a pile of suits, and kissed Smoke on the lips. She halted once she noticed Lena pointing a gun at her.

"What is she doing here, Stack?" Louise whined.

"You got me mixed up with somebody else," Smoke said.

Louise threw the suits on the floor and slammed her hands on her hips.

"I bring all your things clear across town and you're holed up with some floozy?"

Louise smacked both her hands on his chest.

"Nigga, I cooked and cleaned for you for two weeks! I rubbed your feet and sucked your dick!"

Smoke slammed the door shut to keep the neighbors from hearing in the hallway.

"I'm not Stack!"

"The fuck you is!"

"Look at his teeth," Lena said.

"Don't even get me started with you, little hussy."

"Look at his teeth, Louise!" Lena shouted.

Smoke gave an unfriendly smile, flashing his teeth.

"Look where the gold is," Lena said.

Louise stared at his teeth.

"Stack has gold on the other side. And he has more of it," Lena said.

Louise stood back and observed every inch of Smoke. She still didn't appear convinced.

The phone rang.

Lena ran to it on a side table and lifted the receiver.

"Hey, it's me," Stack said.

"It's Stack," Lena told Smoke.

Louise stomped across the floor and snatched the phone from her hands.

"Who is this?" Louise said.

Her expression changed from irritation to bewilderment. She glanced over at Smoke.

"Twins?" Louise said.

Smoke took the phone from her and scolded his brother for sending a stranger to their hideout.

"You want a drink?" Lena asked.

Befuddled, Louise nodded.

"I'm so sorry. I thought he was Stack."

Lena poured her a shot of spiced rum, and Louise gulped it down quickly.

"They look exactly the same, from the part in the hair down to the bulge in the towel," Louise said.

Smoke slammed the phone back on its cradle.

"We got a problem," Smoke said.

He gestured for Lena to give him back his gun.

"Go get dressed. You're coming with me," Smoke said.

Lena nodded and headed for her bedroom.

"You're coming, too," he said to Louise.

Chapter 7 soon come...

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